(Author's Note: Sniff, sniff. Jin's parents die here. Not much else to say, except that it explains the odd peach tree tanks in the beginning and mention Jin's dog. Yep, Yori is a Shih Tzu. And yep, Iknow Shih Tzu are Chinese in origin, but I just don't care.)

CHAPTER EIGHT

Huruko was a quiet man who hated the city, and it showed. He walked briskly down the street, geta tapping the paving stone in annoyance, hakama swishing impatiently. He wasn't touching his sword, but the look on his face implied that it would take very little to prompt him to do so. He had a hooked nose and looked down it with an eagle-like glare; his mouth was small and pulled tightly, unlike his hair, which was rich black and hung in a loose ponytail that allowed his bangs to spill in front of his face.

"That's the one."

"Him?"

The four boys stood in an alleyway, watching the samurai stride past.

"Yes, him!" said the oldest boy. He was the tallest, pockmarked and mean-looking. The other two boys flanked him, closing in on the fourth. The fourth was much younger. He only came up to the shoulder of the first. His face was smudged with dirt, and his clothes were in rags around his body.

Contemplatively, he rubbed his tan face, smearing more dirt over it, and ran his fingers through his spiky hair, which was short and uneven.

"But I can't—"

"Of course you can!" said the fourth, in the kind of fake, sneering encouragement that takes years to perfect. He shoved the younger boy forward.

Stumbling, the barefoot boy began weaving through the crowd on the street. He peered into shop windows, stopped to drool at a vender selling dumplings, and kicked at a small rock. He looked for all the world like a regular, innocent boy; but he had a sly grin as he watched the samurai. He knew why the older boys insisted that it had to be him; they thought that he'd fail. But he wouldn't; not because he was a brilliant pick-pocket, but because he was a brilliant fighter, sharp and agile, even at age five, and he was in his element: the city.

He chased a pigeon, hurrying past Huruko. Huruko gave a small, slow smile that reached only the corners of his mouth, when the boy ran past him. Even though they looked nothing alike… well, he was reminded of his nephew.

The pigeon fluttered away in a panic, and the disappointed boy turned around gloomily, smashing right into Huruko. Huruko tried to step aside but the boy plowed into him with the force of a tsunami.

"Excuse me!" he squeaked, trying to untangle himself from Huruko's billowy clothes.

"No harm done, no harm done!" Huruko assured him, stepping back and trying to make sure the boy was okay. But he'd already scurried off. Shy, thought Huruko.

Absent-mindedly, he put a hand in his obi as he began walking again. It was only then that he realized he'd been robbed.

Three blocks over, the thin, dirty boy with spiky hair and a sly grin had darted into the alley, opening up a fist wrapped closely around a pile of coins. The older boys laughed and slapped him on the back, amazed that he'd been able to outsmart a samurai.

"Way to go, Mugen!" they congratulated him.

"You were the one who pick-pocketed my uncle?" asked Jin.

"Well, yeah, I pick-pocketed a guy who looked just like him… I had to!" added Mugen. "Geez, it's not like I knew he was your uncle until just now!"

Fuu laughed. "What are the chances!" She grew serious again. "But why's your uncle being pick-pocketed matter to the story? Who's the guy in glasses?"

"I'm getting to that!" snapped Jin. He nodded to Mugen. "If it was indeed you who pick-pocketed my uncle, then my life is in debt to you."

"Huh?"

"Let me finish…"

Ringo trudged up the hill, wheezing and tripping. He was an old man, not as fit as he'd once been, and had grown something of a belly in recent years. He didn't have a single hair on his head, but very bushy eyebrows and eyes crinkled in a permanent smile. He paused to sit on a rock on the hillside and wipe his shining face with a piece of cloth. He looked up unhappily at the steep hill he still had to climb, its uneven, rocky ground hidden under tall, waving grass.

From the top of the hill, perched in a tree, a boy looked back down at him.

The house was placed on the very top of the highest hill in the city. Not that it could be called a city; it was actually a country, with a lot of hills and houses spaced out so widely that everyone was ensured plenty of privacy. They met sometimes, but not often. The people of that place kept to themselves and had no interest in gossip.

Ringo had been to this home before; it was not small, but cozy and nicely furnished. Most of the paper screens had soft scenes of the sea on them, painted by the woman of the house herself, and wind-chimes hung outside. On the north-east side, where the top of the hill was flat, was an expansive garden with fountains and statues and plenty of space to practice kata. For all of its subtle elegance, the house was not really welcoming. The family entertained very little and never smiled. Ringo liked them, because he liked everyone, but they weren't the warmest people on the block, and he wasn't looking forward to climb the rest of the hip, just to deliver the bad news.

He was glad when he saw the boy begin to descend from the tree he was perched in. The peach tree that stood on the west side of the house was probably the only thing which had not been carefully placed. It looked as if it was growing from the house itself, its trunk was so close; it leaned over dramatically, and though Ringo had seen it covered it blossoms, it rarely bore peaches. Or, it bore peaches, but the boy probably picked them before anyone could admire them.

Once he'd dropped out of the low, tilted tree, the boy strode down the hilltop. He bowed before he was in earshot of Ringo; and he bowed again once he was.

"Murakami-san," he said. He was a good-looking boy, everyone agreed; he had his mother's serious gray eyes, his father's luscious black hair, his mother's oval face, and his father's way of looking permanently mournful, almost on the verge of anger. His hair was loose, but cut so evenly that it almost looked fake. His clothes, too, seemed too clean and too neat after tree-climbing; they were far too big on him, but didn't have a single sign of being snagged on any branches.

"Please, please, just Ringo," panted Ringo, even though he knew the family had raised their child too strictly for him ever to address anyone by their first name. "Is your father here, please?"

"Yes, Murakami-san," he said, bowing again. "I can fetch him, if you like."

"Please do," panted Ringo. "I'll meet you at the top."

The boy bowed, turned, and went dashing up the hill in the first sign of child-like exuberance Ringo had yet seen. His hair and his big clothes trailed later him, and Ringo thought seeing him running through the sunny grass was maybe even worth his labor up the field.

The boy raced up the hill and around the house. His mother and father were kneeling in a patch of moss in the garden, heads bowed in concentration over a large expanse of carefully maintained sand. A fountain was trickling next to them.

Their son stood for a long time, not wanting to interrupt. Finally, he said timidly, "Father…?"

"Jin, what have I told you about bothering us during meditation?"

He bowed, even though his father hadn't looked up. "Murakami-san is here to see you."

"Ask what he wants."

Jin turned and ran back down the hill to Ringo. "I'm sorry," he said with a bow. "My father is meditating. He does not wish to be disturbed. Could I ask the nature of your visit?"

"I've got a letter," said Ringo.

Jin ran back up the hill and informed his father it was a letter.

"From who?" he asked.

Jin relayed the message back.

"Well, I don't know," said Ringo in surprise. "His brother, I suppose. Who else would have sent a letter? But I can't know for sure without breaking the seal."

Jin repeated this in the garden.

"From Huruko, is it?" asked his father in a low voice. "Go ahead and take it, then, and leave it on the table inside. And don't bother us again."

Jin apologized and ran down to get the letter. "Would you like something to eat or drink before you go, Murakami-san?" he asked, out of breath.

"Well, now that you mention it, some tea would be nice. Actually, I really ought to stay… I have to talk to Suoh…"

Jin ran up to the house, put the letter on the table, and began making tea. Ringo managed the rest of the journey up by the time it was finished. He sat without being asked in a luxurious wicker chair with embroidered cushions and blew at the hot tea gently, while Jin stood by with his hands clasped, awaiting further instructions.

"So, Jin…" said Ringo. Jin bowed his head to acknowledge he'd heard. "How are your studies?"

"Very well. My Master is skilled beyond words, and my parents are without comparison. I am very lucky."

"How old are you? Five or six, isn't it? How many years—"

"Since I was three," said Jin promptly. Ringo shook his head in amazement.

"You're far too young, if you want my opinion," he said. "And far too serious, also."

"I apologize," said Jin, bowing.

Ringo and he fell into silence. Ringo finished his tea and cast an eye around for something to converse about. His eyes fell on a small dog, black and white. "Is that your dog?"

"Yes. His name is Yori."

Yori raised his fluffy head sleepily, yawned at Jin, scratched behind his ear, and went back to sleep. For a long time, Ringo and Jin stood in silence.

Finally, they heard a screen being rolled back, and Jin's parents swept into the room, looking a bit more upbeat after all their meditating. Both wore kimono and hakama; both had swords in their obi. The wife put hers on the table before she went to the kitchen for drinks. Jin's father, who looked very much like his son, though he had a squarer jaw and more chiseled features, remaining standing with his swords.

"Ringo-san!" he greeted him with a crushing handshake and a bow.

"Suoh-san," replied Ringo, bowing.

"Has Jin gotten you tea?" he asked, giving Jin a withering glare.

"Yes, he's been a very good host," said Ringo quickly. "You've raised him well."

"Is this the letter?" asked Suoh, gesturing to the table.

"It is. But Suoh-san, I'll confess… I didn't only come to deliver the letter. I have other news… news which would be unwise to write on paper, and which would best be told to you directly, anyway."

"Jin. Leave," snapped Suoh.

Jin turned obediently and left. The dog waddled after him.

Jin walked up the stairs to the loft where he slept and sat down, so he could hear every word. He propped his elbows on his knees and his cheeks on his fists, head cocked. Voices floated up.

"Suoh-san… Michi-san… you are both great samurai. Some of the greatest, some say."

"We were trained by the greatest," said Suoh modestly.

"You have a lot of enemies."

"We know," came Michi's voice, more musical but as hard as her husband's. "But we've never yet met any who pose any real threat…"

"Well, I've come to warn you that that day may have arrived. You've made a lovely home for yourselves… you have a beautiful son… but some of your otherwise powerless enemies have fallen into favor with the Shogunate."

"The Takugawa family is involved?" asked Jin's father, voice sharp.

"Yes. They'll come within the week. This I can guarantee. I would not warn you, if I did not think you were in grave danger."

There was a poignant pause.

"We will not steal away like thieves in the night," said Michi.

"We've done nothing wrong," agreed Suoh.

"Please, Suoh-san, Michi-san. You have a child—"

"We will not run! We've done nothing—"

"Please, Michi-san, I beg you to save yourselves."

"We will not run," she repeated. Ringo sighed; Jin heard him thanking them for the tea, and their hospitality, and leaving.

"JIN!" Suoh's voice came some suddenly that Jin fell forward and tumbled down the stairs. He landed in a heap at his father's feet. The dog yipped.

Jin picked himself, bowed, and asked, "Yes, Father?"

"I need you to run an errand." He picked up the letter from the table and broke the seal. "Yes, it's from Huruko, all right," he said as he read. "How unfortunate. He was pick-pocketed last month in the city."

"The city," scowled Jin's mother, saying all she needed to in a single glare. Her hair was not in a ponytail, but was actually shorter than her husband's; it framed her face and reached just barely below her shoulders. She had sticks in the back, but no other decoration. She passed more cups of tea to Jin and Suoh wordlessly.

"I suppose he needs us to compensate him?" she asked dryly.

"Now, Michi, dear…"

"No, Suoh, it's true and you know it well. He only writes to request favors."

"He's my brother," said Suoh. "Foolish or not, I have a blood obligation to him." He sighed and set the letter back on the table. "Well." He gave a look to his wife. She sighed and bowed her head. She left the room; she returned and handed him a small purse. "How much did he lose?"

"A lot," said Suoh shortly. "Jin, please take this to your uncle."

"Yes, Father." Jin jumped off his chair, bowed, took the purse, and dashed out of the room. The small dog followed, little more than a ball of black and white fluff. There was a flash of a sword, and the dog found its way barred by a blade. It scuttled back.

"Every day you get closer to that dog. Someday Jin will return to find him with a little patch shaved from his head," said Suoh with a small smile.

"I don't like the amount of freedom we give it," she said shortly. "Someday he will run away and never return."

"He knows his boundaries."

"He's useless, anyways."

"He keeps Jin company."

"Jin doesn't need company."

"He has no brothers or sisters."

"We can change that." In a flash he rose, grabbed her, and dipped her towards the floor. Just as fast, she slipped away from him.

"Don't make me fight you," she said, reaching for the swords on the table.

"Oh, you want to fight, do you?" he leered. "We'll raise the stakes. I win, I get my bidding. You win…"

"And you rid of us that silly excuse for a dog."

"Done!"

The two walked out with their arms around each other's waists; they settled everything in fights, and found practice more calming even than their meditations.

"Uncle!" Jin ran to his uncle like he was going to embrace him, but instead, bowed.

"Ah, you're far too polite, my boy. When I was your age, I collected lizards and threw mud at girls," said Huruko, leaning against the frame of his door. "Why have your parents sent you out so late? How long have you been walking in darkness?"

"Over an hour, Uncle. But I'm not afraid."

"Uh-huh," said Huruko, unconvinced. "And what if you should meet a robber?"

"I have my sword." Jin turned and gestured to his mother's wakazashi. Huruko shook his head in disbelief, that any woman would give her son a sword, even a small one.

"Well, come in, anyways. Have a sweet." Jin took it happily; sweets were denied to him by his parents at home. "Did your father get my letter?"

"Yes. He's sent money." Jin handed his uncle the purse. He looked in it, counting the coins; then they disappeared into his obi.

"Your father is a very generous man, Jin."

"I'll tell him you're grateful," replied Jin, swinging his legs under the table as he poured honey into his tea. (This was another delicacy he never had at his parents' house.)

"How are things on your end, Jin?"

"Very well, I think. Well… there's been some trouble, but my parents aren't worried."

"More trouble, mm?" Huruko sighed and picked up his cup from the table. "Go ahead and tell me."

"I didn't hear it very well; I was on the stairs. Murakami Ringo-san came over to deliver a letter, and he said something about the Takugawa family."

Jin's uncle's eyebrows rose, but the rest of his face remained expressionless. "What about them?" he asked softly.

"There's an alliance between them and some of our enemies. Father didn't seem concerned…" Jin examined Huruko's face. He knew already that something was wrong. "Should he be?"

"Are you leaving?" replied Huruko.

"No; Mother said we've done nothing wrong. Uncle?"

Huruko stood and brushed his hands. "I think it's time for bed, Jin."

"I can walk home…"

"It's dark. You'll stay here, tonight. Here, have another sweet."

Jin took it and went to bed with his sword.

The news came that morning, just as Huruko thought it would. He and Jin were eating an early lunch, sitting on a low stone wall outside, when the messenger came, bowed, and said simply: "Your brother has been killed."

Neither Huruko nor Jin showed any sign they'd even heard him. The messenger watched Jin; he was too serious for a little boy.

"What happened?" asked Huruko.

"It was last night. They were fighting outside, and were already tired. There was an ambush. I'm sorry."

Huruko bowed his head for a long time, then slid off the stone wall, pulled Jin off it, and said, "Is there anything left?"

"Not much."

"We'll salvage what we can. Come, Jin."

The messenger watched the two retreat inside. He walked away shaking his head; he had a daughter Jin's age, and she had never been so quiet in the entire course of her life.

"I don't understand."

"No; you won't until you're older," said Huruko shortly. He and Jin were wading through the grass toward the hill where Jin's home was. Both had bags slung over their backs, and wide straw hats on their heads. Huruko's bag already had some things in it, but Jin didn't know what.

"They've never been defeated."

"There were probably tens of soldiers. Maybe hundreds. They would not have gone down without a fight."

"Why didn't they run?"

"Your parents were very honorable people, Jin-chan. They had a lot of enemies as well. I think they knew this was coming. Haven't you wondered why you're sent to my home so often?"

It was true, reflected Jin; the last year he spent the night there at least two or three times a week at Huruko's house.

A third man joined them as they reached the hill. He was wearing a blue kimono with white diamonds, just like Huruko's.

"I'm very sorry, Huruko-san."

Huruko just shook his head. "Can you confess your surprise?"

"No. I would have been surprised if they'd lived to the boy's seventh birthday. Is this him?"

"Yes; Jin."

Jin bowed without knowing why.

"Jin?" repeated the second man in surprise.

"After Michi's mother. Don't ask."

They ceased speaking and concentrating on climbing the hill. Jin looked anxious. Every moment, things were getting more confusing.

"Do you think it's wise to let the boy in?"

"Yes. He needs to see it. This will be his last chance to say good-bye. He'll heal. He's tough, like Suoh was."

"Uncle?" asked Jin.

"Quiet, Jin."

When they reached the house, it didn't look any worse than it had been. The peach tree was there, as it always had been; the paper screens with their painted scenery were closed.

They walked around the end of the house, and Jin realized how quiet it was. Yori wasn't barking. He felt his heart hammering.

The garden had been changed. The carefully raked patch of sand where his parents always reflected had been kicked around; there were footprints in the moss and flowers.

"Of course, they took all of their own dead," said the man who'd joined them. He had very short, light hair, pulled back into a very short and silly-looking ponytail. He had a round, stout face, but carried himself proudly.

"Of course," echoed Huruko, poking the sand with his foot, trying to fix it.

He and the other man opened the door and entered the house. Jin followed, and his breath caught in his throat; his home was trashed.

Broken china was scattered on the floor. The tatami mats were ripped up, the furniture was turned over, and one wall looked like a fire had been against it. Scrolls from the walls had been ripped down and torn.

"Father?" he called. His voice echoed, falling flat in the empty house.

"He's dead, Jin," said Huruko shortly. He walked into the next room and went "ahh."

The other man and Jin went with him. The other man went "ahh," as well; lying on the floor was what remained of Jin's parents.

His father was on his side, hair down and covering his face. A dark pool of blood was around him, most of it coming from his stomach, which had been torn open completely, its contents littering the floor. His mother was at the foot of the stairs, face unrecognizable because it was covered in blood, her neck partially severed. Yori was lying next to her, white fur stained.

Jin squeaked.

"I think they got him first," said the second man, nodding. "In any case, Michi has more marks; she must have forgotten all form after his death and fought like a cornered lioness, without restraint. The dog tried to defend her."

Jin swayed slightly. Huruko grabbed his hand. Jin tugged him, and went over to his mother with a dazed look. He touched her mutilated face, picked up Yori's lifeless body, and then buried his face into Huruko's kimono and began sobbing.

Normally, Huruko would have told him to stop; but he let him cry. He picked him up, and though Jin was beyond understanding, he heard a lot of things that he would later remember; Huruko asking the other man if Michi had been violated, and the other man saying no, she'd died honorably; Huruko checking if any kimono were left, but of course all had been stolen; the other man (Seiko), finding a spare set of clothes that had been overlooked and giving them to Huruko; and finally, Seiko slipping the blue beads Michi had worn around her wrist and slipping them on Jin's.

"Will he be okay?" asked Seiko as they left the house.

"Yes; he's made of the stuff his father was. Take him to the dojo; let him heal there."

"And you… you'll be leaving, I assume?"

"Have I any other choice? They've probably already gone to my house."

"Will you come back for the boy?"

"Yes, if they don't find me first. Tell Enshirou-san to keep him until his nineteenth birthday."

"I can send some of our own, to bury them."

"No; Takugawa's people will return. It's best to leave them."

"It's no use pretending we weren't there; Jin's already moved the dog."

"Jin, let go of Yori now. It's his home." Huruko pulled the dog from Jin and laid him in the grass, and they walked back, with Jin seeing the last of his home over his uncle's shoulder.