Paths of Righteousness: Still Waters

Disclaimer: I do not own Yu-Gi-Oh! Or any of the characters thereof. They belong to Kazuki Takahashi/ Shueisha Inc., FUNImation Productions, 4Kids, etc. This piece of fiction was written solely for the enjoyment of myself and fellow Yu-Gi-Oh! fans, and no profit is being made by its writing or publication.

Rating and Warning: OT for violence, discussion of abuse, and character death, mild Christian-bashing opinion expressed by grieving adolescent character

Chapter Two:

After a refill of both tea bowls, Sensei casually inquires as to the health of my aunt Chihiro – Isawa-san, as he refers to her quite correctly but with that slight inflection that leads me to suspect that my Aikido master maybe might have a bit of an interest in my father's younger sister. Why do I think that, you might ask? Well, it might be the way my normally unflappable Sensei turned all stammered-tongued the time Aunt Chihiro picked me up from class one night last month and how disappointed he seemed to be upon learning that she would only be in Domino for the weekend; at the next class Himura-san had been quite interested in hearing about our shopping trip to Kyoto and had managed to 'nudge' quite a few extra details regarding my Aunt's favorite haunts and habits from me during the conversation. I wouldn't be surprised if he offers up Lapsang Souchong tea (her favorite) next time she stops by – which, come to think of it, will probably be not this coming week, but the following one. We had to postpone my birthday dinner earlier this month due to a last minute emergency at the agency, but she's promised something extra special to make up for it. I make a mental note to have Aunt Chihiro come by the dojo (I'll have to think up a good excuse) so that Sensei can have to opportunity to fall all over himself trying to talk to her ( Heh. I'm so evil...). I mention this upcoming visit, and Sensei positively beams at the possibility. This leads to a brief discussion of hospitality customs and teas, including the afore mentioned Lapsang and Earl Grey, which leads to England and my having lived there when I was younger, which leads to... .

It's been a long time since I've talked to anyone about Mother and Amané. I used to write long letters to my sister once a week, starting shortly after Dad and I moved back to Japan; I guess it was my way of keeping them both alive, at least in my memory. For a while I'd mail them to Uncle Jamie in Newcastle and he'd take them to the churchyard in Combe Florie, but then he went to Afghanistan and grandmother…well, never mind. Several months after Yuugi-tachi and I became friends, Anzu found one of my letters to Amané and asked me about it. I told her it was left over from the previous year's Oban festival. She apologized, for what I'm still not sure, but that was when I stopped writing them.

Strange thing… that was one habit of mine that the Other never mocked. I'd almost say he approved, except for the custom of burning the letters once a year at Oban -- he called that barbaric. 'Remember your dead properly, yadounushi', he'd growl. 'Carve their names into solid rock or burn them into cold metal; leave the papyrus scratching to the scribes and priests….' At which point he'd either fly into a murderous fury, take over and go on a rampage (the warehouse district acquired some interesting graffiti on those occasions), or he'd grumble something about stupid priests and Pharaoh's justice and give me the silent treatment for the next few days.

Sensei listens quietly while I ramble on, about England and Uncle Jamie, and mother showing me how to make hollyhock dolls and float them on a bowl of water to amuse 'Mannie', and trying to teach grandmother's 'gorgees' (corgis) to fetch in the mail like the dogs we saw on the telly, and about the time one of Uncle Jamie's army buddies decided I needed to be 'baptized with a proper name' to protect me from the Lady in Green at Midsummer….

Then I stop and try to think of what would be the Japanese equivalent to the Sidhe and Unseelye Courts so that I can explain it to Himura-san properly; local folklore has an abundance of child-stealing ghosts and such, not to mention the legend of the Dragon King's palace, but nothing seems to quite match. Sensei's eyes sparkle as he informs me that he is quite familiar with Spenser's The Faerie Queen, having misspent a portion of his own youth abroad in Western climes. I blush and stammer an apology for my ethnocentric assumptions, but Himura-san simply smiles and encourages me to finish the anecdote.

"He was very insistent, you see," I explain. "I believe that the sergeant-major had had several pints more than what was really good for him, although at the time I thought he was just very cheerful. But he kept saying that he'd never be able to call himself a good Christian soul if he let 'Herself' steal me away just because I didn't have a proper name, and that Uncle Jamie should be ashamed to have let things get to such a pretty pass."

Which was how I'd found myself having 180 proof whiskey sprinkled over my head by a solemnly inebriated Army man chanting a weird mish-mish of Latin, Greek, and I suspect a bit of Gaelic, in the middle of a 400-year old Devonshire pub and receiving the 'Christian' name of Dylan (ironic, since my new namesake was a Celtic ocean deity!) while my Uncle Jamie tried heroically to keep a straight face behind his friend's back.

'That'll do,' the sergeant-major pronounced finally, 'at least until you can get 'im to the padre and done right, Jamie-lad.'

'Sir, yessir!' Uncle Jamie saluted, and I echoed obediently. He ruffled hair on top of my head a bit, then added, 'Best get along home, now, Ryou-bach, before you're missed and there's the devil to pay….'

I stutter to a halt and stare into my bowl of cold tea. Himura-san gently removes the bowl from my hands and sets it down on the table.

"Tell me, Ry-chan."

"That… that day. It was …that day," I whisper. "Dad was… in London, he had to go to the museum for a meeting…. Mother and Amané went to the station to meet him… it was… it was…. We…" I take a deep, shuddering breath. I can do this. It's just a memory. "We were supposed to go on holiday. To Egypt. Dad was going to be supervising a follow-up dig for the Langford Foundation, and he wanted us to go with him -- at least for a while. Mother and Grandmother had … an argument, because Grandmother thought we should stay in England. Where it was safe and civilized."

I almost snarl the word, and sensei hands me a fresh bowl of tea. Warm, but not too hot. I sip cautiously and let the warmth seep into my body, if not my soul. "Would you like to hear something ironic, sensei? Ojiisama said almost the very same thing to Dad when he left for Oxford -- he told me about it. 'Stay here, where it's civilized', and again after I was born; I've seen the letters -- 'Come home, bring your son home. Where it's civilized'. And then… when we did come back to Japan, me and Dad…."

Hypocrites. All except Aunt Chihiro, who was also persona non gratis in my grandparents' home because she'd dishonored the family by divorcing the nice respectable salary man they'd married her to, and gone off to develop her talents for graphic design and calligraphy into a career with a Kyoto advertising and marketing agency. Never mind that the nice respectable salary man was violent and abusive, with a girlfriend on the side and a gambling habit that drove him to embezzlement and public disgrace. Oh no, it was Aunt Chihiro who had committed a cardinal sin; just like Dad did, when he deserted the family to marry a gaijin and selfishly pursue his own dreams. Except they were willing to forgive Dad, the all-important male heir, under certain conditions….

"Dad told Ojiisama to 'sod off'," I tell Himura-san proudly, using the British slang phrase without thinking; then flush with embarrassment. "Ano… that means --"

There's an amused twinkle in sensei's eye. "I know what it means, Ryou-kun. But this one does not understand why Bakura-sensei would so rudely refuse to abandon a flourishing academic career as an internationally esteemed anthropologist in exchange for a highly respected albeit limited position in the prestigious civil service cubicle," he teases and I laugh with him.

"Some things it is better not to know, Himura-sama," I intone solemnly, in my best Yami no Yuugi imitation. Seriously, though, I think Dad didn't mind the idea of settling down so much; he accepted the seat on the Museum Board of Directors after all. Not that he actually did -- settle down, that is. The real problem was that Ojiisama's plans didn't account for a pale, mildly depressed half-breed grandson with a stubborn streak of his own. Not to mention a possessive homicidal Egyptian spirit in a gaudy hunk of gold jewelry – but that came later.

"You see, the last time Dad's family had actually seen me was when I was around two and a half years old and this --," I grab a handful of silver-white hair and pull it gently away from my scalp in order to properly display the oddity, "was considerably darker in color. Almost a respectable"-- another word I'm beginning to seriously dislike, especially in connection with my not-so-loving relatives -- "shade of brown. It was nearly black when I was born," I explain to sensei, who nods and reciprocates by tugging at a lock or two of his own startling roan-red mane. We exchange rueful grimaces of understanding, and I offer to refill his tea.

Sensei declines, and we sit quietly for a little while. I remember asking Mother once, when I was about seven years old, if my hair was going to turn white and fall out like Grand-dad's did. She hugged me and told me it probably wouldn't fall out, but it might turn white because hers had and she thought I was more like her than like Dad. I remember being horrified -- I didn't want to be like a girl! So I got a hold of some black shoe polish and gunked it all over my hair. Amané tried to help, but I told her to leave me alone because she was a girl and I was afraid it would rub off on me. She started crying and threw a tantrum. Uncle Jamie came in and laughed until tears ran down his face. Grandmother threw a conniption. -- what would the neighbors think? etcetera, etcetera. Grand-dad looked confused and asked, 'what's all this then?' I told him that I didn't want to be a girl.

'Then don't be', Grand-dad said, and picked me up and carried me all the way down High Street to the barber's shop, where he told Davy the Scissors to trim out the shoe polish. It wasn't quite a crew cut, but it was close, and I cried because even then I liked my hair long. 'Hush now, Ryou-bach, it will grow again,' my grandfather scolded gently. 'It might be white like your mother's, or dark like your tad's, or mayhap even green for all the Good Lord knows; but whatever color your hair or your eyes or your skin, you will still be you.'

"I miss Grand-dad." I'm crying again, quiet tears dripping down my cheeks. "I - I'd almost forgotten that, he passed away soon after. Grandmother sold the cottage, and we lived in a hotel in Oxford while Dad came back to Japan and tried to make peace with Ojiisama; I was too young at the time to realize it, but Grandmother really didn't like Dad. She wanted Mother to leave him, or send him packing, or whatever. Because he was foreign; not 'their' kind. Not… Anglo. Grand-dad didn't care about that; he liked Dad. Dad had taught me Nihongo and was teaching me Egyptian-Arabic, and Grand-dad wanted to learn too. We-- we'd practice together and Grandmother would get all stiff and tell me to stop that heathen chatter, and scold Grand-dad for encouraging such wickedness. After Grand-dad died, Grandmother said that it was her house now and she'd decide who was welcome under her roof from now on. Dad -- wasn't welcome. Neither was Uncle Jamie, I never understood why. I think… I think Grandmother tolerated me while Mother was alive because I didn't look foreign, at least not very much; it was easy enough for her to pretend I was a full-blooded Anglo as long as no one used my family name."

That was part of why she and Mother argued that day, because Grandmother wanted her and Amané to stay in England so that Amané could get a 'proper' education instead of growing up being dragged through the filthy gutters of Calcutta -- that's a direct quote, by the way. Mother retorted, 'oh, the kind of education that doesn't know the difference between North Africa and the Asian subcontinent?' and Grandmother ordered her not to take that tone with her, it's too late for the boy, he's already part savage but have some consideration for your daughter…

Mother got real quiet and cold and said, 'If Ryou is part savage then so is Amané; he is just as much my child and your grandchild as she is, mother, and I will not let you drive a wedge between them with your prejudices and upper class snobbery. Nor will I let you dictate my children's choice of language, culture or beliefs.'

"I was hiding in the boot closet because I'd been out with Uncle Jamie and the sergeant-major at the pub and I knew Grandmother would be angry, because she'd forbidden me to go and I'd just gotten in when I heard Mother and Grandmother arguing. So I hid. I was afraid that if Grandmother found out, I couldn't go to Egypt with Dad and I'd be stuck in Oxford going to that horrid boys' school again. Mother walked away up the stairs and fetched Amané to go to the station; I wanted so badly to go with them, but if I came out then Grandmother would see me and know that I'd been wicked again. I was… I'm such a coward….

"Mother was carrying Amané. I remember Grandmother saying, 'If you go to that man, Gwynneth Alicia Pwyll, don't bother coming back.' Mother just looked at her, with one eyebrow raised. 'Fine, then,' she said, 'I'll send Jameson to fetch Ryou, so you won't be bothered', and she slammed the door. Grandmother turned all red in the face, then white, and then red again. I don't know if she was angrier that Mother had walked out on her, or that she'd have to see Uncle Jamie in order to be shut of me…."

Coward. If I hadn't been so afraid of my Grandmother, I would have been with Mother and Amané at the train station when the 6:38 derailed and smashed through the barrier. If I'd been there maybe they wouldn't have been at that end of the platform. Maybe I could have pulled them both back before….

"How old were you, Ryou-kun?"

"Nine years … almost ten."

Sensei's hand is against my cheek again, but this time I turn slightly and lean into the offered comfort. "Just a child, Ryou-kun. If you had been there, you might have been killed also." I hiccough through the tears.

"Sometimes…." It's barely a whisper, but I know he hears…"Sometimes I wish… I had."

If I try hard enough maybe I can pretend that I'm still nine years old, and the shoulder I'm sobbing against is my dad's. If I keep my eyes closed I won't see the long roan-red hair that's more like Uncle Jamie's, except his was a short army cut. If I don't think about it, I won't hear the shocked protest that surely I don't mean that, such a wicked thing to say at a time like this… the protest doesn't come and somehow I know in my heart it won't be said by this man who isn't my dad, who isn't Uncle Jamie, who isn't mourning his own losses in a welter of grief and guilt.

"It's hard, to be the one who survives. I know, Ryou-kun. I know."

I remember the bobby coming to the door after supper, and listening from the stairs while Grandmother shrieked and wailed; clutching tight to the carpetbag I'd packed in a hurry because I wanted to be ready when Uncle Jamie came. I remember my dad walking through the open door and Grandmother screeching for the bobby to arrest that man, that foreign tramp, for trespassing or burglary or kidnapping or…. And me screaming 'no!' and falling down the stairs trying to stop the bobby from taking Dad to prison because he couldn't take me and Mother and Amané to Egypt if he was in prison, and Uncle Jamie bellowing 'shut that noise, you stupid cow, you're scaring the boy!' Grandmother cried out, 'Oh my heart!' and someone called an ambulance while the bobby took Dad into the library. I went into hysterics, thinking that Dad was under arrest, and Uncle Jamie picked me up off the floor and held me tight, whispering soft Gaelic nonsense as tears ran down his face until I went limp and quiet with exhaustion.

It rained the morning of the funeral. Several of the Great Uncles made the arrangements under Grandmother's direction. A Christian ceremony, Anglican of course, with two closed caskets lowered solemnly into the Jarvis family plot in the Combe Florie churchyard. Dad and I both wore black suits; Uncle Jamie wore his U.N.I.T. dress uniform, and the three of huddled together under a huge umbrella, surrounded mostly by Jarvis cousins but I think there must have been one or three other Pwylls because I remember several people with a look of Grand-dad coming over and talking to Dad and Uncle Jamie in hushed voices. The Reverend Doctor whose name I never did know finished a long prayer, closed his Bible, then glanced at Grandmother who was out of the hospital but in a wheelchair. One of the Uncles handed her a spray of lilies and wheeled her to the edge of the grave. Uncle Jamie growled something that sounded rude under his breath, then said loudly and clearly, 'Leticia, it's not your place to be doing that.'

There was a cold sharp silence as the assembled family simply stared at us: me, Dad and Uncle Jamie. Uncle Jamie nudged me forward towards the gaping mass, but he was right behind me, warm and solid and righteous, and Dad on my other side. The Reverend Doctor was the only person there (other than the Pwyll cousins) who didn't look willing to dig at least three more holes in the ground, and the only one to have the courtesy to look confused and embarrassed.

'Er, Corporal?'

'The son and the husband, sir, have their rights to be recognized and to mourn. Even,' he added harshly with a bitter glare at Grandmother, 'if they aren't proper Christians and foreign born.'

'Have you no shame?' Grandmother hissed. 'You--!'

'Why should I have, seeing how you are so willing to carry the burden for all of us?' Uncle Jamie retorted. 'Gwyn was the sister of my heart as much as by blood, though I'd willingly shed every drop in my body if it could bring her and 'Mannie back to life, Reverend, but not for myself or for this selfish shrivel-souled hag. For the boy, and this man I'm proud to call a brother as well…'

I think he would have said more, but Dad interrupted softly. 'Jamie-kun… Let it go.' He stepped forward and bowed very slightly to the woman in the wheelchair. 'Mother of my wife, I ask only for permission to… to say farewell to my wife and my daughter.' Not waiting for her answer, Dad turned and held out his hand to me, drawing me to his side. We stood together, still in the rain; Dad murmuring quiet prayers to the ancient gods of the Orient and MidEast while I stared at the flower draped casket lids and tried to remember the Christian words I'd learned mostly to please the horrible Woman my aching heart blamed for this nightmare.

'Okaasan….little sister… Mary Mother of God… yea, though they walk through the valley of shadows… guardian of the gates, bright winged Horus, in your mercy… thy rod and thy staff, they comfort me… honored ancestors, gentle Bodhisvatta, guide their steps on the Path towards rebirth…. Forgive us our trespasses…. '

Never. I will never forgive you, Grandmother. You have trespassed against my heart….

I'm shaking again, as my long-suppressed anger against that woman swells. She said the words, those hateful angry words that drove my mother and sister from her house --

'If you go… don't bother coming back.'

And they never did.

They. Never. Came. Back.

Never.

"Never… never forgive…" Hot and strangely familiar, anger rises dark and strong, the color of blood-tainted gold…. My mother, my sister… my family! Dead, murdered, slaughtered by Pharaoh's command….there will be justice, I swear by the gods…. In this life or the next….

"Ryou-chan!" Sharper than the voice that slices through the fog of grief and fury is the sting of a hand across my cheek, and without thinking I reach for the darkness to strike back. Sensei is faster, snaring my wrists and twisting my arms behind my back...naumaku sarabatata gyateibyaku... There's a roaring in my ears, flames devouring wood and thatch, voices screaming, cursing...jamagedou mouryoukishin dokujuudokuryuu, dokuchuushirui....I can feel the muscles burning, strained almost to the tearing point... monshakujoushou, saibukudokugai hotsubodaishin, gushumangyou, sokushoubodai... Part of me is aghast at what appears to be happening, while another part is snarling, enraged…. "Makai Tenjyo!"

And the breath whooshes out of me as the red-tinged fury bleaches back to gold and the darkness explodes into bright sparks, swirling and condensing into a tiny barely noticeable knot, leaving behind the oddest sensation; as if I'd been briskly lashed body and soul with a bundle of parchment streamers.

"S-s-s-sensei…." I have control of my voice again; I feel my limbs shudder as the inhuman strength fades away. "Onegai…. gomen…. gomen nasai…."

"Be still, Ryou-kun." Himura-sensei's voice is soft yet stern. "Center yourself again. Breathe." I feel him release my arms, and he places the heel of one hand firmly against the middle of my forehead. "Center yourself," he repeats, "and breathe."

"Sen--"

"Hush."

Sensei breathes with me: inhale, hold, exhale, pause. Inhale, hold, exhale, pause. Inhale, hold, exhale, pause…

But my mind is racing around in frantic terrified circles even as my body starts to calm, because I know what almost happened just now; my memories, my grief and anger... somehow they resonated along just the wrong frequency...

"Bakura-kun." Himura-sensei's voice is stern and I look up into narrowed crimson eyes.

"What it is that possesses you?"

...Yami no Yuugi's seal on the Ring of Wisdom is starting to crack.

(tbc)

Author's Note: Okay, last chapter I said emphatically that Himura-sensei was NOT 'Ruroni Kenshin', even though his description and characteristics suggest it. Actually, with this chapter it seems that he is something of a cross between Kenshin and Kuumiya Sanzo from 'Saiyuki. ' Credit goes to the TokyoPop translators of "Tactics", particularly Volume 4, for the Buddhist prayer Himura-Sensei uses to temporarily banish the echo of the Ring Spirit.

Also, just to let you know: I have very fond memories of MY grandmother teaching my sister and I how to make hollyhock dolls -- and that is the sole extant of any resemblance between Grandma A. and Ryou's British grandmother. "Pwyll" is pronounced either as "Poole" or "Powell", I'm not sure which.