Cleansing: A Samurai 7 fanfiction
Author: Cal-Reflector
Disclaimer: I do not owned Samurai 7 or the characters contained therein.
Chapter One: Festival
Kanna Village, Kirara's home.
Kirara sat, unmoving, on the walkway outside of her room, watching the small wind chime above her sway in the breeze. The gentle wind wove through the suspended bamboo clappers and played the sound of summer as the heat of the day gradually subsided with the setting of the sun.
In the distance, one could hear from the main village final preparations being made for the celebration of the summer festival. It would be just the third one the village has held every year, since such festivities were impossible in the days of the Nobuseri.
She reached down to pick up her tea, wounding her fingers around the coolness of the fired clay and after a long sip, set it down again. Three years had passed peacefully since the defeat of the bandits by the samurai, during which the village had steadily recovered into modest prosperity. It seemed that even the Heavens smiled at last upon the village's inhabitants, who for so long have endured and suffered, by sending sun and rain in such abundance and raising the crops to such surplus that there was enough even to trade for fish, bolts of new cloth, and other commodities that were unimaginable luxuries just three years ago.
Kirara listened to the sounds of the chimes above and the chattering noises from afar. Komachi had run off with her friends to "help" with the preparations a while before, their efforts more likely to bring trouble than help to the occupied adults. Kirara sighed; her younger sibling seemed to have enough energy for the both of them, something that had become more apparent as time went on.
It was not necessarily a bad thing though. Kirara knew that, even though Komachi had took on her role as the water maiden, she was but a child still, and after so many years of nothing but sweat and tears at the end of the day, the village was slowly beginning to find laughter again, and wasn't that the most important thing?
Suddenly, the unmistakable voice of Kirara's younger sister rang out amidst a multitude of laughter, and this time she had to suppress her chuckle. She mused at the thought of having Kikuchiyo present on this marry occasion, where he would no doubt have lent much of his boisterous and brawling personality to liven up things even more.
She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. "Kikuchiyo-sama, Gorobei-sama, Heihachi-sama, Kyuzo-sama…"
For a moment the chimes were stilled, and Kirara's thoughts drifted to the place where the four were laid to rest; atop of a hill not far from where she was now, from where they would continue to watch over this village of farmers and peasants for whom they laid down their lives.
Earlier in the morning, on the day which marked the beginning of the celebration, Kirara, the elderly village headman, Komachi, and the rest of the village had proceeded up the slopes to the clearing at the top where their graves were set. They gathered there to tend to and clean the site, pulling out stray weeds and placing down fresh flowers of the season atop of the graves. Prayers and offerings of thanksgiving were made to the warriors who fell in their defense, along with entreaties for their continued protection and vigilance. Afterwards, as the rest of the village left to prepare for the evening's festivities, Rikichi, his wife Sanae, and the two sisters stayed behind.
It had become an unspoken tradition for the four, every year, as they endeavored to spend a little more time in the presence of those whom they had experienced so much together with. Like always, Rikichi would laugh and cry at the same time when he retold the story of the time he was forced into a thorough transgender makeover by Gorobei and Heihachi in order to escape the scrutiny of the bandit patrols. And like always, Sanae-san would laugh quietly along with her husband and wipe away his tears afterwards.
Kirara closed her eyes and a small smile formed at the recollection. She knew how much they had to be thankful for.
The breeze picked up again, and the gentle sound of the chimes resumed once more, joined now by a cicada from the woods nearby. She opened her eyes, and saw that the village was now lit cheerfully against the night skies by numerous lanterns and torches. Yet, though her sight rested on the joyous scene, her mind lingered on top of the hills. She could not help but feel that they had not done their saviors justice, and a twinge of guilt stung her at the thought that they had left them behind in too much haste in order to begin their own merriment. She always understood that the debt to the samurai could never be repaid with the mere rice they humbly accepted as payment, and to see the villagers begin to forget this so soon weighed heavily upon her conscience.
She had often hoped of discovering a way through which her gratitude could be properly expressed, but that was only wishful thinking. The dead are beyond the reach of mortals, and there was nothing she could offer to those who lived which could even begin to compensate what they deserved. The last time she heard, Shichirouji was living happily with Yukino, whom he had finally wed and now settled together with at the inn. He had informed her several months after their departure from the village that Kanbei had taken up the cloth and has been journeying distant lands as a priest since.
It pained her in the beginning to realize that she would probably never see him again, the man whom she sought out first, the man who protected her and the village, the man whom her heart had rested on. She had never been able to confess her feelings, and the one time she came close to doing so, on the eve of the final battle, he stopped her.
"My heart is already corrupted… the scent of water cannot be found on me.
It had hurt her very much for him to remove himself from her life, but long ago, deep inside a part of her soul that she chose not to acknowledge, she had known that this was how it would be. No matter how brightly the orb of her pendant glowed with the warmth of her heart's yearning, it was always from her feelings alone. She had known, that there was no way she could ever know him on an intimate level, for his heart had long been closed, incapable of such tender feeling after too many years of battle, weariness, and defeat.
And so she moved on, and was able to let him go with a smile on her face. Yet, though those feelings which she held for Kanbei were vanquished, she could not to this day forgive herself for her sin; that as a result of her selfish emotions she had cast yet more burdens on his already weighted soul, and had eyes only for him when the others had fought and died. She knew that she could no longer carry out her duties as the water maiden, for the purity of the pendant could no longer respond to a heart fouled by an unclean conscience. The passage of time had not held no reprieve, and she continued to serve her self-imposed penance, resigned to take upon herself the consequences of her sins.
A great shout from the village roused Kirara back into the present, and the voice was soon joined by more until a great commotion had broken out.
"What could be the matter?" She murmured as she rose from her reverie, "Komachi better have not snuck away sweets from the feast table like she did last year."
Stepping off the wooden walkway and into her sandals, she got up and started down the path towards the village and noise to verify her suspicions.
Entering the main body of the village, she saw that a great crowd had gathered around the front of the new village hall, and surrounded in the middle of the excitement a single figure stood out, a head taller than the rest. The poor lighting outdoors prevented her from seeing more clearly, but from the tall silhouette she was able to deduce it to a man. As she drew nearer his features came better into view from the light of a lantern held high by a passerby, and just as she was about to get a good look, Komachi broke free from the encirclement and ran into her arms, excitement written all over her face.
"Nee-chan! Nee-chan! Look who's come back! It's Katsunoji!"
And then she recognized him.
He seemed the same, yet different some how from how she remembered him: his hair was still long, and tied back in a way as to leave several strands in front to frame his face. The light orange cloak he wore now had evidence of much travel and gave him a mature air that seemed strangely appropriate yet odd, for in her memory he was still the youth, the youngest of the seven, who was no longer boy but not quite man. It had been three years though, and that would have been plenty of time for him to gain the extra build and height that enhanced his presence as a grown man now.
She did not notice that, as her sister would tell her much later that night, the pendant which hung from her wrist glowed ever so softly for the first time in a long, long time right after she ran to surprise her with whom the visitor was.
Author's Notes: In truth, I had planned and begun preliminary work on this story nearly six months ago, but as the series' popularity waned, I became discouraged as to whether there would be enough fans and potential readers to make writing a long fanfic for Samurai 7 worthwhile. Here's hoping for the best anyways, and if you like what you have seen so far, by all means encourage your friends to view the series and read the stories written by admiring fans.