A product of insomnia
Standard disclaimers apply.
A big thank you to all who'd reveiwed. Thank you so much for your kind words.
The Okashira Who Never Smiles
- First Phase
Makimachi Akatsuki regarded the boy thoughtfully while flicking away an inquisitive fly. The old man was dressed in his full fighting regalia - a navy blue omitsu gi with matching flexi-pants elegantly tailored to the best fit, a protective sturdy jacket of overlapping scales of leather, and boots made from untreated animal hides. He was carrying a small parchment in his hands, and his sword hung conveniently in his belt. Even though he was aged, he made an imposing sight. One which would have struck terror into the soul of any foe.
"You, boy, come over here."
The youth looked irritatedly across the pitch at the elderly figure. Formal lessons for the day have long ended - most of the other acolytes were downtown celebrating a festival. It was Obon or something like that, why they'd bothered celebrating such trivial festivities in life, was beyond him. Which would leave him to practice and perfect his Kenpokata in peace, or so he had thought.
"Aoshi, right?" Akatsuki shouted again. At the mention of his name, the boy froze in a majestic stunt - his left leg leading and bent deeply at an angle, his right stretched further back, poised with discipline; whilst his right hand thrust high, strangling the jugular veins of an imaginary foe powerfully, as his fisted left purposefully graced his waist, protecting his kidneys from possible bruising impact.
"Come here, boy," he beckoned urgently. A messenger who had just arrived now hurried away.
Reluctantly, Aoshi obeyed the command. This was, after all, the big leader man himself.
"When the Gods, in their wisdom sent you here, they cannot have known what a heavy burden they were putting on an old man's shoulders."
Aoshi was perplexed. What wrong did he do? He contemplated for a brief while but still failed to come up with anything.
The old man chuckled good-naturedly as he saw the confusion in Aoshi's eyes, "I have been observing you, Aoshi, and you seem to be ahead of your compatriots by leaps. In at least skills and mentality, if I could say so myself. Somehow it frightens me a little, that at such a young age, you are putting out such excellent progress." Aoshi arched a brow. "… Your fighting and actions display a unique quality of quick thinking and maturity that normally someone of your youth could not have possibly possessed."
"Then the Okashira is saying I'm not normal?" Aoshi icily axed.
"That's exactly what I'm saying, boy. I dare say, you are even more dependable than some of my seasoned men!" the Okashira went on, taking in none of Aoshi's hostile tone. "You have a gift, Aoshi. A gift. But that doesn't mean you should be devoid of emotions." He sighed softly.
"It gets lonely being the Okashira sometimes, Aoshi," the man languidly continued. "My wife, the woman I love, sees me as a stranger. My own children, fear me. And my men, I don't know for certain if they're loyally following me out of respect and sheer will or just simply because they have been forcefully blinded by dread," Akatsuki resigned softly.
"Emotions, sir, are irrelevant," the boy's youthful face, hardened. "They always get in the way, … yet lead you to nothing of worth," he briefly looked away before training his inscrutable eyes on the old man again. " I have no need for such paltry things, Okashira," Aoshi affirmed decidedly, yet his voice was almost a whisper.
"That's where you're wrong, Aoshi," the old man retorted. "To bear emotions is to live life. Everyone should all have desires and needs and dreams to fulfill. Things to look forward to and hope. Someday you will too, when you've learnt to love. Love could be for anything – power, ideals, country, comrades, family… Both tangible and non."
As if to emphasize his point, he paused momentarily before resuming, "It is love that gives us strength. Gives one a purpose in life and drives Man to many great achievements. The future I dream of is a time of much happiness, peace and limitless opportunities for my granddaughter to live in…" For a while he looked a little dejected, but the hazy blur in his eyes quickly disappeared with a tiny shake of his head.
"Let us forget about that for now. For now, I want you to put your fighting skills to good use and help me."
At this, he had won Aoshi's interest. Fighting the other disciples during lessons offered little challenge. And he found not much excitement and fun in besting them because he found it too easy. For even very few of his experienced seniors could match his skills. Aoshi had always longed for the excuse to put his Kenpo and kodachi wielding abilities to a more genuine purpose. And this could just be it.
"Come with me and I shall explain," said Akatsuki, and he refused to speak further until the two of them were sitting in the old man's study.
The room was littered with strange objects Aoshi was unable to identify. Some were gaudily colored and so bright that it was as if the substances of which they were made glowed of their own accord. Others were in subdued hues, and clearly very ancient. Scores of manuals of assortments of fine arts, old and new alike, mostly of martial nature, decorated the sturdy shelves boldly. Aoshi recognized only a few and noted with much interest, a particular dog-eared one among the odd few that laid defiantly on the floor.
The old warrior saw Aoshi's half-fascinated stare at this, and nodded. "That was written by the first initiator of the Oniwabanshuu," he grunted. "Yes, it was written by my early ancestors. It contains records of our early allies and rival clans, methods of fighting they had utilized and specialized in, information of leaders as well as key right men, lists of some of the most commonly used poisons and their antidotes, and even includes other interesting weapons and skills of those times. You can have it, if you like," the Okashira declared simply, as though all he had just mentioned was of little or no importance at all.
Aoshi looked gamely at the old man. 'Has he gone senile?'
"You can, if you become the Okashira… If you become Okashira, you can have all this and more," Akatsuki clarified, observing the reaction of the boy closely. When he decided he wasn't averse to the idea he added, "You may, of course, borrow some of the suitable materials that I have here for now. It never hurts to always be more knowledgeable, yes? And I suppose I can trust you enough with these, can't I?" His face then took on a serious expression but he was happy when Aoshi nodded in understanding.
His right hand reached into his jacket and deftly fished out a pretty netsuke. It was tiny, about half the size of his palms and had been skillfully crafted from a beautiful seashell that emanated a brilliant bluish-green color. As he set the little box down, he returned his attention to the boy before him.
"But why me? …Why single me out, Okashira?" Aoshi asked curiously, though trying hard not to let it show.
"Nice little box, isn't it?" Akatsuki posed.
"Lovely." The boy returned him a tetchy nod and, much to Akatsuki's amusement, patiently waited for his answer still.
The Okashira briefly gazed into Aoshi's young eyes as he sighed. "When in an enemy's lair, it is essential to have someone who has your complete trust, to mind your back. … Which brings me," he said, "to the reason I've asked you to help me."
"Understood," said Aoshi, leaning forward slightly.
At this controlled show of emotions, the old man smirked knowingly. "We've heard reports that there are …scouting parties of feudal samurais intruding into our territorial terrain in Edo. So far, … the reports came only from the farms on the flanks of the Fuji Mountains, but unless we repel those creatures as soon as possible, they will become bolder and bolder in their forays."
Akatsuki read the thoughts that were chasing each other across Aoshi's face. "No, no," he said. "I'm not asking you to do battle with the other clan. You're a little too young for that yet." The old man looked out of the window, where the sun was set low in the sky. The days were still short, even though spring was near, and the cold air pinched the brow of the nose and made the earlobes tingle.
"We must repel the intrusion, as I've said," remarked Akatsuki absently, taking the netsuke into his right hand and returning it back into his jacket. "However, before we can send an army against them, we must establish where they are and how strong their forces are. For this we need a spy mission."
The old man looked pointedly at Aoshi. "You have some qualities I admire. One of these is courage, and another is your ability with weapons as well as your outstandingly considerable omitsu skills. I also know that you are a smart boy, but we'd see. Going on a mission of this kind may persuade you that there is more to the way of the Oniwabanshuu than mere courage and brute strength."
"Who else will be on this mission, Sir?" asked Aoshi. He realized that there would be dangers, but at least he was not being asked to battle directly with the ruthless swordsmen. His swordsmanship might be adept, but he was all too conscious of his youth and inexperience.
"Oh," muttered the old man, offhandedly, "it'll be just you and me, of course."
The Obon festival, is a traditional commemoration of the spirits of the dead. Celebrated in July or August, typical Obon activities include Japanese folk dances, food booths, and carnival games.
