Disclaimer: Rurouni Kenshin is the property of Shonen Jump and Nobuhiro
Watsuki. This is merely a work of fanfiction, meant to venerate and never
insult.
-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-
Forsaken Abashiri
-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-
Chapter One: The Colorless Land
-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-
-- 1881 - Abashiri, Hokkaido --
Forsaken. When I look out onto the frozen land, the only word that comes
to mind is 'forsaken'. Truthfully, it's a bit comforting. I would not
feel comfortable in a holy place, a blessed place. This is a land of
blacks and whites; the white of the ice floes in winter, the black of the
Sea of Okhotsk in summer. Black slate rocks, and white skies... Skies
drained of all of their bluish tint, so colorless that you can't
distinguish a cloudy day from a clear one.
Black and white. This, too, is comforting. There are few distractions
for the senses. It is like this: When a man breaks his leg, he must rest
his leg, allow the internal wounds to close, allow the bones to mend. It
is not good for him to push himself and chance agitating his injury. In
the same way, a man with a broken soul, with great scars upon his faith,
must rest. Even the smallest strain is not good for the healing process
until much, much, further into recuperation.
Abashiri. Abashiri. Such a lovely name for such a desolate place. They
tell me that it is the last untamed frontier of Japan. We are pioneers,
the guards tell us, we are pioneers as well as prisoners. We are breaking
rocks to build roads, houses, the infrastructure which will unite this
remote land to the rest of Meiji Japan. I don't care. Let us never
finish. Let the land remain untamed. Let the infrastructure never come
to fruition. Perhaps the Meiji government will finally understand that
there are some things you just can't force into submission.
I still my pickaxe for a moment and let my gaze settle upon a small jetty
not too far from our work detail. Rotund seals are sunning themselves on
the rocks. From this distance, they look like the dumplings Tsubaki-chan
used to make for us on special days. She was not an especially good cook,
but she made each meal with care and pride. And we dined with a special
joy, the happiness of a family which can come together after a long day
and look upon each other's smiles.
My thoughts often stray to the children. The knowledge that they are with
me, smiling at me, even in this bleak place always centers me to my task.
Not the task of breaking rocks, no, that is a task which I can accomplish
with little grief, with a pickaxe or bare-fisted. They center me to the
task of becoming, once again, the man they cherished.
"Anji-osho! Enough rest, back to work!"
I nod at the guard and resume breaking rocks. The season is early fall,
and we are to build a watchtower here before winter sets. We have made
remarkable time on the project. The weather has been good.
The other men, these other prisoners, I try to guide them as best I can.
The work is harder for them, especially those who were not previously
laborers. They have their own demons for crimes they may or may not have
committed, their own rage, their own scars. But, hunger and exhaustion
keep them from becoming too unruly. Usually.
The man working to my left is Yuugai-dono, a short Nagasaki-born merchant
accused of killing a Meiji official in a deal gone bad. I do not
know the truth of it, but I do know he never complains about the hard
work, despite the fact that he probably never did any before he came here.
To my right is a thick-headed brute called Masataka. He has a history of
being a thug for the yakuza, but nonetheless has a pleasant, if highly
uneducated, demeanor.
"Did you notice," Yuugai-dono asks, "That the guards have new guns?"
I didn't notice. I guess that sort of thing isn't really what catches my
eye, anymore. I glance at the nearest one, and find that what Yuugai-dono
says is true. Their guns are different from before, though, knowing as
little about guns as I do, I can't say what difference the change will
make.
Masataka's next swing is a bit ill-placed, and a spray of pebbles hits my
shoulder. He doesn't notice, but he does take his chance to look at the
guards while he's dusting himself off. "Them's some good guns. I seen
that kind a'fore I came here. Our family got a'hole of a couple, but
didn't much come of it, on account'a some rat stole them from our
storehouse."
"I do not care for weapons."
"O'course not. Man like you, Anji-osho, pssssh, you just do a man in with
your hands. Weapons'd be in the way."
Yuugai-dono gives Masataka a squinty-eyed look, which causes the ex-yakuza
to delve back into his pickaxe swings. "What Anji means, Masataka, is
that he's reformed, and does not believe in hurting people. Isn't that
so, Anji?"
Reformed? Reformed...
I just keep working, watching as the rocks split. This, too, is
destruction in order to reconstruct, decimating a boulder to build a
watchtower. Though, I don't feel as bad about that as my previous
inclination -- to destroy the Meiji government to rebuild Japan.
I hear Yuugai-dono give a sigh at my lack of response. Their conversation
turns to dinner, and the hopes that the cooks will afford us some meat
tonight, perhaps roast seal, or salmon. But, due to the rarity of such
dinners, I prefer not to entice my stomach to think of such things.
In truth, prison life does not strike me as being much different than
living the very disciplined life as a monk. Hard work. Fasting. Trying
to be a living man, instead of a base animal... Trying to be awake to all
experiences... Attempting to remain compassionate in a harsh and
cruel world...
Trying to forgive myself, as well as forgive those who wronged the
children...
Though, that last one...
Is still a bit difficult.
-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-
Abashiri Prison is designed like the spokes of a carriage wheel, with all
of the long halls of cells and common rooms leading to a central receiving
station. It is a truly visionary building, with its domed architecture
and strangely sloped archways at the gates. In all my travels as part of
the Juppon Gatana, I have never seen such a building.
The curved architecture, they tell me, is to help keep snow off of the top
of the building. The houses of the native people of this area, the Ainu,
are similar, I hear. Still, in this black-and-white world of northern
Hokkaido, the red brick structure stands out like a sumo wrestler dressed
as a geisha.
Dinner is taken in a common room. There is not much conversation, as we
are all exhausted, and much more interested in putting food into our
stomachs. I try my best to eat slowly, thoughtfully, tasting each
mouthful and giving thanks for it. There is no meat, but no one complains
or points this out. They will renew their hopes for meat at tomorrow's
dinner. It never seems to matter if their wish comes true. The power of
hope comes from hope itself, not in the fulfillment of a wish.
The time for personal pursuits is limited. Some men play games of chance,
or endeavor to trade for things they desire. Some stew in corners,
plotting trouble... Either escape, or crimes they might commit when they
leave Abashiri. Others endeavor to better themselves through whatever
means possible. Masataka makes inks out of various items he's found or
squirreled away, and proceeds to use a rather dull old sewing needle to
tattoo other men. Yuugai-dono, being the merchant that he is, trades
small items such as paper and tobacco, much of which he procures from the
guards or from the few Abashiri townspeople who have reason to work among
us.
It has become my duty to council those who are searching within, or who
are troubled. I tell them that I can not offer them answers, and that my
advice is as good or bad as the next person's, but they seem to wish to
speak with me, all the same. Perhaps it does them good just to get things
off their chests, so I don't mind. There is much sorrow here, and I must
do my best to show compassion and resolve in whatever situation I may
encounter.
When this is done, the guards bark at us to return to our cells. Masataka
and Yuugai-dono share a cell, but somehow, I've ended up alone. Once or
twice, the guards have insinuated to me that...should I bust through the
walls in the middle of the night, and run into the wilderness, they would
not be surprised if no one came after me. Still, it would be contrary to
my purpose here to spend all my time thinking about release or escape.
My cell is small, and barren. I do not need much, but I am quite thankful
that Yuugai-dono was able to procure me a small wall scroll of Buddha's
likeness. I face it, and pray. I pray mostly that the children will
continue to watch over me and guide me, for all of my remaining days.
Then, I attempt to clear my mind of the long day, and begin to meditate.
There are many different forms of meditation, each geared to a specific
outcome. Tonight, I meditate on the concept of forgiveness, and how it
differs from understanding and acceptance.
But, somewhere along the line, my thoughts stray to the Juppon Gatana. I
wonder about the struggles of those who remain, and whether or not they've
found their own sorts of inner peace.
Many of them posessed bad qualities. But, like in prison, or anywhere,
even the most devious and cruel of creatures has some innate goodness, or
it could not exist. I try to find it in them now, in retrospect. I
suppose, during that time, I did not care much about these things.
Although I knew that unnatural crimes were being performed, as long as
they were not done in front of me, I considered myself not responsible.
This is not to say that I didn't perform many terrible crimes, myself.
But, as Shishio Makoto understood, there were some things that I could
not, in good conscience, do for him.
It brings me to thoughts of that little onmitsu girl, the one Usui-dono
almost killed. Innocence should never be destroyed, for it is more
precious than jewels. I held some anger against Usui-dono for a time...
But, he is dead now, and it is preposterous to hold onto a negative link
to something that is gone. So, I have long since let that go.
"Put him in with the monk." I hear several footsteps in the hallway.
When I open my eyes, I find that my cell is dark, and that it is
quite late. Sometimes, I lose track of time when I meditate.
The guard unbolts the heavy wooden door to my cell, and kicks it open with
his foot. The dim light of his lantern creates a triangular stretch of
barely-illuminated floor. As I stand, another guard appears behind the
first, carrying what looks like a limp body over his shoulder. I see only
the man's back, his shaved head, and one long dangling arm. He appears to
be clothed primarily in blood-soaked rags, and even from here I can smell
the pungent odor of sweat and burnt flesh that comes with a lengthy
session of torture.
The guard pulls the man from his shoulder, and with no gentleness or
compassion whatsoever, drops him in front of me. "He'll probably die in
the night. But, he asked for a monk or priest to help him prepare."
I nod. They've done this before, given beaten men to me, so that I may
sit with them while they die. Although I'd prefer that they not beat men
to death, it truly would be terrible for these men to have to die alone,
on the floor of some torture chamber, so I comply.
The guard hands me his lantern. I thank him before he leaves, and set the
light in the corner. At least they give me light. It is terrible, I
would think, to die in darkness.
I take my jug of water, and bring it over to the man. He's face down on
the floor, and has not moved once since he was dropped. I kneel down and
slowly turn him over. He's a tall man, and lean. I can tell just by the
musculature of his shoulders and arms that he must be used to fighting or
labor. Although I am not particularly trained for medicine, I attempt to
start tearing away his shirt in order to check for wounds I could
bandage, or at the very least clean. He has many injuries, some new, some
very old. There are scars, bruises, cuts, burns... I can not find a
patch of skin even as big as my palm that doesn't contain some mark of the
fights and struggles of this man's life.
I steal a glimpse at his face, but I can see little in the low light of
the lantern. It's bruised, and slicked with rapidly coagulating blood.
Much of it is coming from his nose, so I assume that it is probably
broken. There's a cut under his left ear, but it doesn't seem very deep.
There are several more cuts on his scalp, but these seem older by at least
a few days. Probably from having his hair shorn by the guards. They tend
to be rather rough about it.
Still, there is something about the shape of his face, something...
"Monk..."
His eyes are so swollen that I didn't even notice the left one had opened
a few millimeters. I nod to him, to indicate that I am, indeed, a monk,
and the I try to tilt him up so that he may take a sip of water. He does
so, and...
His hand catches my wrist. He has a surprising grasp for someone so near
to death. His lips move slightly, but I can't hear his words, so I lean
in close.
"You...if...Misao...the Aoiya..."
The grasp on my arm slips, and I stare, in complete shock, as I finally
realize that the half-dead man lying on the dirty floor of my prison
cell...
Is Shinomori Aoshi.
-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-
The night is long, but cool. I spend much time binding Shinomori's
wounds. The guard from this block of cells is kind enough to bring me
more water and clean cloth when I ask for it, though he tells me,
quite gruffly, that it's a waste. He does it for my sake, he says, and
not for the scum of a man lying on the floor of my cell.
I don't ask the guard why Shinomori is here. Anything suspicious would
not be good.
Shinomori is in a terrible condition. I can't imagine what he must have
done. For the government to amass the sort of forces necessary to go
after and take down a man who can pretty much disappear at will... Well,
I assume he can, anyway. I don't know much about the man, save what few
details Soujirou-san told me on our way to Mt. Hiei, and what little I
overheard from the others in the Juppon Gatana.
I do know that he is somehow connected to the people of the Aoiya, in
particular, the little onmitsu girl.
I feel unsettled. So many questions. How could Shinomori be here? Where
is the little onmitsu girl, if not the rest of his comrades from the
Aoiya? Why did the guards feel it necessary to beat him to such a degree?
Although it does happen, the particular scorn with which the guards seem
to be treating the shinobi is rather rare. And, if they loathe him that
much, why didn't they kill him? It's not like anyone would really know.
The guards have only to say that a prisoner was misbehaving, and murder
becomes justified in the eyes of the law.
It is not particularly fair, but it is reality.
Several times, I have to pick rats off of Shinomori's body. They are
vicious creatures, and have survived in this harsh land by eating anything
and everything. I tie strings to their legs, and attach the other ends to
a wooden beam. Tomorrow, I will toss them out of the barred window in the
common room, so that they may continue their lives elsewhere.
I watch Shinomori as he sleeps, and offer many prayers on his behalf. It
is hard to say if he will live or die. Strong men can go suddenly, linger
for days, or find within themselves the will to live.
"Hannya...soon...very soon..."
He murmurs occasionally. I do not recognize the names, but the sentiment
is always urgent. Who are these people he calls to in his fitful sleep?
I wonder, if I were in his position, what names would come to me. No, I
already know.
Tsubaki, Tasuke, Goro, Kaito, Masako... I know you are here, with me. I
could not save you from those terrible flames. I could not save your
innocent souls from seeing the brutality of this world...
This man, he is certainly no innocent. Like me, he has drenched his hands
in the thick blood of senseless cruelty. But, there is a girl, innocent
like you, who certainly waits for his return. Help me to spare her from
losing someone dear.
Beloved children...
Even though I still can not trust in the benevolence of Buddha...
I trust in you.
-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-
In Our Next Chapter: Does Aoshi survive? Why is he in prison? Where's
Misao? Follow Anji as he attempts to unravel the mysteries while trying
not to get killed in the bleak world of Abashiri Prison. Until then!
A/N: Although there are five children under Anji's care, only three of
them are named, so I made up the last two names.
Abashiri Prison is a really prison which was built during the Meiji Era.
It lays on the Sea of Okhotsk in Northern Hokkaido, and still stands
today. I actually used it in a previous story, "Hajime and Tokio", but
wanted to revisit it as a setting for this story.
I've long wanted to write a story about Anji. I really think his story is
one of the most tragic of RK, but not often explored in fanfiction.
