I'll do my crying I'll Do My Crying in the Rain

Chapter 5 --Veil of Frost: The Crane's Hospitality

By Gabi

The wind sang by, ruffling the wish cards that hung from the eaves of the buildings on the narrow street until they whistled and shook. A few early autumn leaves, shaken from their branches, rustled past, swept by the unrelenting onslaught of the wind.

He stood still, like a solid rock of muscle, more tensed than he had ever been in his life. The wind whipped his hair about his face and by some strange trick of the light, his eyes seemed to glow. They were beautiful, indigo fire, then they were slitted, black marks on his face, taking in fully the scene before him.

One by one, the men turned, their attention finally drawn away from the disheveled young man they'd been beating for sport. The young man stood, bruised and blackened from their attention, in front of a slight figure, slumped and unmoving on the dirty wooden sidewalk.

The wind was singing in his ears, and suddenly, his eyes flashed open wide, and caught by the enormous force of newly wakened ken-ki, the men in front of him all seemed to stumble backwards a pace. Two of them lost their footing entirely and he scented a puddle of urine forming underneath another. The young man, who had stood through all of the pummeling in defense of the girl, fell forward onto his knees and stayed there, trembling, eyes wide and sightless from the experience.

It was singing. The wind was singing in his ears and he was smiling. Beautiful, beautiful. He moved elegantly, a simultaneous draw as he swept across the distance between them like the wind. The heavenly wind. Kamikaze. The heaven's sword. Tenken. His hand didn't stay for a moment over the hilt of the iatou. His katana drawn whisper soft even as he rode the wind forward. Only one of them actually had time to react, his hand coming up to ward off an expected blow. The katana sang just like the wind, and when he was done, he was still smiling, and there were five dead men at his feet.

Silently, efficiently, he flicked the blood from his katana and resheathed it. He stood still for a moment, chin slightly inclined to the sun, and closed his eyes. His face lost all expression and the wind died suddenly. When he opened his eyes again, they were soft and reflective. He turned his head without moving from his position and looked at her. She was hurt, broken like a flower. His left hand, hidden in the sleeve of his gi, tightened until his nails bit into the flesh of his palm and he bled. He made no sign of this, but simply turned and knelt, gathering her fragile bird body into his arms. She was still warm, still breathing, although her breath seemed to come in little sobs. Carefully cradling her, as if she were some crystalline fragment of dew covered cobweb that might dissolve in the air, he stood and then turned to the young man, who was still trembling, on his knees.

"What happened?" Soujiro spoke and knew his voice as his own, it just sounded so curiously distant.

The man took a few more minutes to recover himself before speaking, "I'm not exactly sure. I think they just grabbed her off the street because she was alone. I tried to stop them, and I did get them to stop paying attention to her, but only after they'd hurt her pretty bad," he struggled to his feet and then turned to look at Soujiro, "I wondered why she was alone, on this side of town. She must not be from around here. I know I've never seen her. She's so beautiful, she shouldn't be . . . " he cut himself off, suddenly aware that he had been wandering into dangerous territory, "Does she belong to you?" his voice was soft.

"Aa," Soujiro found that his voice was strangely strong, steady, yet still unfamiliar. Yes, she was his. He was not afraid to say it when her ears were deaf to hear. It was as natural as his claim on the recently blooded katana. It was his as much as his right arm was his. And she was his.

The lot of good it had done her. She was still hurt, blooded in a different way from the katana. His nails bit into his flesh again, this time in the palm of the hand that rested in the crook of her knees. His smile was so bright and fresh that he might have been at a summer picnic, but he had an unbridled desire to kill something or someone else, something that was altogether new for him. He had never desired to kill simply to kill. That was Chou. That was Usui. Soujiro had simply killed when it was convenient. If someone posed a problem, he killed them and then there was no more problem. It wasn't the most advanced or forgiving method of problem solving, but it was extremely effective and as Shishio's most trusted underling, he had faced no ramifications or consequences.

Now he wanted to kill to satisfy an anger, a hunting hatred. The men who were responsible were already dead. He had killed them himself, but it had been somehow terribly unsatisfying. The men he'd killed had been dirty vermin, things you crushed under your heel, not things you killed. They weren't even meat for the strong, just tripe, refuse. That these pieces of filth had come so close to . . . he wanted to kill something very badly.

"Are you traveling?" the boy interrupted his thoughts and Soujiro turned to him with a bland smile, then looked down. The young man's voice was soft and gentle, but Soujiro could tell there was some discipline to it.

"We are," Soujiro answered. He was looking at her, taking stock of her injuries, hoping none were internal, hoping she wasn't bleeding.

"She's hurt. She needs to rest. We have a farm just outside of town. It's not that far away. You're welcome to stay. We'll call a doctor."

Soujiro's eyes softened and his hands trembled as he watched the darkened skin where bruises would develop soon. She needed rest and care and attention. There was only one choice he could make.

"Thank you," he spoke and there was a fullness behind it, an ill-repressed need, "I know that you tried to protect her."

The young man shook his head, "No, it's what anyone would have done."

"No," Soujiro spoke sharply and the boy flinched, "Sumimasen. I didn't mean to startle you. I owe you a debt and I will pay it in time."

The adolescent swallowed and then nodded slowly as if he were afraid of angering someone.

"Thank you again," spoke Soujiro softly, bringing her close to his chest, as if to share his warmth, "For offering your hospitality. Please, take me to your home."

Carrying his precious bundle, Soujiro left the town without another whisper, hard to the heels of the young man who had offered sanctuary, even as the wishing stars of Tanabata rose over the festival town of Sendai.

*

The young man, Yokano Toshio, Soujiro learned through an hurried introduction, had dashed off almost as soon as they had arrived at the farm house. The boy did stay long enough to give a hasty explanation to a willowy, elegant young woman who appeared on the porch at his call, but then he was off down the road to fetch a doctor, as if his very life depended on it.

The woman, arms folded into the sleeves of a silk summer kimono, bowed deeply and then spoke in a voice that was medium contralto, soft and pleasing, measured, "I am Yokano Kimiko and you do me honor by becoming my guest. Please, come inside. I can prepare a place for her. She must have had a terrible ordeal."

She turned and seemed to float through the sliding wooden door and into the large common room that made the first floor of the farm house. In one corner of the room there were stuffed straw mattresses. From another corner of the room, Kimiko produced a heavy fleece, which she laid over the straw mattress and then beckoned Soujiro to lay down his delicate bundle.

"I am sorry," she spoke softly, even as she knelt to light a lamp near the bed, "That our hospitality is lacking. Our family has fallen on hard times. You are our welcome guests as long as you might choose to stay, but I am sorry to say that we have little to share other than bean curds and rice and straw to sleep on."

"You have done too much already," Soujiro murmured the response he assumed was expected in the situation. He really was beyond feeling anything other than a peaceful and steady warmth. It was a dull, throbbing happiness.

He laid her on the mattress carefully, arranging her into as comfortable a position as possible while attempting not to move her too much as jostling might agitate any internal injury.

"You are too gracious," he spoke again, "And we have lived on far less. Tell me, though, why has your family fallen upon hard times?"

He glanced up from the girl and Kimiko found his gaze piercing, and so, averted her eyes.

"Our father was a samurai for the shogun, but since our mother was long dead, my brother and I lived with our mother's brother who was a lesser lord under the shogun. We lived at his estate and were trained and taught there. When the shogun fell," her voice was soft and wandering, and Soujiro felt as if he were receiving much more than he had bargained for by asking a simple question, "My uncle took his life. Shortly after that, all his land was seized by the new government and Toshio and I found ourselves homeless. We lived with a distant relative after that, waiting for our father to come and claim us, then two years ago we got news that he had been killed in a duel. My brother, who was then sixteen, received word from a government official that he was now the owner of this farm, my father's sole remaining possession, other than his sword," here she nodded toward the far corner of the room where the ground was raised, as if it were a dias, "Toshio and I had no intention of putting our relative to further trouble, and so we moved here a few months after that."

Soujiro was absolutely silent as he studied the lines on Kuri's face. Somewhere outside a light breeze played with a china and paper chime.

"I'm sorry," Kimiko blushed faintly in shame, "I didn't mean to burden you with the misfortune of our family, I simply felt the need to talk about it. I haven't had anyone to talk with since we came here," she flushed again and looked down, "Beg pardon."

"It's no trouble," he didn't look at her, but the candlelight played games with the shadows on the panes of his face. He almost looked as if he was smiling blissfully, turned in profile as he was to her, "Although I must ask why you think you are in bad way. You have a home and fields to work. There are many who would like to lead this simple life and lack the means. You have the means, you just seemed to lack the will."

His voice seemed somehow mocking, and she was resentful, but she kept her voice well controlled as she spoke, "Our harvests have been very poor. We're running out of food. Neither of us knows how to farm, or harvest. The nearby farmers helped us in the spring season, but they are all busy with their own harvests now, and we have no money to hire threshers. The grain will rot on the stalk soon, and we can do nothing about it. I suppose you could say that we lack the will."

There were several moments of strained silence as Soujiro quietly and delicately stroked Kuri's hair as it lay spread on the blanket. After a while, he spoke.

"Sumimasen, Kimiko-san. I was not aware of the situation. I did not mean to criticize. I am only a threadbare ronin and it is not my place to judge you," there was a twist to that smile of his, or perhaps just another flicker of the candlelight?

"However," he continued, folding his arms into his gi, "I have some experience in harvesting rice and I would be happy to volunteer my services for as long as we remain as your guests."

She started and turned to look at him sharply, "You offer is most kind, but . . ."

He cut her off, absently studying her face and the shadows playing on it, "My offer is the only one you are likely to get. Please do not let pride keep you from accepting it. If you refuse, I will simply put it to your brother. I am sure he will be receptive," he glanced at the frail girl, wrapped in a muddied festival robe, "Even if he has other interests."

He stared at him and felt a cold fury building in her, but suddenly it ebbed and she felt very weak. He was right, this was their only choice. Here at least lay a path that led to another season.

"I accept," she murmured softly, eyes still fastened tight to the hem of her sleeve, "I am sure Toshio will be pleased to hear that you are staying."

Soujiro nodded once, decisively, as if sealing a contract. He relaxed, although it wasn't visible to the casual observer until he shifted to a more comfortable position. He felt at least a little better, and no longer had the desire to kill something at random.

Here was at least one debt paid.