A/N: Boundless thanks to SiriusFan13 for her invaluable beta work!
Review responses are at the bottom. I've started putting the responses at the bottom of the same chapter for which the review was given, so if you reviewed Chapter 6, you'll find my response to that review in Chapter 6 rather than in this chapter.
Chapter 7 – Kankei
"Connection"
His weeks of solitude have refreshed and renewed him. Following his own path has afforded him a measure of peace: his energy has been his to direct; even his sleep has been deep and dreamless.
Leaving the interior, he followed the western shoreline northward. Traveling along the tops of sheer, high, rocky cliffs, he's experienced the vast ocean like never before: sunsets that stopped him in his tracks to marvel at the flames in the clouds above him; a raging storm that drove him into a serendipitous cave for an entire day and night and turned the ground in front of the cave into a torrent of mud, rocks, and broken tree limbs; sweltering winds that dried and cracked his skin.
Many days ago he passed the last real river mouth, a bustling fishing port. A couple of nights washing dishes and chopping firewood for a busy restaurant had replenished his coin purse, and he'd added tea to his pack and bought some new sandals, discarding the tattered soles that had been hanging by mere cords to the bottoms of his feet, before leaving behind the noise and chaos.
Now, along this part of the coast, the relatively narrow beach is bounded by low, rounded, grassy cliffs broken periodically by wide, water-carved ravines that snake their way inland. Out of these gorges trickle shallow, fresh-water rivulets and streams, meandering across the sand before disappearing into the salty foam of the sea.
A bit of paradise: rocky outcroppings form deep tidal basins, and small fish and crustaceans favor these protected harbors. Pools alongside the streambeds host a variety of fresh-water life. The vegetation blanketing the cliffs, although much of it foreign to his experience, provides an abundance of season-ripened berries. He's even managed to discover a few edible roots and greens.
The rush of the ocean, the whisper of the wind, the rustle of the trees: these are the sounds that accompany him during the day; these measure out the pace of his footsteps.
It has been a pleasant autumn.
This day starts like all the others. As usual, he arises with the earth itself, his eyes springing wide open at the slightest lifting of night. Familiar to him as his own skin, this hour has heralded the beginning of most of the days of his life. As the sky lightens, dark wisping away before the creeping dawn, so does sleep evaporate from his body. First birdsong falls on alert ears, and eager eyes watch the light for the moment he can begin his kata, for the moment of re-connection between spirit and weapon.
The principle of Hiten Mitsurugi Ryu states: "The sword of Mitsurugi should be wielded for the people of the world, for the protection of the weak."
Always, he starts right at the beginning: the melding of body and mind, the opening of the channel through which surges the union, the synchronicity that is his true self, in which he finds his center. Moving through the exercises, his body responds with increasing flexibility and strength, awakening players remember their parts, synapses re-connect, ki reasserts itself as master of the whole. Soon, he is entirely awake, focused, clear: the whole being rejoices.
Sweating slightly, he straightens and walks to where his sakabatou sleeps in its fabric sheath. For what's to come, he needs a large space, but also someplace where he can be sure he won't be interrupted. Or observed. He moves away from the shore, back through the scrubby forest topping this cliff, searching.
Ah, here is a likely prospect.
A small canyon opens off an unexpected path that descends into the rocky ground. The sunken canyon is almost entirely enclosed by sheer walls, and the only opening to it is the very path he's followed, itself hidden from easy view.
He spends a few moments clearing some stones and fallen branches, then kneels in the center of the space, laying the sword on the ground before him. As he slips off the fabric and reveals the treasure within, his heart leaps in his breast, its beat thrumming powerfully. His breathing deepens; his eyes flame.
The dragon stirs in its slumber.
He closes his eyes and begins the shift in his spirit, the transformation that simultaneously condenses him to a singularity and spreads him wide across the sky, taking the whole world into his being.
Once, a comrade had asked him about this change, about his battle mien. He had tried to describe this heightened state of awareness, the way his senses unfurl, the deepening of his interior, his re-connection with the truths that strengthen and define him. The profound failure of this attempt had taught him how personal, how truly unique was this gift he had been given. This, his blessing and burden, that set him immutably apart.
He slips both palms beneath the sheathed katana, thrilling to the familiar weight as he lifts it briefly to his forehead in obeisance. His left hand falls into its accustomed place on the sheath, and in one motion, he sweeps away the discarded cloth with his right hand and rises to his feet, his extended left arm holding the sword horizontally at shoulder height. Gracefully, he flows into his battoujutsu crouch, feels it settle around him, into his muscles, his bones.
This is what I am.
Suddenly, with a sigh of steel against wood, the dragon's claw is free. The canyon walls shudder with its power, surges of air pounding first one side, then the other. Man and blade fuse into a single, new creature. The Hiten Mitsurugi Dragon is dancing, and the very air crackles and breaks, falling around the whirling form in tatters. Every living thing freezes, in thrall to the swirling beauty and terror riding the crest of the dragon's breath as it floods the canyon and surges ferociously upward.
The battle-dance approaches its zenith; new urgency quickens the already blinding pace. The creature is everywhere at once, spinning, flipping, springing off the very air itself to reverse directions. The final swing hammers the ground, thunder reverberating in the small canyon, and the groaning earth splits and shatters at the creature's feet.
Gradually, the echoes die. Utter silence. Leaf by leaf, small thing by small thing, the frozen world thaws, moving cautiously lest the demon reawaken and renew its dread havoc.
He stands drained, gulping air, sweat trickling off him in rivulets and darkening the dust beneath his feet. His soul is peaceful and calm, blessedly clear.
By now, the crisp morning air, stirred and warmed by the approaching sun, has almost finished drying his freshly-washed skin and hair as he lies on his back, bare under the blue sky, letting the earth turn beneath him.
He remembers the surreal experience of his first indoor, hot bath. Not only had Hiko had "views" about the dangers of luxurious living, but training time was precious, and not to be frittered away filling and heating large tubs of water merely to bathe bodies when there was a perfectly good ice-melt river only steps away. Anyway, just keeping the cooking pots filled had satisfied all Kenshin's need for hauling heavy, slopping water buckets up slippery riverbanks and over dusty, root-entangled forest paths.
At least one thing we'd agreed on…
Takasugi's camp had been austere—there had been neither time nor money to waste on chefs or servants—but by Kenshin's standards, it might as well have been a spa. A rotational duty system released four men from training early each day: two to make the evening meal of rice, miso soup and fish, and two to start heating the water in the two large bathing rooms that served the entire camp's population. By the time the rest of the men were finished training, dinner was nearly ready and the baths were hot.
Sweating and jostling, the men would surge into the bathhouses, stripping and rough-housing as they went, sweat-drenched clothes forming Fuji-shaped piles next to the entrance. Two more men would be charged each day with doing the laundry after dinner.
Takasugi was not only an excellent judge and trainer of warriors, but ahead of his time in management skills. He saw to it that his men learned not only the discipline of the battlefield, but that of personal cleanliness, responsibility to his comrades, and efficient organization. They left his camp not only as sharp, valuable soldiers, but with the ability to rise to any occasion of leadership and decision.
On that first day, Kenshin had arrived at the camp in time for the noonday break, having taken all morning to cover the distance down the mountain and to the outskirts of Kyoto. Emboldened by his passion and urgency, he'd simply approached Takasugi and asked to be trained. The older man had listened in silence to the child's earnest pleas, then merely told him to help himself to a bowl of cold rice and a cup of tea from the table next to the crowd seated on the ground under some trees.
Kenshin was in.
Joining the others, he'd experienced for the first time the hush of fellow diners at his entry. His extreme youth and his curious appearance had piqued the curiosity of his new comrades. They had yet to take the measure of his skill, but most had heard his introductory polemic; that had been enough to discourage frivolous conversation, and they contented themselves with either ignoring him completely or silently sizing him up.
The afternoon's activities had surprised him: he knew this was not Hiten Mitsurugi, but still had been unprepared for the ease with which his sparring partners fell before him. At first, he thought they must have been taking it easy on him because he was new, but, as the hours passed, the puzzling changes in the others' faces and ki convinced him otherwise.
By the end of the day, he was being well and truly shunned. None had stood against him, not even the seniors. Strength was honestly valued and openly admired in the culture of the camp, and did not engender hard feelings among the group, but his impassivity and reserve, coming on the heels of his almost shocking excellence, had discouraged friendly overtures: no one had walked with him to the baths, nor had he been included in any of the group's chatter or levity. They simply didn't know what to make of him.
The bathhouse was a riot of hot mist and noisy camaraderie. He followed the example of the others and stripped, then stepped down into the sunken pool.
The unaccustomed heat on his feet and legs had startled him, and he quickly hopped back out, confused. Looking around disbelievingly, he saw men stretching slowly down into the steaming water, with blissful expressions and long, heavy sighs. Cautiously, he tried again, lowering himself carefully onto the seat that ran around the edge of the tub. This time, he'd found it not unpleasant.
He felt his muscles relax and his mind soften gently. He leaned back against the tub's edge and rested his head on the wooden slats that served as a floor.
"Pretty nice, ne?" a voice sounded right by his ear. Startled, he surged upright, swamping his neighbor.
Sputtering and clearing his eyes, the man grinned at the solemn boy. "Sorry to startle you."
"No… please forgive me for splashing you."
"Well, I was wet already, so no harm's done. This is your first day, isn't it? I'm Takawazi Kisuke. Welcome to our humble home." Kisuke gestured wide with a dripping arm, encompassing both the room and the crowd.
"Thank you. My name is Kenshin. Himura Kenshin. Yes, I just arrived today."
"You're awfully young for this, aren't you? You can't be much more than ten or eleven."
Taken aback by the man's error, Kenshin replied, "No! I'm fourteen."
Kisuke's eyes widened in disbelief, but he recovered smoothly, inclining his head slightly in apology. "Forgive me. I just thought…"
"No, it's all right. I do know I'm small for my age. I just don't think about it much."
"I saw you out there today. You're amazing! How is it you are so good at such a young age?"
Embarrassed, Kenshin dropped his unseeing gaze to the roiling murk enveloping them, clenching his fists on his knees. "I'm not very good. I didn't even finish my training. I… I left my shishou to come here, so my skills are incomplete."
"Incomplete!" Kisuke exclaimed in shock. "What can you mean? I can't imagine..."
Continuing as though Kisuke hadn't spoken, Kenshin raised his head and looked Kisuke full in the face, eyes blazing. "But I could no longer remain on that mountain, only watching while people suffer. I will use my skills to protect and save those who are being oppressed. And I will get better. Justice must be brought to the world, and I will be the one to do it."
Stunned into silence by the unexpected outburst, Kisuke could only stare at the transformed creature before him: one moment so silent and deferential, the next fairly bristling with passion and spirit. He blinked, then swallowed, then took a deep breath. He clapped the boy wetly on the shoulder and beamed at him. "Well, Kenshin, you may be just what this movement needs. And take it from me: you are very good indeed. I'm sure you will make a difference. I think you are destined for great things. Yes."
This, too, had surprised Kenshin. Hiko had certainly never seemed to think his deshi amounted to anything at all, much less could be valuable to the world.
"A difference? Great things?" Kenshin's heart had risen within him at this thought. "Shishou will be proud of me…"
Dry now, he rises and retrieves his clothes from where he'd hung them on branches along the stream's bank, examining them for new tears.
This thing doesn't look like it's going to last much longer. Even the patches have patches. Soon I'll have to break out that other gi.
At last evening's meal, he'd saved back one fish and a handful each of berries and seaweed. He carefully stokes the banked fire, re-kindling the flame back to life in the grey morning light. His bamboo cup, charred and blackened by the heat of many such fires, serves again to warm water for tea. He eats the fish cold, wrapped in the seaweed, and savors the berries one by one, their tart sweetness causing his eyes to squeeze shut.
Breakfast over, he stows his cup in his pack and scatters the fire, returning the site as closely as he can to its original state. He stands and stretches, but before starting off for the day, pauses a moment to thank the little clearing for its hospitality.
He walks steadily, easily, gathering up the miles, feeling the stretch in his legs, pleasantly empty of all but simple animal activity, except when a spot of particular beauty happens to capture his attention. Then he stops for as long as he needs to engrave the tableau in his mind, feeling the air stirring against his skin and in his hair, smelling the scents and hearing the noises of the ocean and the forest, drinking in the day's gift. In the past, stored delights like this have soothed him during many sleepless hours, and he treasures them.
Balmy breezes born of warm ocean currents wash over him, but when the wind turns and comes off the land, he distinctly detects the undertone of fast-approaching winter. Over the last few weeks, he's watched the deep green of late summer fade, consumed by autumn's flaming golds and reds. Soon, he knows, the increasing evening chill will layer the still pools with wafer-thin ice sheets, and mere days after that, snow flurries will soften the cooling afternoons.
Around Kyoto and further south, his outdoor skills had served him well through winters in caves, even lean-tos. However, this far north—he can see Hokkaido's coastal mountains rising on the other side of the narrow Tsugaru strait that separates the two islands—he knows he'll need real shelter if he's to see another spring.
A village. Small and out-of-the way, and preferably in need of a guard, or another strong back, or a good field hand. I'll even do laundry.
And then, just as the sun rises enough to clear the cliffs on his left, there it is.
The coast bends sharply back on itself, and, as he rounds the jutting promontory, a deeply curved bay sparkles before him in the strong morning sun. In the elbow of the curve, sheltering foothills gently slope up to cultivated fields in high meadows, and a cluster of homes and storehouses nestle cozily below.
Probably about 20 families in all.
Two boats rock gently at their moorings. Five mooring posts are empty, and two more boats lay beached and disabled. It's obvious they've been laid up for some time, and he wonders why.
He can make out figures moving in the fields, and activity here and there at the edge of the buildings. When the breeze moves the right way, it carries voices to him, especially the laughter and shrieks of children at play. The little village is lively, but not frenetic; full, but not crowded; busy, not chaotic.
Perfect. If they'll have me.
He lingers a moment longer, savoring the last of his solitude, then steps resolutely out of the cliff's shadow into the light, and picks his way along the rocky beach toward the settlement.
Notes:
If you liked Kenshin's kata in this chapter, you should NOT miss SiriusFan13's "Like Breathing"!
RE the "comrade" who asked about Kenshin's "battle mien": Ushiro Ryu is SiriusFan13's excellent OC, and perhaps Kenshin's best (only?) friend during his hitokiri period. He stubbornly persists in breaching the assassin's emotional walls to offer true friendship to his silent and misunderstood companion. You can meet him in "Out of Time", "Envy", and (the as-yet-unposted) "Amethyst and Amber", as well as in chapter 54 of "Ruroken Haiku Collection", if you want your heart wrung.
And the phrase, "sigh of steel against wood" was lifted directly from the delightful "Journey's End" by omasuoniwabanshi, the story of Soujiro Seta as he tries out wandering. Don't miss this fic. Domo arigato, Omasu!
Review responses: lolo popoki: I'm glad you enjoyed the flashback. I'd actually like to write something just about this period for him, but I think I'd have to do a little more research before I could make it believable. Omasuoniwabanshi: The kata was really fun to write, so I'm glad it pleased you. You liked the "hot bath" thing? Yes, that made me smile for him, as well. He really had been so very isolated in his life with Hiko, and I think it would be charming to "discover" the world along with him after he came down from the mountain to live. Maybe that's something YOU would like to write about. (hint hint) LadyRhiyana: I'm please you liked the kata and the dragon image. The kata stuff is mine, but the idea of the Hiten Mitsurugi Dragon came from Akai Kitsune's "Peace In Your Arms". A wonderful piece, but I couldn't seem to make contact to ask permission to use it. So I just did anyway. You liked Hiko's "views", eh? (grin) I'm glad you're enjoying the descriptive stuff—I can sort of get carried away, I know. A lilmatchgirl: Thanks for reading and reviewing with such enthusiasm—it means a lot to me. Moeru Himura: Yes, I, too, liked the contrast between the bustly camp and his current solitude, and the appropriateness of his musing on that past while he's wandering. He had a LOT of time to think, didn't he? I'm glad this chapter helped your wandering-years-fic-jones! Shirou Shinjin: I'm so glad the opening scene worked for you—I wondered whether I were carrying on a bit, but I enjoyed putting myself on that beach, too, so… And I liked imagining a bit of his time a Takasugi's camp. Maybe I'll write a small fic that just sort of explores that time in his life—it sort of fascinates me. (probably have to do some research for that…) RE the training session: Well! I can see from your demonstration that you have handled a sword before, but if you will just observe while I demonstrate what I usually do in this situation … See? Did you notice how I simply laid the sheathed sword gently on the ground and backed carefully away from it? That's my very best technique, and the one on which I based the passage in this chapter. Although, actually, I think I wasn't clear about that "shoulder height" thing. I just meant that's where he started from; when "he flows into his battoujutsu crouch", I meant that his left arm came down to hold the sword in that place at his left hip and his body twisted so that his right arm crossed to the hilt and the rest of him was in that stance that we see him in so much in Watsuki's drawings. Sorry.