Growing Pains
02: The silence of these hallowed halls
Auteur : Rain
Disclaimer : Shaman King…. Doesn't belong to me! How surprising! I am only playing with borrowed toys.
Notes :
To hide; to hope; to wonder.
I wasn't sure there would be interest for this thing and then there was. So I'm going to continue to update the English version of this little thing. If you see something similar on AO3, it's also me! Dio- I mean Rain.
Comments not only feed me, but can influence what I write. Some scenes coming up were only borne of the suggestions of other readers. So if you have thoughts. I'm willing to hear them!
On the ship, it is taboo to talk about the words. They are hidden behind gloves and uniforms and hair for those unfortunate enough to have them near their face. She does not ask about them. She knows these all represent another destiny, one they choose to actively refuse so that the rest of the virtuous can have theirs.
They forget their words in favor of a higher calling, that of Justice, and she is the personification of that Justice. She cannot afford to be curious.
She wears long dresses to hide, just as the rest of them.
ꙮ
The subject is much too intimate to ask Yoh about. Tamao struggles to remember what he said to her when they first met. She was so little. It was before her words. Mikihisa had come to talk to Yohmei, and he left her on the porch to count the gravel.
Yoh came over, warm and blinding. She remembers him opening his mouth to say something.
She doesn't remember what he said.
She does not really need to, in spite of everything. She knows Yoh pretty well, the result of much hiding and eavesdropping when he is training in the yard. She cooks for him just to earn the right to watch him eat. She steals as many moments from him as she can, and it's clear as day.
Yoh has never been careful about anything, and there is no way he ever told her to be careful.
"It can't be him," Conchi says, as gently as he can, which is not very.
"What do you know?"
"I know," Ponchi continues, "that your marks will light up when you hear the words. They shine like… like…"
"Like dew on a young maiden's skin. Like make-up on an idol. Like silver and gold."
Tamao stares blankly at her ankle. The marks are faintly dark, not smudged at all, but certainly not silver and gold.
She wonders if anyone ever decided the words didn't matter.
…
Soon she doesn't have to wonder anymore. There is a commotion, one summer, as Yoh goes to visit his grandmother.
When he comes back, his open shirt lets out a gleam. The words on his chest – she had never managed to read them fully – she sees them now.
They glow.
He has found his soulbound mate and it is not her.
ꙮ
In camp the words do not matter much.
Luchist's are flared silver but that is only one reason why Hao trusts him so much. It certainly does not keep Kanna from turning around him like a cat trying to corner a hawk.
Ashil's are not flared, have never been. Still he follows Hao around like a lost puppy, and Hao must admire the guts it takes to do so. He doesn't wonder if anyone will ever free the boy. He strongly wishes no one ever does. There is a tyranny to the words, and he is all about freedom.
Sometimes he traces the lines of his own chains and wonders, still. He has little use for a soulmate. He already has one. Wouldn't that be perfectly fitting? For him to meet Yoh, and their words to both flare at the same time?
He doesn't think it will be the case. He doesn't need the gods, or whatever it is that writes the words, to agree with him. He makes his own destiny, and the words do not matter.
