First lessons

Age 6/5

[Juubei]

The milky light sneaking in through the cracks in the paper screen is that kind of light; the illumination of a clear spring morning where the cherry trees shake themselves, stretch out their slender branches to the promise of warmth in the eastern sky, and feeling the little birds that have been missing all winter hopping along their boughs realise 'oh look, springtime has come around again.' It's the kind of morning where you might well spot the first blossoms breaking free from their buds on those same trees, or perhaps a small deer running easily across the landscape surrounding the Fuuchouin manor, or maybe even the shy kami spirit Sakura swears she has seen in the woods around the cottage, and there are a hundred and one things for a small boy to be getting himself into on a day like today.

Juubei just can't stand to stay in bed a moment longer.

He pushes the soft covers away enough that he can slide out from the warm space between his parents – his father mumbles something and shifts slightly in his sleep, and Juubei freezes until he is sure it's safe, stepping with exaggerated caution over his mother and tiptoeing along the edges of the room, one hand on the wall to steady himself, until he reaches the door. He slides it open just enough to squeeze through and closes it again, wincing a little at the familiar creak that seems to be asking him exactly what he's doing up at this hour, but once on the other side he feels more confident and giggles a little at his own daring.

Daring he may be, this half-sized samurai, but some missions can't be carried out without a little assistance. Juubei turns and pads on quiet feet towards the next door along the narrow corridor, avoiding the telltale creak that hides under the loose floorboard three paces from his parents' room, and pulls open the door that has 'Sakura' stencilled in elegant calligraphy on a small hanging sign.

Like any normal person over the age of six, Kakei Sakura is still asleep at this hour, bundled up in deep pink sheets; a mere suggestion of a sleeping girl curled demurely on her futon. Juubei doesn't stand on ceremony, entering quickly and dropping to his knees beside the top of her head that is all that is visible under the heavy material.

"Hey, 'neechan," he whispers. "'Neechan, wake up…"

When that doesn't work he resorts to tugging at her hair with increasing force, at the same time chanting "'neechan, 'neechan, 'neechan," in steadily louder and more insistent tones until Sakura pulls away and swats at him with a sleep-clumsy hand.

"Juubei!"

"Come on come on, you have to get up now! I need you to help me."

The covers pull back just far enough to reveal one cranky eye the colour of not-yet-6am on a chilly pastel morning. A sigh. "…What now?"

That's all the opening Juubei needs. "I'm hunting the kami today, so I need you to come along and tell me when we see him, okay? Otherwise how will I know if it's really him?"

Despite the time, there's a hint of a grin in Sakura's voice as she answers. Juubei still hasn't grown out of that gullible phase, and oh it's wrong but she has such fun teasing him. "I think you'll know when you see him, Juubei-kun. Remember what I told you? He's a tiny girly little thing, littler than you, even, with long brown hair and a pink kimono. But I don't think you'll have much luck at this time: I don't think kami get up much before eight o'clock on weekends. Are you still going to stuff him in a sack and carry him home when you catch him?"

Juubei prickles at the 'littler than you, even' comment, but his good mood survives intact, and with it his boundless energy that refuses to go back to bed and wait for the kami to get up so he can be kidnapped. There's only one thing left to do in a situation like this so he does it, pouncing on Sakura and attempting to wriggle under the blankets. If he aggravates her enough,  'neechan won't be able to go back to sleep and maybe she'll play with him.

He has, however, neglected to take into account the minor detail that he's bothering Sakura, who is currently wrapped in a mass of sheets. Faced with an annoying little sibling intruding into her element, Sakura makes a grab at the nearest bundle of soft pink fabric and--

"Kakei Fui Ryuu!"

Like the spreading wings of a peacock, the material under her fingers comes to life, unfolding and rearing up around the small boy before coiling snakelike around his wriggling form and hiding it from view. Just to drive home her victory, Sakura makes sure to sit quite firmly atop the squirming brother-shaped bundle and try to render him immoveable.

For his part Juubei eventually manages to free an arm and a leg from the tangled sheets, though they're still wrapped firmly around his head and the rest of his body. He makes a brave effort to free himself, but the fact that he's squealing and giggling helplessly probably doesn't help his cause.

Juubei fights and Sakura chuckles, and all notions of time are lost. Juubei frees another leg and Sakura traps his arm again and adds another sheet to the bindings, and their laughter breaks out of the room to run heedless through the cottage. Juubei waves a foot blindly in his sister's direction and Sakura catches hold and tickles him mercilessly, and both turn around with honest surprise when their parents burst into the room to demand an explanation of what they think they're doing up at this hour.

Juubei won't see the kami this year.

[Toshiki]

There's a phoenix sitting on the windowsill.

…Okay, Toshiki might have to admit that most phoenixes are slightly more nobly golden and fiery and slightly less pigeon-shaped, but it could be a phoenix. There's no law against phoenixes being in disguise, as far as he knows, and as disguises go it's a pretty convincing one. He leans his chin on a hand and regards it seriously. The phoenix trains its beady little eyes on him and stares right back.

"Uryuu! Are you paying attention to your text, or are you looking out of the window?"

Toshiki jumps slightly and his attention snaps back to the familiar tedium of the temple schoolroom, slightly dismayed to find himself still here, only five minutes into the future since he was here last. Aware of the concentrated stares of seventeen other acolytes and the megawatt glare of Brother Shun beside the chalk dust coated blackboard, he nonchalantly moves his gaze down to the thick book in front of him. The paper is creased and yellowing, the binding beginning to crumble away beneath his non-too-careful handling: it must have been printed sometime just after the Pacific War, but compared to its contents it is positively new, in pristine just-minted form. The temple needs to train its charges in the skills of reading and writing amongst other things, and the materials it chooses to do so reflect the ends to which they'll eventually be used.

Glancing sidelong at the boy sitting beside him, Toshiki turns as unobtrusively as possible to the correct page, and feels the familiar drop in his chest as his heart sinks to approximately the level of his stomach. Lin Chi Yi Sen again, great.

'Friends, I tell you this: there is no Buddha, no spiritual path to follow, no training and no realization. What are you so feverishly running after? Putting a head on top of your own head, you blind idiots? Your head is right where it should be. The trouble lies in your not believing in yourselves enough. Because you don't believe in yourselves you are knocked here and there by all the conditions in which you find yourselves. Being enslaved and turned around by objective situations, you have no freedom whatsoever; you are not masters of yourselves...'

Toshiki restrains the urge to roll his eyes. He hates this lesson most of all – the dull Buddhist texts, the incomprehensible kanji characters these old monks and philosophers like to use to show off their learning… who cares about this stuff, anyway? He's a fighter, is Toshiki: he focuses and practices and he improves and he never ever gives up. That's why he's foremost amongst the boys his age at the temple dojo. But when he's called to stare at a textbook for long hours memorising kanji and absorbing weighty Buddhist ponderings his attention wanders and turns to phoenixes and dragons, kami and demons, shining gemstones in a shallow riverbed or pale fruit hanging in the light of the moon. He's not an unintelligent boy, far from it, but his imagination is still growing at a faster rate than the rest of him and as a result his studies suffer and trail off into incomprehension and elaborately doodled question marks that crawl around the page like a colony of snails.

 Knowing that the threadbare monk at the head of the class is keeping a close eye on him, he continues to diligently follow the inky shapes that dance mockingly on the paper as one of the other acolytes reads them aloud in a voice that stutters and stumbles over itself every couple of syllables.

'O you followers of Truth! Do not be deceived by others. Inwardly or outwardly, if you encounter any obstacles, kill them right away. If you meet the Buddha, kill him! Do not get yourself entangled with any object, but stand above, pass on and be free!'

Toshiki isn't here by choice. The temple is his only home; these stones have surrounded him in their protective suffocation ever since he can remember. What does he want to do with his life? No small child can know the answer to that question, of course, but the one thing he does know is the thought that runs through his head like his very own mantra, confirming day and night this is not for me, I don't want this, this is not for me. Let his hateful 'brothers' here live out the rest of their lives inside these walls that shield them from the outside world, these boys who can't throw a punch to match him, who can't block one of his attacks no matter how they might taunt him with their words and their stares and their laughter. The world is very likely a horrible place, but Toshiki wants to see it. Toshiki needs to see it.

When he looks again, the phoenix is gone.

[Kadsuki]

Children, as he is often told, are seen and not heard.

Of course, it's not really fair that he hears so many lectures on what children should be or should do, since he is and does all those things anyway. Being a perfectly well behaved and well-brought up heir to such a prominent family is frustratingly difficult at the best of times, but doesn't he try?

That's why he's sitting here quietly with a handful of illustrated poetry cards instead of running around outside in the fresh spring air under the first smattering of cherry blossoms that dot the estate. Though he usually keeps to his mother's suite of rooms, today is the last day this year that the hina dolls he received at his birth will be displayed on their red seven-tiered podium, and he has come to bid them a quiet farewell. He rather suspects his father is sitting by the window, book in hand, for the same reason.

Looking at Fuuchouin Tsukihiko, it is easy to see where his son's appearance stems from. Like all male members of the clan he is small, slim, almost waif-like and lost inside the deep winter kimono, which is elegant despite its heavy folds and lines, and his black hair would spill across his shoulders and down almost to the floor were it not bound back inside its long wrap. There is a quiet jingle of cat-bells as he turns to catch the boy's searching gaze, and he smiles and turns again to look out through the window at the ancient gardens that surround the manor.

Kadsuki is more interested in the dolls. On the lowest levels of the display are the contents of a miniature bridal trousseau: a tiny lacquered tea set, musical instruments, a palanquin and a large box with inlaid mother of pearl figures dancing upon its shiny black surface. He's had his fingers forcibly removed from these fascinating treasures so many times that he doesn't even attempt to play with them now.

Above the sixth level, things really start getting interesting. On the fifth level three court guards sit pompously to attention between potted peach blossoms, the handmade silken petals brushing the stuffy robes of the court officials on the shelf above. Moving higher and there are five seated figurines holding miniature instruments in their delicate little hands, their matching period-costumes evoking the mood of the long-ago Heian court, now brought so close to the present Kadsuki can almost see…but he's getting ahead of himself.

To see the final two levels he has to stand on tiptoe, balancing carefully with rather more grace than such a small child should really have. From this position he can make out the three ladies-in-waiting as they perch on their embroidered cushions with identical smug expressions. Kadsuki always thinks they look as though they're in the middle of sharing some particularly nasty gossip, and they're waiting for him to go away out of earshot before they continue. Finally he has to lean forward, bracing himself on the lowest shelf with his fingertips (and oh, wouldn't his mother throw a fit if she were to see him so close to the expensive breakables) For someone of his stature, it's the only way to see the highest two figures: the emperor and his empress, as they look down haughtily upon the lower stories and the boy peering up at them.

"Goodbye, goodbye," he whispers to the silent little puppets, "sleep well until next year."

On her high throne, the empress tilts her head and looks at him. Her glassy black eyes twinkle.

Kadsuki gasps, staggers back as she rises from her cushion and takes tiny delicate steps towards him. He spins around, opening his mouth to call for his father, then stops. Something about the way Tsukihiko is looking far too seriously out of that window…

He turns round again as the emperor jumps up as well and begins chasing the empress around the top level of the structure. Narrowing his eyes… yes, he can just make out the fine threads entwined around the dolls' limbs and crisscrossing through the air, and he stifles his giggles with his hands. Now all the courtiers and handmaidens join in the chase, as the empress turns the tables and pursues the emperor up and down the podium, the chase finally culminating with the other dolls stuffing him in the great black box and seating the empress on its lid to keep him in.

The play apparently finished, he turns around to his father again, only to find Tsukihiko watching him with a mischievous grin on his face. He matches it, but his tone is stern as he admonishes, "if I'm not allowed to play with the dolls, then I don't think mother would let you either." Glancing back at the display, he adds "she might put you in that box if you're not careful."

His father chuckles. "I'll take that risk." He detaches a small bell from the wraps restraining his hair, and holds it out. It gives out a sweet chime in the chill silence of the manor's eastern wing as Kadsuki receives it in his palm, closing small fingers around it and marvelling at its coolness, its perfect symmetry and the tone of the music that issues from his fist each time he moves it. Even when he stops moving the sounds continue as the threads spooled securely inside the tiny sphere hum with a familiar resonance to his presence. This is the first time he has held one of these bells, though they adorn the hair of many of his relatives. Before they have always been symbols of beauty and security, a comforting reminder that his family is nearby and always ready to protect and reassure him. Now, for the first time he recognises another reality. This tiny thing is a weapon – he can feel the energy coiled up tight inside it, an energy that has begun to respond to him. For the first time Kadsuki is aware of his own power, this thing inside him that calls to the threads, wants him to grow bigger and stronger so he can bend them to his will, and for the first time he becomes afraid.

For that reason he doesn't protest when Tsukihiko reclaims the bell and fastens it back in its accustomed place. Forgetting his lessons of etiquette and protocol he scrunches his eyes closed and buries his face into his father's kimono, denying the outside world and everything it wants of him. For the moment he just wants to stay here as he is right now: not a Fuuchouin, not a Threadspinner with a great future expected of him, just Kadsu-chan and nothing more.

Not understanding, Tsukihiko chuckles and shakes his head at his child's capricious behaviour, and with a porcelain-fine hand on his slender shoulders pulls him closer into the hug.

* * *

Couldn't resist giving Toshiki that text to read – it seems to sum his character and his problems up so well. I love writing Kadsuki's parts, since there are so many fun traditional girls' traditions to weave into his family doings. I found some nice photographs of the conventional hina dolls at http://www.vill.nishiokoppe.hokkaido.jp/Office/AET/homepage61.jpg and http://members.tripod.com/asiatravelclub/images/mar99archives/Hinadoll.jpg