The Hundred Item List
Only for a Moment
By Leishe
Omasu paced back and forth, back and forth across the open space at the entrance of the Aoiya. Anyone with eyes and a brain could clearly see the expression of worry on her face, even in the dim light.
Sitting just outside the dining room was the old man, Okina, calmly drinking his tea, and watching the sky as it changed colors, slowly. To him, as well as the others, Omasu's behaviour was very normal. Being one of the people who had raised Misao from childhood, it was natural for the woman to go about worrying when the ninja girl came home late.
Noises came from inside the kitchen, as Okon chased the two men, Kuro and Shiro, away from the meal that was cooking. Her voice was rising, echoing into the stillness as she shouted at the both of them.
"Not until dinnertime, you two!"
"Just a little taste, Okon—"
Slap.
"Ow!"
"Get out of my kitchen!"
"Yes ma'am!"
Usually, both Okon and Omasu shouldered the job of keeping Shiro, Kuro, and Misao away from the food before it was served, but Misao wasn't home yet, and Omasu was too busy worrying about her.
He took another sip of tea.
Soon, the smell of a delicious meal drifted into the air. Okina sniffed indulgently. The stampede of two men could be heard over the ceremonial call of "dinner!", but the plump ninja woman standing in the front courtyard didn't move a muscle.
The old man took his cane and eventually, got up and went to dinner. Misao would come home soon, he knew. It was just a matter of waiting a few minutes, or maybe even a few hours, but Okina knew that the young woman would return.
Because dinnertime or not, she always came back.
.0o0.
She was having a dream. It was a nice dream, which, maybe, was the reason why she overslept. The dream was about Aoshi and her. He was leaving for somewhere; maybe Hokkaido, and had said goodbye already, to all of them.
She could see the fading outline of his back as he left; mysterious, quiet and amazing.
Misao turned over in her sleep.
It would be a while before he came back, she knew, but she was willing to wait, maybe.
She dreamt of waiting a long time. Possibly ten years, but after, she still looked the same. Same ninja weasel girl, same smile, same old Misao. And then Aoshi-sama came back, and she smiled happily, rushing to hug him as he arrived.
In her dream, he hugged her back, smiling also, happy to see her.
And then, he introduced her to the woman standing beside him. She was a lady, blushing, beautiful.
"Misao, this is…"
Her eyes flew open, ending the dream before it turned into something terrible. Perhaps she would be swallowed alive by the ground? Or maybe the sadness inside her would be the one to swallow her instead?
Anyway the dream was finished, and she was awake. The ninja girl gazed at the river, relieved that dreams didn't really happen, and realized it was already dark. She felt the lump in her side. The list.
"Uh-oh…dinner! The Aoiya—" Misao stopped short. She blinked. Twice.
Something was wrong here. She couldn't move.
Looking up, the girl found herself suspended from the higher branches of the same tree that she had been sleeping under, with both her hands and her feet bound tightly with the thickest, hardest rope that Misao had ever felt.
Someone had tied her up.
"What the—" she sputtered, a look of anger clouding her face. The ninja girl griped for the kunai that were hidden in her waist sash, but both of her hands where wholly covered by the rope, making it impossible to move.
Misao muttered curses darkly under her breath.
"Dammit…who the hell did this?"
Her mind was racing, sprouting a million questions that didn't help her. Why was she tied up? How? Who? And more importantly, how was she going to get out of this mess?
"Urrgh!"
Misao tried thrashing, squirming and struggling, but it was evident that this was of no use. She stopped then, to conserve her energy.
Crunch.
And also, because she heard someone step out of hiding, and onto the grass. She squinted her eyes; it was becoming hard to see in the growing darkness.
The silhouette was a tall one, probably a man, and he looked like he was holding a long stick. She wasn't very sure, but the young woman thought that she saw a flash of teeth smile.
Soon, more silhouettes came into view. They were odd shaped; tall, short, thin, round, and even grotesquely crooked. Grunts, coughs and low voices came from the gathered, and a short chuckle, occasionally.
Judging from the noises around her, Misao assumed that there was more than one person standing just a bit shy of one meter from her and the tree.
She kept very quiet, wondering if they knew she was there.
Whispers, then. A faint, weak breeze shuddered by, stirring the leaves ever so lightly. Out of nowhere, a familiar, oily voice cut through the noises, and all but the voice fell silent.
"Looks like the girl's awake, boys." Another flash of teeth.
Misao's eyes widened, and with a sinking feeling, realized that the one talking was the leader of that unsightly gang that she had stolen from earlier that afternoon. Inside the ropes, she attempted to ball her hand into a fist.
It didn't work. The ropes were too tight, too thick.
"What d'you think we should do, boss?" came a thin, spiny voice, coming in the direction of a small, pudgy shape.
Misao saw the leader shrug, grinning. "Whatever you want do. Just make sure that little wench pays for what she did to us."
Laughter, now. High, cackling, annoying laughter. The girl clenched her teeth, glaring at them hard. How she wished she were free. Then she'd beat them up…she'd pierce their filthy bodies with her small, sharp kunai.
And they would scream, loud enough for the whole of Kyoto to hear. And no one would dare tie her up hard and dangle her from a tree ever again. Never.
The silhouette tossed something up. Something fat, bulgy and tied at the top with a dirty piece of meat string.
Misao gritted her teeth.
The moneybag.
The leader grinned at his prisoner mockingly. That poor excuse for a thief. How on earth did she even assume that she could rob him, the handsomest, smartest man in all of Kyoto, and possibly, Japan? He wiggled the money in front of her, a menacing, you-will-pay smile on his lips.
"Learn your lesson, little thief!"
Misao narrowed her eyes, bracing herself. Already, she could see some of them ready their clubs, their wooden sticks, and their short, sharp daggers.
"Get away from me, you losers!" she spat, fire burning in her eyes.
The men cackled, brandishing their weapons, with the daggers glinting in what little light was left.
"My, my," said the oily voice, "What a wild one you are." His tone was mocking, and the young woman knew that he looked down on her the way a king looked down on a dying peasant.
Misao watched as he signalled to his men, with one long arm slicing the air in a swift, sharp motion.
Her eyes widened, as she struggled against her bonds once more, wiggling like a fish. It delighted her captors even more, seeing the one who had dared to insult them squirm like a helpless baby mouse in the face of real danger.
"Look 'ow helpless she is!" snickered one, raising his wooden sword.
Helpless, indeed. It was a terrible feeling, one that ground itself into the pit of her stomach, as Misao waited, in sick, quiet anticipation.
.0o0.
His steps were light, almost silent, as Soujro made his way up one of the dirt roads that led to the river. The young man was unaccustomed to the weight the new sakabattou hanging at his side, but he knew it would pass soon enough.
Now, about a place to stay…
The little girl that he had met earlier, Komachi, had said that he could stay in the inn, but it was expensive.
I don't have any money.
Soujiro thought of staying at the Aoiya, but immediately waved that thought away. From his experience, most people held grudges, and no matter how kind hearted some claimed the Oniwabanshu were, the young man was sure that they wouldn't let him stay.
Because he had been Tenken no Soujiro, the killer. The murderer. And what kind of sensible people let a killer live under their roof, even if it were only for one night?
He shook his head, inwardly laughing at himself for even considering staying with them.
Soujiro opened his eyes, looking up, scanning the sky. It was a deep blue now, and small stars were beginning to come out of hiding, twinkling shyly, as if for the first time, down on the rest of the world, while the mother moon smiled nearby.
A soft wind blew, and the young man reached to push his bangs away from his eyes.
"Maybe I'll sleep under a tree tonight," he murmured. After all, it wasn't the first time he would be doing it.
.0o0.
The noise from the clearing beside the river was something that he didn't expect. It was nighttime, and most people would be eating dinner right now.
Grrrowl.
Of course, Soujiro wasn't included in 'most people'.
The young man stepped closer, all senses on alert. No one could see him, or hear him. It was a bit darker, where the noise came from, and he could clearly hear the sound of running water from where he was.
Without a sound, the boy leaped into a tree, coming closer, closer, to see what the commotion was all about.
.0o0.
Black. Pitch black, and nothing more. The first blows, she had been able to endure. They hurt like hell, and Misao was sure that, if she survived, there would be ugly bruises covering her legs, arms and face in the morning.
They were liveable, those first ones, but they hurt the most. She had closed her eyes when they started banging on her with the wooden swords, clubbing her like some flimsy, toy during a birthday party.
The pain came in small explosions as they hit, harder and harder with every minute passing.
"Heheeey! First one to knock 'er out gets half of this moneybag!" The leader announced it with cheer, like Misao was some worthless object to be beaten up just for the fun of it.
The ninja girl winced as a club came flying at her arm.
Crrak.
When all the other blows came, she was gone. Too many men had hit her square on the forehead, in high hopes of winning themselves some money. Like a rag doll, she was tied to a tree as they hit her, bruised her, beat her up.
They wouldn't kill her; they weren't murderers. Just people avenging themselves. After all…she was just…a girl.
But she felt nothing now, just the sticky, warm liquid running down the side of her cheek, and her arm.
Blurry figures…darkening…her head spun for a moment, and then…nothing.
.0o0.
They didn't see him. Of course. He was the Tenken. Was. Soujiro saw them, though. All of them. Like animals, the men were jeering, screaming, howling in mirth and laughter. Wooden swords jutted out of their hands, and they were beating someone tied to a tree.
He narrowed his eyes, moving closer, gripping the tree branch.
As everything became clearer, Soujiro's eyes widened, and a feeling of blatant disgust welled up inside of him.
They were beating up a girl.
For a moment, Shishio's voice came back to him, telling him that it was useless, that the weak were just that…weak, and trying to do anything otherwise was plain stupidity. But Soujiro stayed in the tree only for a fraction of a second more, and thought…
What if that person was Yumi? Would he hold back? Would he?
Before he could change his mind, the young man was out of the tree, and was inside the group of men even before they knew he was there.
Godlike-speed mode it was.
When Soujiro drew his sword and sliced through the first man he saw, the body did not split into half, as it usually did, but crumpled to the ground in a lifeless heap. The former Tenken sensed that there was something wrong here…that he should be doing something else.
"Hey! Where'd Shu go? He was here a minute ago—Urgh!"
The speaker fell to the ground as well, before being able to complete his sentence. There would be a nasty gash of a bruise on his side tomorrow.
In a matter of seconds, Soujiro'd managed to wipe out half of the group, creating even more commotion among the brutes.
"What's going on here?" "What happened!" "Who the hell is that kid!"
Then, they saw him and tried to attack, flinging their daggers, swords and clubs at him, flailing their arms to get ahold of the scrappy kid who was taking their men down faster than their leader could finish a bottle of sake.
He was simply too fast for them.
One dagger whistled dangerously past his shoulder, missing the boy by centimetres. Soujiro leapt up into the Acacia, drawing his sword.
Using the other side of the reversed-edge blade, he cut the ropes surrounding the captive in one swift motion, and as she fell, he caught her before her body hit the ground. She was limp in his arms, and said nothing.
They saw what he was doing, but before any of them had the chance to react, Soujiro carried the girl, setting her on his back, sheathing the sword, and disappearing.
The men were livid.
"Where is he? Where is he!"
"Ah! The gir—" one guy pointed frantically at the suspended victim.
"The girl! YOU IDIOTS! WHERE DID SHE GO!" The roaring voice of the leader rang out over the trees, and into the sky. A few leaves rattled, as the cut ropes swung for a moment, and then, fell.
And for a moment, squinting into the distance, one of the men thought he saw a blur, far, far away.
He shook his head. It was probably only his imagination.
.0o0.
Thunder shook the skies, as what was a clear, quiet evening turned into a clouded, rainy night. A mass of grey thunderheads gathered over the capital city, and water fell from heaven, in fat, cold drops.
They hit the earth, the metal, and the wood in strong, successive blows. Wind howled, and lightning flashed. People lit lamps, knowing that the rain would last only for a little more than a moment.
.0o0.
As he sped through the streets, with the girl on his back, Soujiro could not help but wonder why he rescued her in the first place. When the rain started to fall in wild, strong torrents, the young man switched from carrying her on his back, to carrying her in his arms.
Soujiro did this with ease, but only when he saw what the young woman was wearing did he stiffen slightly. His eyes widened.
Long braid…deep blue outfit…
He had seen her before. His mind raced.
That girl…the one with Himura…at Shingetsu village…
'She must be one of the Oniwabanshu…their leader?'
He knew that Shinomori had left them all behind, when he was younger, and then he had joined forces with the Juppon Gatana. Soujiro did not know much of the mysterious Aoshi's past, but he knew enough to know where this girl belonged.
He looked down, in spite of himself, at her face. It was blank, and her eyes were closed. A thin trail of blood ran across her cheek, and several bruises covered her limbs. The young man felt how cold she was, and went faster, if possible.
Shishio-san had spoken of her before…Misao Makimachi, the young okashira.
The rain pelting his back, Soujiro held her a little bit closer to him as he made his way towards the Aoiya.
.0o0.
It was dark out, and raining, too. As expected, Omasu was worried out of her wits throughout dinner, and even Okon confessed to feeling a bit anxious when there was no sign of Misao after everyone had finished their evening meal.
Kuro and Shiro had gone out hours ago, in search of her. They had checked everywhere—the Shirobeko, the marketplace, the temple…but the ninja girl was nowhere to be found.
"What if something bad happened to her?" Omasu wondered aloud, pacing again. "She could have been kidnapped…or murdered…or worse!" The woman began shaking so badly that Okon had to calm her down; to reassure her.
Okina didn't say much during the search effort. He hoped that the others wouldn't take his silence as him being unconcerned about their youngest member—and they didn't.
The old man was quiet, because he knew, as well as the rest of them, that if Misao wasn't coming home, it meant that either she had failed them, or they had failed her.
And the Oniwabanshu knew that neither they nor Misao would let that happen.
.0o0.
It was late. The Aoiya restaurant was closed for business, and it was either midnight, or very early morning. They had all lost track.
Okina had volunteered to keep watch out for the girl. Of course, convincing Omasu, Okon, Shiro and Kuro to go to sleep in favour of letting the old man wait for Misao had been difficult, but the old master had been firm, clear and persuasive.
But it was the only way that he would get any peace here.
Okina sat there, on the wide porch area, watching the clouds and listening to the steady thundering of the grey rain. His eyes were focused on something—something small and fast, in the distance.
She's coming, he thought.
The rain fell harder.
And then, she did come.
After a few moments, the old man's posture went straight, alert, when he saw a figure appear in the courtyard.
He waited, as the person drew nearer. Okina expected the figure to be Misao, but instead, it was a young man, drenched from the rain. And he was carrying someone in his arms.
Water ran down his clothes, his body, and it dripped from the sleeves of his gi.
The old man started, feeling an odd rush of hostility. His face seemed painfully familiar. It then occurred to him that his steel tonfa had been left inside his room.
He rose to his feet, clutching his cane, when Okina saw that the newcomer had Misao in his arms. She appeared to be badly beaten up, and unconscious. The old man swept his gaze over her bruised and cut body , and then he met the blue eyes of the stranger who had brought her home.
They reminded him of the sea, the sky, and ice. But he could see, from there, that the young man hadn't hurt Misao.
The boy set her down slowly, expressionlessly, on the platform. Okina watched him as he did so. When the young man stood back up again, he bowed to the man, and started walking back the way he came.
"Stop." The words were out of his mouth before he knew it, and those eyes looked up at the old man in surprise. The boy smiled, and shook his head.
The smile never reached his eyes. Okina knew instantly.
"Tenken." He murmured.
Soujiro shook his head again. "No," he said, "Just Soujiro."
There was a short pause.
"You rescued her." It was not a question.
The young man nodded. Okina was staring straight at him, and there was something about the old man's riveting gaze that unnerved Soujiro. The former master of the Oniwabanshu took a step forward, towards the wanderer. He said only one word.
"Stay."
Soujiro was about to refuse, about to say that he could find somewhere else to go…somewhere that wasn't the Aoiya. But as the commanding stare of Okina bore into him, the former Tenken found himself unable to disobey.
Slowly, he felt himself nod, and as the lightning flashed around them, the old man gestured to the motionless Misao with his cane.
"Take her in, too. My back can't bear the weight." There was something awfully light with the old man's voice, as if he was at ease.
He nodded again, wordlessly, and picked the girl up. Carrying her, Soujiro followed Okina into the Aoiya. Soon, their footsteps faded into the quiet bluish darkness that was the rest of the night.
And as they said, the storm lasted only for a moment.
.0o0.
She was in her bed now. The women had woken up, and were tending to her wounds. They had been curious about him too, but all they had offered were questioning glances, hushed whispers, and nothing more.
The boy was quiet, sitting in one of the guestrooms, staring blankly at the walls. One of the men had given him a dry set of clothes without saying anything, but he hadn't put them on yet, instead leaving the pile on top of the futon.
Soujiro leaned his back against the wall, feeling the cold rainwater dribble down his face and his back. He closed his eyes and breathed in.
There was light here, this warm, dry place with people who no doubt would take him in. For once, Soujiro felt that he was being pulled away from wandering, from seeking wisdom, and from trying to sort out the mess that was his real identity.
Okon and Kuro passed by his room, talking quietly as they went. He heard them.
"She's been hurt bad. Maybe a few days of rest—"
"—three or four, I suppose. Why do you think—"
"—can't say I know…maybe the boy knows…"
A pause.
"You think he did thi—"
"No. He wouldn't." There was a note of finality in her voice, and for a moment, Soujiro was taken aback.
Outside, Kuro nodded wordlessly. They walked to their separate rooms, after that.
The young man closed his eyes, and suddenly, he felt a warm, pleasant sensation well up inside him. It was unexpected, almost surprising, and truthfully, he didn't really know what to make of it.
The corners of his mouth turned up very slightly, in a serene, quiet smile. A real one.
It was sad though, and if Soujiro had learned to be sad, he would've shown it, but he didn't. Because although the Aoiya would make a good home, even though the people here accepted him as a normal human being when he had just arrived here, out from the rain, Soujiro knew that it wouldn't last long.
Because like all things, this feeling of warmth would last only for a moment.
He would leave tomorrow.
.0o0.
They hung her from a tree! They HUNG her from a TREEEE! Waahahahahaa!
(clears throat)
My current problem right now is trying to make this story original, but without ripping off the great stuff that's posted in this section…OR the KenKao story. :P Thanks for the reviews…and for the record, I haven't yet read Alone in a Crowd or When Dreams Come True, but I have read Crimson Skies. :) Suggestions? Advice on how to correctly portray Sou in-character is greatly appreciated. :)
Thanks a gazillion to Wicked Enough and Misao-chan and Lau…you guys rock:D I appreciate everything…everythinnnggg…Basically, I could blame my info bloopers on the crappy English subtitling we get over here…but I won't. I suppose I didn't research enough.
(bows) Once again, thank you! I shall update when I can:)
.0o0.
"…the intro is almost over…"