Chapter 4. Underneath the Underneath.
"We should get going. Do you have everything you need?"
The boy looked around. Need, what would he need with him to travel? All these long days, he had survived only because the caravan had had food and water. He couldn't go long without either. The first morning of grave digging had made that painfully clear.
A brief glance at the man-spirit—no, Hiko-san— showed that the man didn't have any supplies with him. Well, nothing but the Sake, the cloak and the sword, but how could he travel so? Perhaps he had something more with him? If so, it had to be hidden under his cloak, but surely even the man-spirit couldn't have enough for the boy, too?
"Wait a moment," he told to the man-spirit—Hiko-san—and dashed off to his nest of blankets.
First things first, he slipped his top to his sleeve pocket. Kasumi had given it to him; he couldn't leave it – it was the only reminder he had of his almost-a-family.
The bed was thick and heavy as it should be. He had made it from the four blankets and sleeping on it had been really nice and warm, but there was no way he could carry all of them alone. The boy bit his lip, anxious, glanced behind him. The man-spirit looked so cold and forbidding. No, there was absolutely no way that he would mess this all up by being a crybaby and asking the swordsman to carry his stuff. A slight hiccupping inhale, and decision made, he took only the most topmost of the blankets with him and rolled it for easier carrying. It had been Kasumi's, and the boy thought it still smelled a bit like her.
Then off to the supply wagon.
The man-spirit Hiko-san followed him slowly, hard eyes watching his every movement like a hunting cat but never saying a word.
Rummaging through the already familiar food supplies, he found a small enough water jug to carry along. It would do, but the food was a different issue. The vegetables were large and already smelling somewhat funny. The rice was not an option, uncooked as it was, and he wasn't sure if the man-spirit had means to prepare it either. Perhaps he should ask?
But what if it is a stupid question and the man-spirit will get angry at me for asking? Old Ine-sama had gotten angry the few times he had dared to ask anything…No, it was better not to annoy the swordsman until he knew more.
But there was still some dried fish left, and though it tasted quite bad, he had gotten somewhat used to it after all this time. So he took as much with him as he could fit in the blanket, and used the left over bits of rope to tie it all up neatly for carrying on his back.
With the preparations done, he ran to man-spirit Hiko-san. Then he glanced up expectantly. The swordsman's brow was raised in question, and up this close, he didn't look or seem nearly as scary.
"Ready to go now?"
And the boy nodded.
The man-spirit scoffed, turned around and started walking.
The boy followed.
He had to run every now and then just to keep up with the man-spirit's long steps. No. Hiko-san's. The man-spirit had a name, so he should use it. But I don't know the man-spirit well enough – isn't it kind of rude to call someone with just their name?
Back when Mother had taught him about honor words, she had kept reminding him that using the wrong one would be rude. If one added too high an honor to a name, it would remind the person that he was not worth that honor. To add too low of an honor was an even worse insult.
Shinta-chan, if it's too hard, just add –san to the name. Or you can be silent and stay close to me. A faint smile and a whisper of laughter echoed with the memory and the boy swallowed, rubbed his eyes – just to make sure they were dry. Don't think, don't try to remember and it hurts less.
But what word should he add to man-spirit's name? What would fit the best? The man-spirit's wide back and the flowing cape didn't give the boy any hints. The white cloth was so odd, and mostly reminded the boy ofthe heroes in father's evening tales, when he could be convinced to tell one.
Don't think!
No, everything in the man-spirit was just too odd, the boy decided after a while. The way he walked, dressed, spoke… It all gave the boy a firm certainty that choosing an honor word too low would be a big mistake. But what was too high? Surely the man-spirit was no lord, or a village elder… How could the boy choose? Even the usually acceptable –san didn't suit name the Hiko at all and the person it belonged to.
It's impossible! There are no good options!
And somehow, the man-spirit felt cold and distant—just like the spirit-friend, who didn't like people at all. Did he dare ask? But what if the man-spirit didn't want to hear him speak? What if it would find the questions annoying like old Ine-sama?
If it wanted him to talk, it would ask questions, the boy reasoned. Yes, it was better to be silent.
After all, he didn't know why the man-spirit had decided to take him with it, and he didn't want to be alone again. And the promise of learning sword fighting—he definitely didn't want to give that up! The man-spirit had been really good with the sword, killing the bandit so easily; surely he could teach the boy to fight just as well?
But what if the man-spirit decided that he was not good enough? Or what if it had lied? What reason did it have to offer him these things he wanted? Should he even trust it? What if it was just doing what the old Ine-sama had done…?
He didn't want to be sold ever again, to feel that he wasn't a person, wasn't any more important than a bucket, and that no one would or even should care—
No. Never again. It had felt awful.
The boy shared these thoughts with his friend, who also seemed to be unsure about the man-spirit Hiko-san. A long discussion followed, but together they agreed to wait and see. After all, it was possible that the man-spirit was speaking the truth. But at the first sign of something else… well, the boy and the spirit had managed before.
The issue of what they should call the man-spirit, though, was settled with a decision that the swordsman couldn't be harsh enough to abandon them for just one question. And if it was, then maybe it was better to know now, than later. But when should he ask it?
Now?
However, the man-spirit Hiko-san's large back was so forbidding. Maybe there would be a better moment if he just waited?
Ah! The swordsman had again gotten ahead of him! The boy almost said a bad word, and ran.
He had gotten used to walking all day long with the slave caravan, and the soles of his feet had grown hard to make it easier, so he didn't even get blisters anymore. But, the caravan had moved slowly.
The man-spirit didn't.
Just to keep up, he had to run every now and then. It was because the man-spirit was so big and had really long legs, the boy reasoned. It was just a normal way of walking for the man-spirit Hiko-san. It wasn't that the swordsman was intentionally trying to leave him behind. No, no. It can't be. I couldn't have annoyed him so badly already…
But no matter the reasoning, the occasional running was making the boy tired really fast. It was harder to breathe; there was this sting in his chest and the back of his kimono was clinging to his back. He really should say something to the man-spirit in white, who was walking so calmly in front of him, never once looking back.
The bed roll slung over his shoulder was really awkward to carry, and it was getting heavier. How could he talk to the man-spirit? What would he call him? Honorable Hiko-san, please, can we stop for a moment? No, that would be complaining and old Ine-sama hadn't wanted to hear any complains; she had warned him not to make a nuisance of himself. Maybe that was why she had sold him? If he demanded stupid things, would the man-spirit—
No, no, don't think.
There was no way he could risk it.
After all, the swordsmen were big and tough men, and even though the boy was just a boy, he was a big boy and should be tough. If he wasn't tough enough, the man-spirit would definitely think that he wasn't worth the trouble and leave him.
So sweating, and trying to catch his breath, he followed the swordsman.
Hiko had chosen to follow the road. He didn't want to visit the village for the third time in a short while, especially not with his new apprentice along. So, that left only one reasonable option; the direction where the caravan had come from.
Before they had left, he had given the boy a chance to take his things with him. It was partly a test to satisfy his curiosity, but also sheer necessity. Who knew what the boy valued and couldn't leave? He wouldn't stand a crying child's whining.
The kid had dashed around the caravan looking for his possessions and whatever supplies he wanted to take. Hiko had kept an eye on the boy but hadn't interfered or looted the wagons. He might be a wanderer now with no clear income, but he hadn't stooped low enough to rob from the dead.
The boy was different, the last survivor. It was all his by right.
When it was all done, Hiko started walking and had let the boy decide whether to follow or not, that much of a choice he could grant the kid. It was all laid down on the table, an honest offer with high requirements; a path to becoming a killer and duty heavier than a mountain, or leaving and finding the village in the other direction, and the decent and normal people therein that could possibly look after an additional child.
Without a hesitation the boy followed, keeping a dutiful distance.
So be it.
Hmmph, Hiko scoffed but couldn't help the slight hint of a smile that rose to his lips.
It's like leading a puppy.
To satisfy his curiosity, he kept glancing behind from the corner of his eye. It wouldn't do to stare openly, that would only scare the kid.
The boy followed him easily enough, he noted with surprise. The short legs had to take five steps to his two, but that was the way it would be. If he made it easy for the boy and coddled him, the boy wouldn't grow strong. No. Though small, the boy would have to grow fit to handle the training to come. One of the perks of travel was that it was excellent for building endurance. And regarding training, there was no reason not to start early.
And, to be truthful, Hiko didn't want to linger near the massacre graveyard. It roused memories of blood and carnage in his mind that he would rather let lie where they belonged.
The boy was interesting, though. Hiko was constantly expecting the boy to demand him to slow down – he would have at that age. But the boy didn't. He just silently struggled and followed him. Occasionally, he would stare ahead with a blank look in his eyes, like he had his head in the clouds. Hiko didn't know what to make of it. Maybe the boy was thinking of something? Or remembering?
In any case, it was a bad habit.
Thinking like that leaves you open for attacks, and remembering… Hiko had intimate experience why remembering was not good for you either. The boy probably had memories more suitable for horror stories than for the mind of a child. So, something should be done about that habit. He didn't know where to start. No matter – it will come to me in time. And it's not the first priority when it comes to that child.
No, what was important right now was to get the waif cleaned up. And those hands needed to be looked after. Hmmm, where is the nearest water by this road again? Hiko searched his memory; ah, there was a lake next to the road some miles out. It would do for a campsite.
Travel plan decided, he marched on.
The sun had set and it was getting really dark, but the man-spirit just walked on. The boy didn't know why, though; by this time of the day, the slavers had always stopped to make camp. Perhaps he should ask about it, but the things he wished to ask the man-spirit about were quickly piling up and he hadn't dared to voice a single one of them yet.
Among those questions, the reason for travelling at night was nowhere near the most important one.
Besides, the moon shone bright, making the road easy to see.
Soon the boy realized that if he didn't think how tired and hurt he was, it wasn't so bad. The problem was finding a suitable distraction; walking through a dark forest road wasn't exactly good for that as he couldn't see far enough to find anything interesting. The white cloak of the man-spirit could hold his attention only for so long, so he fell back to talking with his spirit-friend. It was a little bit tricky to concentrate long enough for the brief exchanges of images and emotions. He didn't dare to try for longer talks yet, because while he was getting better at walking and thinking to the spirit at the same time, he didn't want to bump into a tree or anything. The man-spirit-Hiko-san would find him stupid and weird if he did that and might decide not to keep him.
Still, the exhaustion kept creeping up on him. His feet felt swollen and heavy and even breathing was becoming a struggle against the ache in his chest and managing to draw in enough air…
But the man-spirit walked on.
Try as he might, the boy's feet wouldn't move fast enough anymore. So, bit by bit he fell behind more and more.
No, I don't want to be left alone.
Not again.
The waif was falling behind, Hiko noticed. It had taken longer than he had assumed, but then again, the slaves had been travelling by foot. It was a logical conclusion that the boy was used to travelling throughout the day. However, it didn't look like the kid could keep it up much longer. So, subtly, Hiko slowed down his space. It wouldn't do to let him out of his sight. The kid could fall down on his face at any moment now; he looked that tired.
Not that it was a big deal. The lake was just ahead and then they could stop to make a camp.
They had made it in good time; it was only a few hours after midnight. The moon was high, illuminating the road with pale rays. Ah, there it was; a small clearing next to the road with a path down to the lakeshore that he remembered from before.
There he stopped and waited for the miserable waif that was supposed to be his apprentice.
The boy hadn't yet noticed he had stopped, but instead just trudged ahead like the living dead with his head in the clouds again. What on earth is going on in that mind?
Hmmph, I really need to get the kid out of that habit… The only people who Hiko had seen being out of the world like that were simpletons, wasteful bags of flesh, who were of no use to anyone, or sick men drunk on the milk of the poppy.
It is unnatural.
Those pale unfocused eyes and tiny feet beating the road in a steady slow pattern, harsh and fast breathing, filthy clothing that clung to the skin, bloody and bruised hands—the waif was truly a pitiful sight.
And a smelly one, too.
Hiko cleared his throat.
The boy stopped like a deer caught in the field by surprise, his eyes cleared and focused on him.
"We will be making camp here," Hiko informed the kid.
The boy looked hopeful.
"I will start the fire. Leave your stuff here and go take a wash on the shore. You reek."
Slowly, almost reluctantly, the boy let the bedroll fall down to his feet. Then he looked up at Hiko with a distrustful look, but after slight hesitation, he rose, turned and started to make his way to the waterfront.
Hiko shook his head. What was that about? Well, whatever it was, it can be left alone for now.
First things first, he was getting hungry, so it was prudent to make the fire for boiling the rice. The forest surrounding the camp spot had some reasonably dry twigs for the fire, Hiko noted with satisfaction. Also, boiling the water would be useful for cleaning the boy's mangled hands. It wouldn't do to lose a finger or two from infection and the resulting wound rot. That would wreck his plans for his new apprentice right there. After all, healthy hands were an essential tool to swordsmen—fingers were the source of balance for the blade.
True, one could compensate, yes. But to start training a kid that young who was already damaged? It would be absolutely senseless.
Hiko frowned, and scanned the drier looking branches. A swift strike with the Winter Moon cut the wood easily. Once he would have thought using his sword for menial chores an unspeakable heresy. Now, he had learned to swallow his pride on practicalities.
Regarding the boy, though, Hiko couldn't quite decide how old he believed the kid to be—he was so small. There were rumors that the foreigners aged differently, so maybe that explained some of it. In any case, the kid couldn't be younger than five nor older than ten, Hiko reasoned; a sufficiently large scope to cover for all possibilities.
For training purposes, both ends of the scale were inconvenient to say at least. Five meant too young to start training with the swords properly as the constantly growing limbs would be incapable of a firm motor control. Also, there would be a need for basic schooling, Hiko realized with a pang of dread.
Surely he can't be that young, no, it couldn't be.
Teaching anyone to read or write was decidedly not included in Hiko's plans for life. But on the other hand, the older the kid was, the closer he would be to puberty. The swordsman didn't quite sputter, but it was a near thing when the horrified awareness of all the challenges of child rearing started to come to him.
Perhaps this might be more difficult than he was capable of… After all, what did he know of children that wasn't based on his own childhood? Nothing. Was this the correct choice? Maybe he should escort the kid to the nearest village and see that the waif had a place there, and then he could go on with his life like he was used to. No. What comes will come in time and I will conquer all the challenges. He gritted his teeth. Hiko Seijuurou the 13th was not in the habit of second guessing himself, thank you very much, and he wasn't about to start now.
Besides, raising a kid—a swordsmanship apprentice or not—couldn't be that hard. Women did it all the time.
Armload of almost dry wood with him, he returned to the designated camping spot. The boy had not yet returned. What could take that long? he pondered and struck spark to the twigs with the flint. When he had been young, he had hated bathing outdoors. And the lake water had to be freezing. There was nothing that would cause him to want to linger. No. His master had thrown him into the cold water often enough to "cool down that temper."
Hmmph. Needless to say, Hiko was not fond of cold water.
A fire was starting to form nicely and the fire didn't look like it needed tending. So, he laid down the rest of the twigs and branches that he had collected close to the fire to dry. The moist twigs gave out a bit too much smoke, but oh well. Some smoky scent on clothes was a small price to pay and would serve to overpower the stink of the fresh graveyard.
Hm. What else was needed? Ah, some water to boil rice with. Hiko nodded to himself and rose; it would be good to check up with the boy at the same time. The small bundle, where he carried his supplies under his cloak, revealed a travelling kettle. Taking it with him, he headed to the lake shore.
When the man-spirit Hiko-san told him to leave his things, the boy felt a shadow of doubt. Most of the stuff in his bedroll was necessary, but not something that he couldn't replace. The sole exception being his top. So, when he put down the bedroll, he slipped his hand between the folds and grabbed the wooden toy.
He was quite sure that the man-spirit hadn't seen him doing so.
With his precious toy with him, the boy took the small path leading downwards to the lakeshore that the man-spirit had gestured him to. It was a bit slippery and his swollen and tired feet were not exactly steady, so he took his time.
The moon shone on the water. It looked pretty. Quiet.
It didn't escape him that he had seen this lake before. It was the same one that the caravan had stopped by to make camp earlier, and on the shore close by, Kasumi had asked him to be her second son. There she had become his second mother.
It was hard to breathe, like there was something lodged in his throat. But it didn't make any sense; why did it hurt?
It was just a lake.
The boy shakily made his way to the water, slipped out of his clothes and started to wash. The water was freezing. It reminded him of home. Back there in the mountains, the well water had often been cold like this. He swallowed and struggled to reign in his tears. If he started crying, he wouldn't ever stop and nothing would get done.
Besides, it had been with Kasumi that he had been allowed to be the baby and she was dead now.
So, he knelt and scooped up some of the finer sand to wash up with. He hadn't really noticed it before, but his skin had become grimy during the time in the graveyard. His hands throbbed and the sand felt awful against the raw wounds. But he didn't want to be dirty. Kasumi and mother both would have yelled at him for being so.
And somehow, the pain of scrubbing his skin lessened the choking feel in his throat.
He stayed in the water until he felt numb all over and the skin in his hands and feet was all wrinkly and soft. He felt clean. It was a good feeling.
His clothes stank on the shore. The very thought of dressing in them felt awful.
So, the boy took his shirt and started scrubbing the cloth with the sand. It was dark and he didn't see if it did any good for the stains in the cloth. Mother had given him this shirt and the matching hakama pants last year. She had sewn them herself. 'They are for your Samurai games, Shinta-chan,' her laughing voice told him in memory, accompanied by a smile tugging at her lips and her eyes soft with love. The rest of her face was blurry, and even though he tried to focus on it to fill in the details, none came to him. What color had her eyes been? Dark grey? It was so long ago, but surely I should remember this…
He hiccuped and the almost overwhelming pain was back. No, better not to think.
In any case, the shirt had been the first new piece of clothing that he had ever owned. It had been green, of that he was sure of, and he had been so proud to have it. It had been made just for him – not like the ones he had had before, all his older brothers' cast offs.
He had loved that shirt.
"The green color really sets off nicely against your red hair, my darling baby. I shall have to try to get more cloth of that shade next year." Mother's faint laughing voice continued to whisper, and the boy sniffled and kept rubbing; the sickness had come before she had a chance to. Now the shirt was some dark grimy color, and one could never guess that it had been green once.
For some reason, it suited the boy just fine. He, too, was different than he had been. No one back in the village would recognize him now.
'The change - is it okay?' he wondered to his spirit-friend. To change – but Kasumi had asked me to never change…
Eyes wide he stared blankly ahead, and started to shake in distress. She would be so disappointed at him. Already he had broken her wishes, even without intending to—
The spirit-friend interrupted his panicky fretting with memories like usual. This time, though, it showed him pictures of people. No. It seemed to be the same person, but in different ages? What was the spirit trying to say?
The person in these memories looked different in every picture. As a boy, the person looked happy. Then, taller and older, the look in his eyes was different, more focused; the mouth was no longer openly smiling. In the next one, he was wearing adult clothes. He was not even nearly as old as father had been, but the eyes looked hard and the mouth was a tight line. There was pain? More pictures still and a different look every time – but always the same man.
"Even if he grew up, it was always the same person? This is what you are trying to tell me?" the boy asked aloud just to fill the silence.
There was that petting agreement feeling again.
But why is it showing me this? It wasn't like the unfamiliar boy growing into a man was anyone important to the boy… But, wait—his question! His eyes widened when it all began to make sense. Perhaps the spirit was saying that he wasn't changing, not really? That he was just growing up, exactly like the man in the pictures?
If so, maybe he hadn't betrayed Kasumi after all? And maybe, she wouldn't be disappointed in him for doing it.
So, maybe, it could also mean… that it isn't a bad thing that I am changing?
Another petting sensation.
He didn't cry in relief, but it was a near thing. Instead, he let the shirt fall into the water and wiped his face, rubbing the heels of his palms over his eyes. He took a deep inhalation and then let all the tension fall away with the exhalation.
I didn't do anything wrong; Kasumi isn't angry at me.
It wasn't okay, it would never be okay, but he didn't feel quite as bad anymore. He was just growing up. Kasumi was gone, true, but he hadn't betrayed her.
The boy looked to the shore, to the pile of discarded clothing. There, on top of the pile lay a colored piece of wood.
Kasumi's top.
'Live, live for me Shinta…' she had said that night.
I really don't want to disappoint Kasumi.
He thought this to the spirit and was rewarded by another petting comforting feeling. With the new resolution achieved, he returned to the shore and hung his shirt to dry on a low hanging branch. Then he took his hakama pants and returned to wash them.
Hiko had been intending to fetch the boy or to just hurry him up, but seeing that the boy was not up to anything harmful, he didn't feel like interrupting. Instead, he kept watching from the shadows of the trees surrounding the lakeshore.
The kid was washing his clothes, and there was already some drying on a low branch.
A reasonable action, Hiko noted with a frown, but not very farsighted. The damp cloth wouldn't dry well out here. The morning was cold and misty. When the sun rose, it would help but in the meanwhile…
The boy was pale as winter and even smaller now that there was no misshapen layer of poor quality cloth covering him. A sorry sight, too. His ribs were showing. In the next village, Hiko would need to stock up more food, especially meat to gain muscle on that form. It was no wonder that the boy hadn't been able to lift the sword well. However, it was a pleasant surprise that the boy looked healthy enough. There were no large wounds or contusions on the skin, no large scars either. It suggested that the boy had been either fortunate or obedient.
But then again, the slave caravan had been for pleasure slaves. So it made sense that the boy wouldn't be beat harshly, not enough to leave scars at least – the slaves had to be beautiful. Hiko couldn't be sure what the life as a slave had been like for the boy, but the surface evidence didn't show any physical abuse, not that it did any to disclaim the more revolting options…
The feeling of utter disgust turned his mood even sourer.
It was a good thing that the slavers hadn't reached their destination. He couldn't imagine that life for any child.
Staying in the water that long couldn't be healthy, regardless of the temperature, and that lake water had to be freezing cold. I wouldn't stay there voluntarily for a minute, not even if I was paid to. Hiko stepped out in the open and went to fill his kettle.
The boy looked like he was lost in his head.
Again.
Time to break it up.
Purposefully, Hiko stepped on stones so that his steps made a crunching noise, just to warn the boy that he was there.
The boy jumped like a scared rabbit, turned swiftly and the wide open eyes immediately zeroed in on him. Good instincts, Hiko noted with approval and commented casually, "It's cold out here. Come out, I have a fire going. Better to dry out your clothes there, too."
The boy nodded warily.
Without any further comment, Hiko took his leave.
The fire looked good and the twigs no longer gave out smoke. However, the flames had eaten almost all of the wood, so he added a few drier pieces to the fire. He didn't have the patience to wait for the coals tonight, as just watching the boy washing in the freezing water had made him shiver in sympathy. A warm meal would be just the thing. It didn't take long to find a suitable willow branch and set the kettle hanging from it over the fire.
The water was heating nicely by the time he heard faint footsteps from the path.
Ah, the boy was returning—finally. The kid was still naked, shivering and the pale skin had taken an odd blue tinge, and he was carrying the bundle of his wet clothes.
A truly pitiful sight, Hiko noted with a sigh. Well, it wouldn't do to let the brat catch pneumonia on top of everything else. With a grunt, he heaved himself to his feet, and stripped out of his cloak and shirt.
"Here. Put this on or you will catch a cold."
The boy looked at his offering hesitantly and then glanced down at the wet pile of clothes in his arms.
"Just lay those out on grass near the fire. It will serve for the moment."
With that, the waif came clearly to a decision and kneeled to put down the wet bundle, and started slowly inching towards him, then reached –
When the kid grabbed the offered shirt, Hiko just shook his head in exasperation. Took you long enough.
And then the kid had the gall to sniff at the shirt!
The silent critique was all too clear and Hiko scoffed, amused despite the rudeness and fought against the smile that was tugging at his lips. Finally giving up the effort, he grudgingly admitted, "It's not clean, but it is dry."
A shy smile in return.
It really is quite cold out here. Hiko shivered and rubbed his arms. How did the kid manage to stand it? The dampness in the air drove the cold straight to his bones, or at least it felt like it and the deeper scars in his body ached in answer, reminding him of their existence. No, it was not good weather to tramp around without clothes. Thankfully, he still had his cloak, no matter that the old bastard would spin in his grave for the sacrilege.
The boy had pulled on his shirt, but the garment was ridiculously large on him. The hem fell all the way to the ground regardless of the kid's efforts to make it functional attire; the sleeves were rolled up clumsily and the kid's drying belt was used to tie the improvised robe shut.
Not exactly ideal, but it will do for immediate purposes, Hiko nodded in approval, before idly stoking the fire and then checking on the water. It was just about to boil.
The boy laid down the wet clothes to dry on the grass.
Those hands really didn't look good. Exhaling, he controlled the flash of temperament. The kid was hesitant about him, as he damn well should be. Coming on with too much force would only scare the waif away, he reasoned and toned down his voice from commanding to calming. "Boy. Come here. I want to take a look at your hands."
The boy – Kenshin - glanced up at him, but came closer with only a brief hesitating pause.
Clearly some of the ice was broken.
The offered hands were tiny, and easily swallowed by his larger palms. With a frown, he looked them over. As I thought.
Those small hands were filled with ill healed scratches and scrapes, and some of them had clearly opened up multiple times. Washing them in water had cleaned away the dirt, but it only served to make it clearer that a few of the scratches could cause complications; one in the left palm, second on the side of the thumb and two quite deep ones near the right hand's fingertips. The pale skin softened from the boy's bath showed some reddening near the deeper wounds, suggesting possible infection.
Not quite as bad as he had feared, but not well by any means either.
The wounds would need to be cleaned and kept clean. The lack of puss told that the infection hadn't sunk in fully, but it was a close call; anything could happen. It was almost a miracle that the blood rot hadn't claimed the fingers. For gods' sake, the boy had handled corpses without anything to protect his hands – with open wounds, no less!
It was pure idiocy. Hopefully, it indicated only lacking knowledge, which he would take steps to correct, rather than poor thinking ability.
No sense of fretting over it now. Hiko shook his head and said with a firm, calm voice, "We need to clean these wounds, boy."
The kid looked up at him, glanced at the path leading to the lake front and back at him, clearly confused.
"No. Water is not enough. Not for wounds that have been near unclean things. In fact, all wounds should be cleaned and kept clean like this, so it's good a lesson for you." Hiko had let the boy's hands fall from his grip while he considered his options.
He would need something to tie up the wounds to keep them clean. Normally this wouldn't be an issue, but the supplies he currently carried were quite meager. After being on the road for quite a while and never encountering immediate problems, he hadn't felt the need to stay stocked. The lack of foresight would be the cause of never ending problems for him, his master had always told him. Before today, he hadn't really understood the point in the old bastard's constant nagging.
A few shredded strips from his shirtsleeve, donated by an increasingly bewildered waif, become serviceable bandages. A few minutes in boiling water rendered the strips sufficiently clean. The kid's eyes followed all his actions, never losing track and kept demanding explanations that he found himself offering casually without thinking.
It had been years since I last spoke freely like this. And somehow, unconsciously, Hiko began to relax.
Until it was time for the ugly phase.
"Boy, hands."
Obediently, the boy held them out.
Taking the sake, he took hold of the boy's left hand—that palm wound really was an ugly one—and warned, "This will hurt."
When he poured the sake on those wounds, the boy yowled and tried to pull his hand away.
Hiko didn't let him; instead, he put the bottle down and rubbed the alcohol into the wound. The boy had tears in his eyes and desperately tried to fight the pain.
Good boy, he nodded in approval and took hold of the bottle again.
"Next, the thumb."
The boy panted, and blinked to clear the tears out of his eyes.
Sake in wounds hurt.
He wasn't sure why the man-spirit Hiko-san did this, but he didn't seem to enjoy causing him pain, and he had given him his shirt. No one does that. He doesn't even have a spare, and it's a cold morning, the boy thought, and just for that tried to trust the man-spirit and let him do this crazy thing.
The wounds throbbed and the sake burned, but the at least the intense flashes didn't last long, which gave the boy encouragement to fight the pain. Soon, it will be over… just a little bit more, he chanted in his head and tried to find distractions.
It really was an odd thing to do, to pour sake into wounds. He had never tasted the drink, but he had seen father do so and knew that it was expensive. To waste that much money on washing seemed stupid. It had to have a point to it; no one would waste money like that without a reason. Maybe the spirit-friend would know?
His friend answered with an image of older man cleaning another man's ugly and large wound with sake. So other people do that, too, which means it isn't just something that the crazy man-spirits in white cloaks do.
'So it helps?' the boy thought to the spirit.
The petting comfort feeling.
The man-spirit took hold of his right hand and pulled him back to reality. The scratches didn't seem so bad in this palm, the boy thought clinically. Man-spirit seemed to agree and concentrated on cleaning the deeper cuts at the fingertips. The boy hissed as the sake hit the wound, but his eyes didn't water anymore. He was getting used to the feeling.
Then the man-spirit was finished.
"Just let your hands dry out and don't touch anything. Not if you don't want me to clean the wounds with sake again."
The boy blinked in surprise. Again, just for touching something? He shuddered and shook his head vigorously.
The man-spirit smiled and let out a small breathy laugh, then, "Good boy."
For some reason, those words felt really good. It had been a while since anyone had said it to him, so he smiled in return.
The rest of the night had gone well after that. Hiko had fetched more water, finally managed to cook the rice for dinner and given the boy some. The kid – Kenshin – had taken the food and then dashed to the bed roll and returned with some dried fish that he had offered in return.
A simple exchange.
Hiko didn't know what to think of it, so he hadn't made a comment. Instead, he had accepted the offering and turned to his own meal, which had provided the next hurdle—the utensils. Hiko's travelling supplies carried only one pair of chopsticks and the kid had freshly cleaned hands with clean bandages.
He might be a proud and educated man, but even he could abandon decorum to eat with fingers in dire situations. It wasn't like the rice was particularly difficult food for that anyways. The dried fish softened amongst the rice nicely, and wasn't as distasteful to eat.
At the corner of his eye, he did keep an eye out for his little walking mystery.
Kenshin used the chopsticks like a native.
Hmmm, maybe he was been born here and at least one of his parents was Japanese? It would explain this unspoken knowledge of the proper way of living. His curiosity flared; perhaps it was the proper time to start unraveling this little ball of mixed messages?
"Boy, where are you from?"
The kid paused, and looked up from the rice bowl. He chewed, swallowed and then tilted his head in obvious question. Receiving no other prompt the boy frowned, and finally answered. "The mountain."
Well, that told Hiko absolutely nothing. Japan was filled with mountains; everywhere one travelled in the country, the mountains always loomed. Perhaps he should try again with different words, but what was the chance that the kid would know the exact place on a map that Hiko didn't have, or that even knowing the location would be of any use? Japan didn't have many foreigners, but they always stayed near the capital or larger harbors now that black ships had forcefully opened the country to foreign trade just two years ago.
It was an unspoken fact that no foreigner would be able to go to the back country, and the kid's accent couldn't be from anywhere else.
He frowned and wondered how to form the question that he really wanted to ask. If the location wasn't essential, perhaps the parents' would give him better clue. So he tried from another angle. "Was anyone in your family different?"
"Me. The villagers called me bad luck."
Damn it all to hell, Hiko cursed silently and shook his head. Time to abandon the polite circling of the issue.
"Who was the foreigner in your family?"
"What does foreigner mean?" the boy countered with innocent wide blue eyes.
Hiko crunched his teeth in frustration, temper flaring. He really wanted to hit something.
A clattering noise interrupted his stewing and immediately he looked up. The boy had dropped the rice bowl and was crawling backwards, face white with terror.
Immediately Hiko controlled his flaring ki.
And just like that, the look of utter terror disappeared from the boy's face, but he stayed away still, looking rather more like a scared animal than a human child.
It was only logical, for the boy didn't trust him yet. But still, such a harsh reaction from a simple flare of temperament? The kid must have been beaten or perhaps— No, unlikely in the extreme. No child could feel ki without training. The reaction has to be just a coincidence.
And now is definitely not the time to think more on that. Hiko sighed; his fits of temper were not something he could afford right now. Not if he wanted to build trust between them, and he murmured, "Come back here. I won't hit you."
With that, Hiko returned to his own meal.
The waif took a while to come back near the fire and to pick up the bowl.
Oh well, back to square one.
Exhaustion had started to weigh on him; it had been a long night and the dawn was already breaking. He really wasn't up to this right now. "Let's take a rest. I will wake you when we move out."
