Chapter Two
Memories
The sky was a bright, blood red that ended with orange and rose-colored glows on the horizon's edge. It looked as if the spilt blood from only moments ago had been painted across the sky and edged with the flames of burning houses. Smoke filled the air, cries reaching up above them into the heavens. A young child only four or five years of age was running as fast as her short legs would carry her, through the middle of a wide pasture with high grasses, a nimble little goat behind her. Though swift for her age, it was no avail to the tall men that bore sharp blades. Reaching the edge of the meadow that slowly melted into woods, the girl stumbled over a tree root and fell to the ground.
She cried out as with a swift movement the man felled the small, little female goat, which had been the girls dearest play companion. Staring at the ground she cried softly, remembered the hunched figure of her father's dead body, the broken, bloodied blade beside him. She did nothing as the man swept her up and turned in the other direction. All other sounds faded out and then her sight began to blur. Suddenly, she felt the man stumble and she was thrown downwards, and rolled onto her back, staring up into the silent treetops and the twighlight filtering through the leaves. A rough looking, bearded face leaned over her, before darkness melted into the light and then there was – nothing.
It was two days later. The child followed several feet behind the man, watching him silently.
"What is your name, young one?" He asked that morning.
"Miyuki." She replied.
He shook his head, "Iie, That is no name for you. You a need a strong name. Leave your old name and life behind, there's nothing for you there." He said bluntly.
The child stared at him, confused, and blinked. "Iie! Iie!", She paused and looked at the tall man, "Demo... I like my name – it's my name, it was my mother's name!" And she began to sob pitifully.
"Wouldn't you rather have the name Seiko?" He said roughly.
She continued to wail.
"Very well, you can have both – Miyuki Seiko." The man waited for a reply, and eventually she stopped her crying to look up and nod doubtfully at him. After a few moments she asked, "What's your name?"
"You may call me Torao." He answered.
Years seemed to fly, and now the girl was seven. The man was instructing her with a sword after two years of sticks or a wooden sword, learning speed, how to hold it, and other techniques. The small figure struggled under the weight of the heavy sword, trying to keep it up. From a distance, it looked as if a tall, rough swordsman was picking a fight with a little girl, who was trying to defend herself with an overly large sword. He gave several commands, but each time she failed, and she fell to the ground on her knees along with the heavy blade, before he finally hissed something and simply turned and left.
The girl sat on a riverbank, biting her lip to keep from crying. She was terribly disappointed with herself that she had annoyed her teacher, the only person in her short life that seemed important right now, having disgraced him. It seemed her only goal in life was to make him happy and proud of her, but to her she was never able to do anything right in his eyes. She was always to small or two weak or to stupid. After several moments or staring at the pathetic reflection in the running water she wrapped the blade back up in it's cloth and lugged back to the clearing in the trees that they had found several days before.
More years passed. The girl was twelve years of age, but by now very skilled with sword, and strong for her age. She stood alone, like a black pillar against the wind-swept gray sky, atop of a cliff looking down at the river and the countryside. There was sadness in her eyes, but her sword, which was drawn, she sheathed, turned, and began to walk. Suddenly the years flew, and suddenly a slim, young man with red hair and violet eyes turned and looked at a figure in the shadows. *Eyes, his eyes.* A sword glinted. *Are you going to kill me?* Silence. *No.* The moon shone. *But that's your job, isn't it? You're an assassin? Young. Too young.* Frightened eyes. *I have no sword, but you do. Are you here to kill me?* The breeze blew. *Yes.* The silence of deaths. *Then I ask again, are you going to kill me?** No. No. No...*
The girl had grown, now having lived sixteen years. Pain was thick. In the dark night-filled alleyway, the sword fell to the ground with a clatter, the still warm blood on it dripping. A middle-aged man looked down at it, pleased, and smiled at the girl. Two other men stood, blinking nervously and waiting.
"Che, curse you, Ichiro." She hissed, but the man smiled anyways and nodded.
"You've done the job. Good enough."
Blossoms fell like snow on the corpse.
"Forgive me, Makoto - Gomen nasai, Gomen nasai."
His body of Ichiro lay in the courtyard, dead, and bloody, the only way it should be, thought the girl. And she was finally free, from him and any other ties, but not from memories and guilt. *Who are you?* * I am Seiko.** Seiko? Seiko – pray tell, how young are you Seiko?* Anger...no. *Does that concern you?* A smile, opposite it frightened eyes. *I should like to know my attacker's age*. A heavy breath. *I'm not your attacker*. Silence and still, as if waiting for a breeze. *Why didn't you kill me?* Frightened eyes. *I don't know*. Eyes. His eyes, staring – what do they mean? *Who are you really, Seiko?** I am - a murderer. I am a murderer.*
The sky was a bright, blood red that ended with orange and rose-colored glows on the horizon's edge. It looked as if the spilt blood from only moments ago had been painted across the sky and edged with the flames of burning houses. Smoke filled the air, cries reaching up above them into the heavens. A young child only four or five years of age was running as fast as her short legs would carry her, through the middle of a wide pasture with high grasses, a nimble little goat behind her. Though swift for her age, it was no avail to the tall men that bore sharp blades. Reaching the edge of the meadow that slowly melted into woods, the girl stumbled over a tree root and fell to the ground.
She cried out as with a swift movement the man felled the small, little female goat, which had been the girls dearest play companion. Staring at the ground she cried softly, remembered the hunched figure of her father's dead body, the broken, bloodied blade beside him. She did nothing as the man swept her up and turned in the other direction. All other sounds faded out and then her sight began to blur. Suddenly, she felt the man stumble and she was thrown downwards, and rolled onto her back, staring up into the silent treetops and the twighlight filtering through the leaves. A rough looking, bearded face leaned over her, before darkness melted into the light and then there was – nothing.
It was two days later. The child followed several feet behind the man, watching him silently.
"What is your name, young one?" He asked that morning.
"Miyuki." She replied.
He shook his head, "Iie, That is no name for you. You a need a strong name. Leave your old name and life behind, there's nothing for you there." He said bluntly.
The child stared at him, confused, and blinked. "Iie! Iie!", She paused and looked at the tall man, "Demo... I like my name – it's my name, it was my mother's name!" And she began to sob pitifully.
"Wouldn't you rather have the name Seiko?" He said roughly.
She continued to wail.
"Very well, you can have both – Miyuki Seiko." The man waited for a reply, and eventually she stopped her crying to look up and nod doubtfully at him. After a few moments she asked, "What's your name?"
"You may call me Torao." He answered.
Years seemed to fly, and now the girl was seven. The man was instructing her with a sword after two years of sticks or a wooden sword, learning speed, how to hold it, and other techniques. The small figure struggled under the weight of the heavy sword, trying to keep it up. From a distance, it looked as if a tall, rough swordsman was picking a fight with a little girl, who was trying to defend herself with an overly large sword. He gave several commands, but each time she failed, and she fell to the ground on her knees along with the heavy blade, before he finally hissed something and simply turned and left.
The girl sat on a riverbank, biting her lip to keep from crying. She was terribly disappointed with herself that she had annoyed her teacher, the only person in her short life that seemed important right now, having disgraced him. It seemed her only goal in life was to make him happy and proud of her, but to her she was never able to do anything right in his eyes. She was always to small or two weak or to stupid. After several moments or staring at the pathetic reflection in the running water she wrapped the blade back up in it's cloth and lugged back to the clearing in the trees that they had found several days before.
More years passed. The girl was twelve years of age, but by now very skilled with sword, and strong for her age. She stood alone, like a black pillar against the wind-swept gray sky, atop of a cliff looking down at the river and the countryside. There was sadness in her eyes, but her sword, which was drawn, she sheathed, turned, and began to walk. Suddenly the years flew, and suddenly a slim, young man with red hair and violet eyes turned and looked at a figure in the shadows. *Eyes, his eyes.* A sword glinted. *Are you going to kill me?* Silence. *No.* The moon shone. *But that's your job, isn't it? You're an assassin? Young. Too young.* Frightened eyes. *I have no sword, but you do. Are you here to kill me?* The breeze blew. *Yes.* The silence of deaths. *Then I ask again, are you going to kill me?** No. No. No...*
The girl had grown, now having lived sixteen years. Pain was thick. In the dark night-filled alleyway, the sword fell to the ground with a clatter, the still warm blood on it dripping. A middle-aged man looked down at it, pleased, and smiled at the girl. Two other men stood, blinking nervously and waiting.
"Che, curse you, Ichiro." She hissed, but the man smiled anyways and nodded.
"You've done the job. Good enough."
Blossoms fell like snow on the corpse.
"Forgive me, Makoto - Gomen nasai, Gomen nasai."
His body of Ichiro lay in the courtyard, dead, and bloody, the only way it should be, thought the girl. And she was finally free, from him and any other ties, but not from memories and guilt. *Who are you?* * I am Seiko.** Seiko? Seiko – pray tell, how young are you Seiko?* Anger...no. *Does that concern you?* A smile, opposite it frightened eyes. *I should like to know my attacker's age*. A heavy breath. *I'm not your attacker*. Silence and still, as if waiting for a breeze. *Why didn't you kill me?* Frightened eyes. *I don't know*. Eyes. His eyes, staring – what do they mean? *Who are you really, Seiko?** I am - a murderer. I am a murderer.*