Characters are not mine, comments more than welcome.
Continuation of, Of Hatred and Running Streams.
This ends my fanfic. Thanks for reading.
//-thoughts
Of Happiness and Open Fields
"You are his replacement then boy?" the man spat at him. Nakiwara to turn his head away from the stench coming form the other man's mouth. had
"No I am not a hitokiri." He answered rather irritated. He had just buried the man he had lived with for eight years and hating which, was his only reason for getting up in the morning.
He still couldn't believe it. It was over.
"Well boy what do you think I am stupid? You are the only one aside from him that I see here. You will be properly compensated. Now what do you say?" he looked away. He had just learned that those sudden absences his master took, he took to kill people. He was a hitokiri. He thought with a tinge of awe.
" I know you have the skills and I'm really desperate only he can pull this one off. Too bad he went up and died." The man went on rambling.
Nakiwara decided that in order to get rid of this man he would have to give him some sort of answer. "I'll consider it."
"Great I'll be back in two days then." He muttered in glee, rubbing his hands together sinisterly.
/Ugh! Talk about foul!/ He laughed letting in a much-needed gasp of air inside his complaining lungs.
He sat down facing the open door. It would start to snow soon and he had to get back to civilization before the great white lady caressed his face. He should have went down the mountain with the man but he would rather suffer eight more years with his former mentor than six hours of trying to holding his breath. He had never been off the mountain they had lived in the shadows of. He did not even know what mountain it was.
A last crimson leaf broke free of its branch and began her slow dance to the ground, which welcomed her greedily.
It was over.
He had set in order all of the things in the small hut he had called home. That it was; a home. He was never unhappy here, no matter what anyone would say. He was never unhappy here. Perhaps the hate he was obliged to feel kept him from admitting that single truth.
It had never occurred to him that when his purpose had been achieved that he would be so, reluctant to leave? What was holding him back there? Something he should have learned?
He looked at the only thing that he had brought with him, his great-grandfather's sword. Something still wasn't right.
The man he had buried a few hours ago seemed nothing more than a memory to him now. A memory of a coldhearted monster that destroyed everything he had loved. A collage of scars eternally embedded in his flesh. A deluge of nightmares and cold nights. And yet... and yet there was a faint memory of a blanket covering his shoulders when he shivered. A memory of food being shared when it was evident that there was hardly enough for one. A memory of a child crying softly in the darkness, leaving him with the question, which was the child of the two of them?
No matter how he looked at it, that man will forever be etched in his memory. That man which was a mystery to him. Of a cold façade that hid something deep inside of him. As if he was afraid someone would see who he truly was. But Nakiwara saw and he never forgot that faint glimmer of a man he was not made to know.
If he only knew his name, then may be...may be. May be what? There was nothing he could do, this was how it was supposed to end.
/I thank you,/ he whispered before closing his eyes, /and I give you my forgiveness and perhaps I ask for yours, sensei./
***
"Heh! Mister hitokiri! Ahh I can't get through." Muttered the man as he scrambled to get to the little hut overwhelmed by the whiteness it was enveloped in.
/His tenacity is admirable./ Nakiwara chuckled watching the man do his inane dance across the garden. He had hoped to have had left before that man came back again. But the snow had held him back. Only that? The snow? He knew he had something left to learn. Yet he could not find it.
He considered his offer. He needed the money to get back to Kyoto and the man he was supposed to kill was corrupt and was rotting from the inside his employer assured him. Someone Japan could do without. Someone who made lives of other people a living hell. And he believed it. He believed it. Needing something to justify his answer. Needing something to purge his guilt.
Had the circumstances been different may be his answer would be different. Had his father not loved his mother so much, had his mother not loved two men, had he not let his hate consume him, had he seen the truth earlier. But he didn't and things weren't different.
"I will do it then."
***
He shifted his position. He could hear the old man's labored breath and he moved quickly. His dagger poised above his target's throat. He looked at the shriveled shell of a man that lay sleeping before him and his mind wandered to that little patch of garden Okina tended. He saw a young boy holding on to his Jiya's old robes. Crying over his spilled carrots. And the man in front of him began to change, it had contorted to almost resembling Okina, until it became Okina.
His hand faltered and he brought the dagger back down, deciding that he had made a mistake but nicking the old man on his arm and spilling ancient blood on his hands.
"Gyaah!" The old man woke with a start, terrified of the unfamiliar face before him. He began to call for help but his seasoned voice was forever silenced by the coldness of the steel that glinted in Nakiwara's hand.
His eyes grew wide as the blood splattered across his face. But he instinctively drew his sword at the first sign of people rushing to rescue a man that was already dead. He took his stance...
"Feh! What a mess!" his employer bellowed with his fetid breath. "The old one did things smoothly and quickly." He grumbled looking at the bloodstained boy. "Here is your money. I deducted a small amount because I was not pleased with your performance." He handed the new hitokiri a cloth bag that jingled with the promise of good food and a warm bed.
***
/His eyes...his eyes were... /the thought was momentarily pushed from his mind as he splashed the cold water he drew form the well onto his face. The diluted mixture of blood flowing lazily across his body.
/His eyes were pleading, begging for his life. And those other men shouldn't have died. They weren't in the bargain./ He sighed closing his eyes. He knew in agreeing to kill that man he had degraded himself and everything he believed in. But now, now he had lost his soul. .Those men's lives were worth more than a few coins. Was my soul sold so cheaply? Will I never redeem myself?.
He bowed his head in lament, a circle of red snow gathering around him.
***
He looked down at the Aoiya. How alien it seemed. He had been away for so long that he wondered if the city still remembered him. He smiled. Kyoto looked beautiful in the sunset. And for a second a memory of long walks with a faceless man in the blood of the dying sun crept back into his mind. Yes Kyoto did look beautiful in the sunset.
He entered the Aoiya sitting himself on one of the tables.
"Yes?" Omasu asked putting on her charm as the handsome youth entered.
"I would like some okashi?"
"I'm sorry we don't have those here."
"You do in your room." She stopped and looked at him, he smiled at her. She then blushed at her earlier attempt to flirt with him.
"Naki-chan is that you?" she screamed, dropping her tray and drawing him into her arms.
***
Everyone was either drunk or passed out. Omasu was complaining about her lack of lovers while Kuro complained why she did not take notice of him. Okon kept whimpering about her boyfriend being such a cold fish in bed and Shiro hinted at being gay (eeew! Sorry all Shiro worshipers I couldn't help it. This fic needed some life in it. Sorry!). It seems they had missed the boy a little too much.
But Okina refrained from drinking, which sent many eyebrows up in surprise. He opted instead to drink tea. Something bothered the old man. He contemplated the boy...no the man in front of him.
/His eyes, are those of one who has seen blood spilled before him. Blood he himself had spilled. He shook his head in desolation. Twice he came to me, and twice I have failed in protecting him. I could not protect him from his heritage and I could not protect him from his fate./
He looked at the boy's blue eyes and the smile that played on his lips, is that freely given? He asked himself in despair.
***
He had taken Aoshi's old room because Shiro and Kuro's room could not accommodate another messy resident. He looked around the silent room. They had fixed it up quite well and yet there were still traces of Aoshi. And he smiled, /I have done what I had promised sensei, I have avenged your death./ Something nagged at the back of his head, /at what price? /
Seasons had come and gone and Nakiwara was adjusting fairly well to his life in the Aoiya. Helping Shiro and Kuro with the cooking. He somehow fought all the unpleasant memories he kept inside. Rotting his very core.
He was in the kitchen chopping some leeks when a shrill shriek came from the direction of the restaurant. He stumbled to his feet as he scrambled to get to where the shout emanated from, there was no doubt about it, that was Omasu.
He reached her just in time to see her tears begin to fall and the people to gather about her as she whimpered something indecipherable. She was standing in front of the Aoiya's entrance.
"Speak up Omasu!" Nakiwara demanded impatiently.
"The poor dog! He was run over by a cart and now he's just lying there."
It was here that he noticed the pile of skin and flesh in front of her. The matted brown fur and the parasites promenading on the cur's hide testified that it was a stray. If it wasn't for the slight rising and falling of the beast's chest, revealing the thin ribs that was almost bare, one would think that it was already dead.
"Do something for it Nakiwara." Omasu pleaded. He looked at the pitiful thing lying on the street and he felt the knife that was still in his hands. Without a second thought he sent it flying, hitting the dog on the neck. It gave a small whimper before succumbing to eternal silence.
"What...have...you...done?" she stammered, eyes forgetting the tears they were shedding and grew wide in disbelief.
"I did what you asked."
"I did not mean for you to kill it!"
"It is of no use to anyone now, it is crippled and weak. It is useless better that it were dead." He stated simply retrieving his knife and wincing at the filthy blood that sheathed its beautiful silver.
Okina witnessed what happened and moved towards him, placing his hand on the younger man's shoulder. He looked into his grandson's blue eyes and took his callused hands. /The kisses of a sword,/ he thought sadly. He took his hand and started to place it on the dog's side. Nakiwara tried to pull away but Okina's hidden strength unhindered by the years held him where he was. He felt the ragged pelt beneath his hand and looked horrified at the old man.
"Jiya, wha..." he began to protest. The old man shushed him and looked into his eyes. Nakiwara was surprised by the sadness mirrored in them.
"Can't you understand what it feels? Can't you feel its pain?" he paused seeing the confusion in the young man's eyes. And he felt a distinct sadness that announced the coming of despair. "Then you are the one that's weak Nakiwara, you are the one crippled inside."
***
He looked at his hands. Why had Jiya spoken like that? What was he supposed to see? Ever since he returned he had felt a certain detachedness from the others. Like he didn't belong. And now more than ever he felt that, perhaps he never belonged in the Oniwabanshuu. None of them knew what it was like. To have been to hell and return to something so changed that it was almost alien. To understand nothing of their life and them understand nothing of yours. Did he belong on that mountain with the empty house and the cold grave? Was he meant to be like him?
He moved towards the drawer looking for something to change into forcing the voice from his head. He opened the top drawer and as the darkness gave way to his little candle revealing one solitary thing in its recesses. An old paper crane.
It looked soiled and the tattered edges clearly showed that it has been fingered constantly. Stroked lovingly and stained with tears. /Sensei must of loved whoever gave him this,/ he thought turning it over in his hand and he froze, it was almost indiscernible but it was there, misspelled and written in a childish scrawl was the name of his mother.
"What do you wish of me Jiya?" he asked not tearing his eyes from the puzzle he held in his hands.
Okina melted from the shadows and made himself seen coughing to catch the boy's attention. He looked up at the old man.
"I had hoped that your hands would not know the taste of blood Nakiwara, but it seems this hope was in vain."
"What do you speak of?"
"Your eyes cannot hide the truth you so desperately want to conceal. And now your heart has grown cold as well." He paused drawing in a strained breath. "What has he done to you?"
"He gave me what I needed in order to kill him." he stated simply.
"He also gave you what you needed to destroy yourself." He answered. He looked at him, /only sixteen./ "Your mother was afraid you might become a hitokiri like your father, I am afraid he has made you one."
His head was swimming now, /what is he saying?/ He did not want to listen to the ramblings of a senile old man. Too burdened by the years to fully comprehend the memories he still had inside of him.
"You look distressed."
"What was his name?"
It was Okina's turn to look distressed as what he has truly done finally dawned on him. "Perhaps he has reasons for not telling you, but the time has come for you to learn the truth, the truth that may save you." Nakiwara looked at him. Okina noticed the little paper crane he had in his hand. It was almost comical how it all came back to this, and yet Okina could not find the heart to smile.
"Almost twenty years ago, your mother left the Aoiya to find herself and here she encountered your father. She made him into a peaceful man. A man whose every waking moment was spent at her side and whose every breath was taken to hear her voice. A man whose past sins she washed away and whose life began anew here, in these walls."
"I know of this."
"Did you know that her death almost destroyed him? How she was his world and how his heart shattered the moment she let go of his hand?" Nakiwara looked at him passively, he knew all of this. "Did you know of a secret love that drove him insane? Of a secret wish that sealed the future of his son and his soul?" he paused.
"Did you know how he could not set himself free for fear of crumbling your freedom? Of how fate spat on his face and turned you into what he dreaded? What he despaired? What he was afraid of?"
"What has this got to do with the man whose name I now seek?"
"It has got everything to do with him." he looked at the confused face of his grandson. "That man was Seta Soujiro your father, and you my child are his son." Nakiwara's eyes widened in disbelief.
"Lies! Was everything I was ever told lies?" he asked through clenched teeth.
"Aoshi, had his reason's for not telling you, as did Soujiro. But not all that was said were lies, Soujiro did kill your father, in some way."
"Why?"
"Would you question inconstant fate? It just is child, fate has it's own course that none can know. It is how you face the consequences it leaves you with that matter. Understand boy. " He left the boy then, praying he did the right thing.
The boy dropped to his knees, his world spinning. /Was it true? Was it all true?/ All his life, he was dominated by three images. The immaculate Seta Soujiro, who died for love. The esteemed Shinomori Aoshi, who raised him. And the last one, who remained nameless till now. He was more real than the two previous ones had been. He saw his tears, he saw his weaknesses and he saw his pain. And now he understood why.
Perhaps if it were a different man, perhaps if he wasn't who he was, this would have destroyed him. But he was Seta Nakiwara, Seta Soujiro and Makimachi Misao's son, Shinomori Aoshi's pupil and the heir to the Oniwabanshuu's okashira. This was who he was.
/He knew it was my only happiness, the illusion Aoshi-sama gave me. He knew and he suffered to be killed by his son to preserve this happiness. How could someone love me so much? He was my father, he was my enemy and he loved me more than anyone could./
He felt it streak across his face and fall to his hands that were resting on his knees. It seemed to wash away the pain that those eight years had encrusted around his heart. For the first time in his life Seta Nakiwara truly understood how loved he actually was. For the first time in his life he knew what shedding tears truly meant. And he let them all flow. To wash away the bitterness in his heart and to baptize him in their love.
When it seemed that his body would not permit any more tears to escape his blue eyes, he took his knife from his drawer and drew it to his ponytail. He felt his long hair brush against his back like a lover, pleading with him, he knew what he had to do. His knife shone a brilliant silver as it passed through the ebony of his hair. He closed his eyes as the remnant of his hair fell back to his face. And he smiled. He knew what to do.
***
He had divided his hair into three bundles, braided each one and set out to finish his task. The first one he laid on his mother's grave, the second on Aoshi's and the third he found himself heading back to that faraway place he had decided to forget.
He laid it on an unmarked stone as he watched the smoke rising from the hut he had set on fire a while ago. That ended those eight years, it was behind him now./ Everything that you had become dies with that fire. Now all you are is the man my mother loved and the one who gave up his life for my happiness. Please find not just happiness, but the happiness you deserve wherever you are father./ And as he faced the last grave he whispered a promise to the world. /This I vow to my mother whose memory I hold dear forever, to Aoshi-sama who I am forever grateful to and to my father whose name I will forever bear with pride, this I vow that I shall never kill again./
It was over.
***
He raised his face to the golden sunlight and felt the soil in his palms, it was good soil and soon he would harvest his radishes.
~end~
okashi-sweets, confections, candy
Author's notes:
The title is supposed to mean Nakiwara's happiness and the open fields means his life and more importantly Misao's love coz she smells of open fields and sunlight remember? Well the whole series spoke of the happiness of someone or the other it was bound to find itself in the title, it was his true happiness, no more slashing for this cutie. In the last scene where Nakiwara was tending his garden, I sort of stole the radish idea from the ova, hehe, actually what it means is that Misao had saved her son again the metaphor for open fields and sunlight. He was a man of peace now and his cutting his hair means he had forsaken his hitokiri training. What Soujiro could not fulfill his son did.
Actually before I thought up Of paper cranes... the working title was Salvation. Anyhu the history of that title is that Misao was the salvation of all three men. Whoohoo you go girl!!!! Kinda obvious huh? Here' s a toast to all Misao lovers out there, me included.
I don't know if I can top OPCAP hell even the sequels didn't pack as much punch as the first. I'm just grateful I got to write this and I got the chance to have others read it and actually be interested enough to read through all 42 pages (prologue included).
Maraming salamat po.
Continuation of, Of Hatred and Running Streams.
This ends my fanfic. Thanks for reading.
//-thoughts
Of Happiness and Open Fields
"You are his replacement then boy?" the man spat at him. Nakiwara to turn his head away from the stench coming form the other man's mouth. had
"No I am not a hitokiri." He answered rather irritated. He had just buried the man he had lived with for eight years and hating which, was his only reason for getting up in the morning.
He still couldn't believe it. It was over.
"Well boy what do you think I am stupid? You are the only one aside from him that I see here. You will be properly compensated. Now what do you say?" he looked away. He had just learned that those sudden absences his master took, he took to kill people. He was a hitokiri. He thought with a tinge of awe.
" I know you have the skills and I'm really desperate only he can pull this one off. Too bad he went up and died." The man went on rambling.
Nakiwara decided that in order to get rid of this man he would have to give him some sort of answer. "I'll consider it."
"Great I'll be back in two days then." He muttered in glee, rubbing his hands together sinisterly.
/Ugh! Talk about foul!/ He laughed letting in a much-needed gasp of air inside his complaining lungs.
He sat down facing the open door. It would start to snow soon and he had to get back to civilization before the great white lady caressed his face. He should have went down the mountain with the man but he would rather suffer eight more years with his former mentor than six hours of trying to holding his breath. He had never been off the mountain they had lived in the shadows of. He did not even know what mountain it was.
A last crimson leaf broke free of its branch and began her slow dance to the ground, which welcomed her greedily.
It was over.
He had set in order all of the things in the small hut he had called home. That it was; a home. He was never unhappy here, no matter what anyone would say. He was never unhappy here. Perhaps the hate he was obliged to feel kept him from admitting that single truth.
It had never occurred to him that when his purpose had been achieved that he would be so, reluctant to leave? What was holding him back there? Something he should have learned?
He looked at the only thing that he had brought with him, his great-grandfather's sword. Something still wasn't right.
The man he had buried a few hours ago seemed nothing more than a memory to him now. A memory of a coldhearted monster that destroyed everything he had loved. A collage of scars eternally embedded in his flesh. A deluge of nightmares and cold nights. And yet... and yet there was a faint memory of a blanket covering his shoulders when he shivered. A memory of food being shared when it was evident that there was hardly enough for one. A memory of a child crying softly in the darkness, leaving him with the question, which was the child of the two of them?
No matter how he looked at it, that man will forever be etched in his memory. That man which was a mystery to him. Of a cold façade that hid something deep inside of him. As if he was afraid someone would see who he truly was. But Nakiwara saw and he never forgot that faint glimmer of a man he was not made to know.
If he only knew his name, then may be...may be. May be what? There was nothing he could do, this was how it was supposed to end.
/I thank you,/ he whispered before closing his eyes, /and I give you my forgiveness and perhaps I ask for yours, sensei./
***
"Heh! Mister hitokiri! Ahh I can't get through." Muttered the man as he scrambled to get to the little hut overwhelmed by the whiteness it was enveloped in.
/His tenacity is admirable./ Nakiwara chuckled watching the man do his inane dance across the garden. He had hoped to have had left before that man came back again. But the snow had held him back. Only that? The snow? He knew he had something left to learn. Yet he could not find it.
He considered his offer. He needed the money to get back to Kyoto and the man he was supposed to kill was corrupt and was rotting from the inside his employer assured him. Someone Japan could do without. Someone who made lives of other people a living hell. And he believed it. He believed it. Needing something to justify his answer. Needing something to purge his guilt.
Had the circumstances been different may be his answer would be different. Had his father not loved his mother so much, had his mother not loved two men, had he not let his hate consume him, had he seen the truth earlier. But he didn't and things weren't different.
"I will do it then."
***
He shifted his position. He could hear the old man's labored breath and he moved quickly. His dagger poised above his target's throat. He looked at the shriveled shell of a man that lay sleeping before him and his mind wandered to that little patch of garden Okina tended. He saw a young boy holding on to his Jiya's old robes. Crying over his spilled carrots. And the man in front of him began to change, it had contorted to almost resembling Okina, until it became Okina.
His hand faltered and he brought the dagger back down, deciding that he had made a mistake but nicking the old man on his arm and spilling ancient blood on his hands.
"Gyaah!" The old man woke with a start, terrified of the unfamiliar face before him. He began to call for help but his seasoned voice was forever silenced by the coldness of the steel that glinted in Nakiwara's hand.
His eyes grew wide as the blood splattered across his face. But he instinctively drew his sword at the first sign of people rushing to rescue a man that was already dead. He took his stance...
"Feh! What a mess!" his employer bellowed with his fetid breath. "The old one did things smoothly and quickly." He grumbled looking at the bloodstained boy. "Here is your money. I deducted a small amount because I was not pleased with your performance." He handed the new hitokiri a cloth bag that jingled with the promise of good food and a warm bed.
***
/His eyes...his eyes were... /the thought was momentarily pushed from his mind as he splashed the cold water he drew form the well onto his face. The diluted mixture of blood flowing lazily across his body.
/His eyes were pleading, begging for his life. And those other men shouldn't have died. They weren't in the bargain./ He sighed closing his eyes. He knew in agreeing to kill that man he had degraded himself and everything he believed in. But now, now he had lost his soul. .Those men's lives were worth more than a few coins. Was my soul sold so cheaply? Will I never redeem myself?.
He bowed his head in lament, a circle of red snow gathering around him.
***
He looked down at the Aoiya. How alien it seemed. He had been away for so long that he wondered if the city still remembered him. He smiled. Kyoto looked beautiful in the sunset. And for a second a memory of long walks with a faceless man in the blood of the dying sun crept back into his mind. Yes Kyoto did look beautiful in the sunset.
He entered the Aoiya sitting himself on one of the tables.
"Yes?" Omasu asked putting on her charm as the handsome youth entered.
"I would like some okashi?"
"I'm sorry we don't have those here."
"You do in your room." She stopped and looked at him, he smiled at her. She then blushed at her earlier attempt to flirt with him.
"Naki-chan is that you?" she screamed, dropping her tray and drawing him into her arms.
***
Everyone was either drunk or passed out. Omasu was complaining about her lack of lovers while Kuro complained why she did not take notice of him. Okon kept whimpering about her boyfriend being such a cold fish in bed and Shiro hinted at being gay (eeew! Sorry all Shiro worshipers I couldn't help it. This fic needed some life in it. Sorry!). It seems they had missed the boy a little too much.
But Okina refrained from drinking, which sent many eyebrows up in surprise. He opted instead to drink tea. Something bothered the old man. He contemplated the boy...no the man in front of him.
/His eyes, are those of one who has seen blood spilled before him. Blood he himself had spilled. He shook his head in desolation. Twice he came to me, and twice I have failed in protecting him. I could not protect him from his heritage and I could not protect him from his fate./
He looked at the boy's blue eyes and the smile that played on his lips, is that freely given? He asked himself in despair.
***
He had taken Aoshi's old room because Shiro and Kuro's room could not accommodate another messy resident. He looked around the silent room. They had fixed it up quite well and yet there were still traces of Aoshi. And he smiled, /I have done what I had promised sensei, I have avenged your death./ Something nagged at the back of his head, /at what price? /
Seasons had come and gone and Nakiwara was adjusting fairly well to his life in the Aoiya. Helping Shiro and Kuro with the cooking. He somehow fought all the unpleasant memories he kept inside. Rotting his very core.
He was in the kitchen chopping some leeks when a shrill shriek came from the direction of the restaurant. He stumbled to his feet as he scrambled to get to where the shout emanated from, there was no doubt about it, that was Omasu.
He reached her just in time to see her tears begin to fall and the people to gather about her as she whimpered something indecipherable. She was standing in front of the Aoiya's entrance.
"Speak up Omasu!" Nakiwara demanded impatiently.
"The poor dog! He was run over by a cart and now he's just lying there."
It was here that he noticed the pile of skin and flesh in front of her. The matted brown fur and the parasites promenading on the cur's hide testified that it was a stray. If it wasn't for the slight rising and falling of the beast's chest, revealing the thin ribs that was almost bare, one would think that it was already dead.
"Do something for it Nakiwara." Omasu pleaded. He looked at the pitiful thing lying on the street and he felt the knife that was still in his hands. Without a second thought he sent it flying, hitting the dog on the neck. It gave a small whimper before succumbing to eternal silence.
"What...have...you...done?" she stammered, eyes forgetting the tears they were shedding and grew wide in disbelief.
"I did what you asked."
"I did not mean for you to kill it!"
"It is of no use to anyone now, it is crippled and weak. It is useless better that it were dead." He stated simply retrieving his knife and wincing at the filthy blood that sheathed its beautiful silver.
Okina witnessed what happened and moved towards him, placing his hand on the younger man's shoulder. He looked into his grandson's blue eyes and took his callused hands. /The kisses of a sword,/ he thought sadly. He took his hand and started to place it on the dog's side. Nakiwara tried to pull away but Okina's hidden strength unhindered by the years held him where he was. He felt the ragged pelt beneath his hand and looked horrified at the old man.
"Jiya, wha..." he began to protest. The old man shushed him and looked into his eyes. Nakiwara was surprised by the sadness mirrored in them.
"Can't you understand what it feels? Can't you feel its pain?" he paused seeing the confusion in the young man's eyes. And he felt a distinct sadness that announced the coming of despair. "Then you are the one that's weak Nakiwara, you are the one crippled inside."
***
He looked at his hands. Why had Jiya spoken like that? What was he supposed to see? Ever since he returned he had felt a certain detachedness from the others. Like he didn't belong. And now more than ever he felt that, perhaps he never belonged in the Oniwabanshuu. None of them knew what it was like. To have been to hell and return to something so changed that it was almost alien. To understand nothing of their life and them understand nothing of yours. Did he belong on that mountain with the empty house and the cold grave? Was he meant to be like him?
He moved towards the drawer looking for something to change into forcing the voice from his head. He opened the top drawer and as the darkness gave way to his little candle revealing one solitary thing in its recesses. An old paper crane.
It looked soiled and the tattered edges clearly showed that it has been fingered constantly. Stroked lovingly and stained with tears. /Sensei must of loved whoever gave him this,/ he thought turning it over in his hand and he froze, it was almost indiscernible but it was there, misspelled and written in a childish scrawl was the name of his mother.
"What do you wish of me Jiya?" he asked not tearing his eyes from the puzzle he held in his hands.
Okina melted from the shadows and made himself seen coughing to catch the boy's attention. He looked up at the old man.
"I had hoped that your hands would not know the taste of blood Nakiwara, but it seems this hope was in vain."
"What do you speak of?"
"Your eyes cannot hide the truth you so desperately want to conceal. And now your heart has grown cold as well." He paused drawing in a strained breath. "What has he done to you?"
"He gave me what I needed in order to kill him." he stated simply.
"He also gave you what you needed to destroy yourself." He answered. He looked at him, /only sixteen./ "Your mother was afraid you might become a hitokiri like your father, I am afraid he has made you one."
His head was swimming now, /what is he saying?/ He did not want to listen to the ramblings of a senile old man. Too burdened by the years to fully comprehend the memories he still had inside of him.
"You look distressed."
"What was his name?"
It was Okina's turn to look distressed as what he has truly done finally dawned on him. "Perhaps he has reasons for not telling you, but the time has come for you to learn the truth, the truth that may save you." Nakiwara looked at him. Okina noticed the little paper crane he had in his hand. It was almost comical how it all came back to this, and yet Okina could not find the heart to smile.
"Almost twenty years ago, your mother left the Aoiya to find herself and here she encountered your father. She made him into a peaceful man. A man whose every waking moment was spent at her side and whose every breath was taken to hear her voice. A man whose past sins she washed away and whose life began anew here, in these walls."
"I know of this."
"Did you know that her death almost destroyed him? How she was his world and how his heart shattered the moment she let go of his hand?" Nakiwara looked at him passively, he knew all of this. "Did you know of a secret love that drove him insane? Of a secret wish that sealed the future of his son and his soul?" he paused.
"Did you know how he could not set himself free for fear of crumbling your freedom? Of how fate spat on his face and turned you into what he dreaded? What he despaired? What he was afraid of?"
"What has this got to do with the man whose name I now seek?"
"It has got everything to do with him." he looked at the confused face of his grandson. "That man was Seta Soujiro your father, and you my child are his son." Nakiwara's eyes widened in disbelief.
"Lies! Was everything I was ever told lies?" he asked through clenched teeth.
"Aoshi, had his reason's for not telling you, as did Soujiro. But not all that was said were lies, Soujiro did kill your father, in some way."
"Why?"
"Would you question inconstant fate? It just is child, fate has it's own course that none can know. It is how you face the consequences it leaves you with that matter. Understand boy. " He left the boy then, praying he did the right thing.
The boy dropped to his knees, his world spinning. /Was it true? Was it all true?/ All his life, he was dominated by three images. The immaculate Seta Soujiro, who died for love. The esteemed Shinomori Aoshi, who raised him. And the last one, who remained nameless till now. He was more real than the two previous ones had been. He saw his tears, he saw his weaknesses and he saw his pain. And now he understood why.
Perhaps if it were a different man, perhaps if he wasn't who he was, this would have destroyed him. But he was Seta Nakiwara, Seta Soujiro and Makimachi Misao's son, Shinomori Aoshi's pupil and the heir to the Oniwabanshuu's okashira. This was who he was.
/He knew it was my only happiness, the illusion Aoshi-sama gave me. He knew and he suffered to be killed by his son to preserve this happiness. How could someone love me so much? He was my father, he was my enemy and he loved me more than anyone could./
He felt it streak across his face and fall to his hands that were resting on his knees. It seemed to wash away the pain that those eight years had encrusted around his heart. For the first time in his life Seta Nakiwara truly understood how loved he actually was. For the first time in his life he knew what shedding tears truly meant. And he let them all flow. To wash away the bitterness in his heart and to baptize him in their love.
When it seemed that his body would not permit any more tears to escape his blue eyes, he took his knife from his drawer and drew it to his ponytail. He felt his long hair brush against his back like a lover, pleading with him, he knew what he had to do. His knife shone a brilliant silver as it passed through the ebony of his hair. He closed his eyes as the remnant of his hair fell back to his face. And he smiled. He knew what to do.
***
He had divided his hair into three bundles, braided each one and set out to finish his task. The first one he laid on his mother's grave, the second on Aoshi's and the third he found himself heading back to that faraway place he had decided to forget.
He laid it on an unmarked stone as he watched the smoke rising from the hut he had set on fire a while ago. That ended those eight years, it was behind him now./ Everything that you had become dies with that fire. Now all you are is the man my mother loved and the one who gave up his life for my happiness. Please find not just happiness, but the happiness you deserve wherever you are father./ And as he faced the last grave he whispered a promise to the world. /This I vow to my mother whose memory I hold dear forever, to Aoshi-sama who I am forever grateful to and to my father whose name I will forever bear with pride, this I vow that I shall never kill again./
It was over.
***
He raised his face to the golden sunlight and felt the soil in his palms, it was good soil and soon he would harvest his radishes.
~end~
okashi-sweets, confections, candy
Author's notes:
The title is supposed to mean Nakiwara's happiness and the open fields means his life and more importantly Misao's love coz she smells of open fields and sunlight remember? Well the whole series spoke of the happiness of someone or the other it was bound to find itself in the title, it was his true happiness, no more slashing for this cutie. In the last scene where Nakiwara was tending his garden, I sort of stole the radish idea from the ova, hehe, actually what it means is that Misao had saved her son again the metaphor for open fields and sunlight. He was a man of peace now and his cutting his hair means he had forsaken his hitokiri training. What Soujiro could not fulfill his son did.
Actually before I thought up Of paper cranes... the working title was Salvation. Anyhu the history of that title is that Misao was the salvation of all three men. Whoohoo you go girl!!!! Kinda obvious huh? Here' s a toast to all Misao lovers out there, me included.
I don't know if I can top OPCAP hell even the sequels didn't pack as much punch as the first. I'm just grateful I got to write this and I got the chance to have others read it and actually be interested enough to read through all 42 pages (prologue included).
Maraming salamat po.
