2.

That brought Kotaro to a dead stop. "He isn't? Then who are you?"

"Enough boy!" The woman gasped in exasperation. "Do you want your servant, you say you are the boss of, to get help or not?"

She focused all her attention on Nanashi, who was actually trying to let out of huff of amusement. "Step up..." Her voice urged, shifting her weight to accommodate him. "Stone step then the en." His foot caught on the square stone, but she managed to help him stay upright.

Together they staggered into the genkan opening of the house. Another stone was laid before the home's main raised floor. The woman stopped their momentum. "Boy, get his waraji's off!" She ordered.

"Don't call me boy! My name's Kotaro!" He shouted from behind them.

She felt the man's knees giving out and she braced to keep him upright. "No!" she urged him, her hands clutching his side and chest. "Just stay up a moment longer and I'll get you by the fire."

Kotaro, grumbling, bent to snatch at the bindings on Nanashi's feet. He even set Nanashi's tabi covered foot on the stone before he quickly snatched at the laces of his other sandal. At least the boy had some proper training when entering a home. The woman kicked off her geta sandals, stepping onto the wide stone block and urging the man to get his other foot onto it as well.

"It's a higher step up onto the en, then a few more towards the fire," she urged.

He couldn't respond, he just wanted to embrace the darkness threatening to engulf him. With a last burst of effort, he managed to mount the step onto the engawa. The woman continued encouraging him to keep moving forward, guiding him into a large washitsu room and towards a sunken fire pit in the very centre.

Kotaro, now standing on the stone block, stood up and stared in surprise as Tobimaru bounded past him and into the house. He clutched their small pack of items to his chest.

It was not a typical peasant's hut. He gaped, taking in the the size of the room, a part of which was screened by opaque, paper-covered shoji sliding panels and another by solid fusuma panels. The one used to block, the other to screen but allow in light. One fusuma was decorated with an enormous painting of a weeping red maple, while two other walls were painted with intricately detailed pines. The second fusuma, at the back of the house, had been painted with a stunning, golden ginkgo tree. On either side of the genkan entry way, the walls were plain, highly polished, wood.

His awe at the sight of the interior was interrupted by the woman.

"Just a little further," she encouraged Nanashi as they staggered past the sunken irori fire pit in the centre of the room. He felt himself losing his balance. She broke his fall, easing him to his knees. Groaning in pain, he let her guide him down onto the tatami mat covered floor and onto his back. It was a struggle, not to mention painful, to catch his breath as his chest heaved. It had taken an enormous amount of exertion to make it to where he now lay. Despite the warmth radiating from the floor, he shivered.

He was not used to this. Being so helpless. Nothing about him, despite his efforts, would respond. At this point, having made it into the house, he couldn't even open his eyes. His arms and legs refused to obey him. Even if they could, fiery pain -from several points- left him gasping for breath. A warm, light, weight suddenly covered him. Confusion threatened to overwhelm him. He had the strange sense of being both too hot, then too cold. Dimly aware of shivering, he felt something trickling along side his face. He jerked his head, panting from all of the exertion.

He wanted to fight back. A useless exercise in frustration. Yet he continued to resist, shivering and tossing his head. His hand twitched, reaching for something that was no longer there. That old familiar weight, now gone. Pain and fire seemed to sear his very nerves. He felt his teeth chattering. A sound reached his ears, something between a sob and a whine.

He realized it was himself.

Vaguely, vaguely, Nanashi became aware of arguing. A boy. No, the boy, Kotaro, was vociferously haranguing somebody. During all this time, the boy hadn't moved, clutching his bundle before him as he continued with a non-stop list of accusations and arguments.

The woman slid a shoji screen aside revealing floor to ceiling shelving. Pulling several things from various slots and cubbyholes she began amassing them by the fire pit.

In the irori's centre a small fire was keeping a large cast iron pot full of water at a steady simmer. It hung from a yoked chain securely bolted into the enormous log that made up the centre beam of the ceiling. In the sand filling the pit, several metal grates sat.

She quickly pulled a small hand-held rake out and tugged several large coals of burning wood under the grates then filled small pots with the simmering water and set them around the fire. To her left, a large, plain ceramic pot sat with a smaller cup by its side. She stood, pulled the lid off and began using a bamboo ladle inside it to fill the hanging centre pot full of water.

"We're supposed to be looking for a healer!" The boy charged on as the woman moved from place to place around the room, gathering things here and there.

"Boy, who do you think I am?!" She demanded turning back towards the fire pit.

"Make yourself useful!" she snapped. "If I'm to help this man, I need more wood for this fire. It's in the building next to the house!"

"You can't order me around!" Kotaro snapped. "Who are you anyway?!"

Exasperated, the woman stood up moving quickly towards the genkan, causing Kotaro, still clutching his items, to back away from her in alarm. "I'm the healer!" she snapped, slipping her geta's back on and stomping off down the engawa.

Moments later she reappeared with two large bundles of tied, chopped wood which she dumped unceremoniously in the genkan before kicking off her sandal and rushing back to the fire pit.

Kotaro could only stare at her in shock.

Dropping to her knees, she began laying out several bundles of dried roots and herbs, tubes of bamboo with different concoctions in them, a mortar with its pestle, and hand-fitted curved blade. Snatching up a flat piece of wood, she used the curved blade to cut into the roots and herbs, dropping them into the mortar as she worked quickly. She loaded the mortar up and began grinding them down.

"Your servant..." she snapped at the boy with a healthy dose of scepticism, "If that's what he really is, could very well die. How long have you two been riding in his condition? He's a mess!"

"He's my body guard!" Kotaro shot back defiantly. "I hired him!"

"Oh, you did, did you? You hired a wandering ronin? That's a likely story!" The woman dumped the contents of the mortar into one of the smaller pots of water then turned to prepare another batch of herbs. "What's his name anyway?"

"His name is Nanashi."

"Nanashi?" she exclaimed. "Anonymous? What kind of name is that?"

"His name!" the boy shot back "And I don't lie! I did hire him!" Kotaro insisted. "You just want to rob us of all our money."

"If I had wanted to do that, boy, I wouldn't have brought him into my house!" She said dumping the new batch of herbs into another of the small pots. She snagged up one bamboo tube after another, mixing liquids, oils, even some balms into the two different bowls. Giving them a quick stir, she got off her knees and turned towards Nanashi.

Trapped in semi-delirium, Nanashi just wanted to laugh. The kid was a tough little number. He barely sensed the woman kneeling beside him. A pair of small strong hands gripped his left shoulder and hip. Blinding pain ripped a groan of agony out of him as the hands pulled him over onto his right side. That small effort left him collapsed and deflated as the pain coursed through him.

"Nanashi!" The boy's fear was palpable, then he lit back in to the woman. "You're trying to kill him! Stop hurting him!"

Once on his side, he felt almost palpable relief, though trying to breathe felt like inhaling fire. He felt someone, no wait, the woman lift his arm. He winced out loud. Everything hurt. Something large and soft was set against his chest, his arm draped carefully over it. He felt her slip his other arm out of its sling and guide it into place.

"Grip the pillow..." her voice coaxed. "It will help you to breathe."

He barely managed a nod, utterly unable to open his eyes.

"You know lower dantian, yes?" She asked.

He nodded again.

"If you're to heal, you must breathe from there." She paused, setting her hand briefly on his forehead again. "Rest while you can... there is much to be done."

She rose again, turning towards the fire and glancing at Kotaro. Saying nothing, she took up another small pot, filled it with water then added it with the others on the heating grate. Satisfied that the concoctions she had made were warming, she went across the room to the large ginkgo fusuma and stepped around behind it. She vanished from view and the boy could just hear her moving about from somewhere behind the house walls. Moments later she emerged with a small, bulging, cloth sack.

"Well don't just stand there, gaping like a fish. Go set your things down and get ready to help your servant." The woman said, setting the sack down and turning to face Kotaro. She pointed at the maple covered fusuma. "Behind there is a toire. You need clean hands for what we have to do."

"Clean hands?!" the boy exclaimed, "I don't know anything about healing!?" Kotaro protested, starting to back away as she approached. "Why do you think we came looking for a healer!?"

As he moved, one of the items, oblong and awkward to carry, slipped out of his bundle and landed with a loud clunk on the floor between them. It rolled away from him, revealing a broken, long, slim, blade.

Before Kotaro could snatch it back up, the woman moved even faster and beat him to it. The cloth it was wrapped in fell off revealing the long handle of a katana.

"Well, now what is this?" the woman asked, and lifted Nanashi's katana up, exposing the handle further. "Maybe it is I who should be worried about you robbing me?"

"What!?" the boy exploded. "No! Wait..."

The woman gripped the katana near the hand guard and ran her thumb along it.

Kotaro went back on the attack. "What are you doing! That's mine! You can't just go grabbing things that aren't yours. Give that back!"

She looked at him, raising an eyebrow. "Yours is it? Seems to me it belongs to him." She jerked her chin at Nanashi. "He's the samurai."

"I'm keeping it for him!" Kotaro replied defiantly. "How'd you know he's a samurai? Give that back!" He demanded. The dog, bored now, simply yawned and ignored the exchange going on. He laid his head down, raising an eyebrow and looked at the prostrate man on the floor.

"I wasn't born yesterday, boy. He's samurai through and through. Those scars on his face are from sword slices. I imagine there's a lot more. Not to mention his current wounds? Those are the marks of a samurai."

"How do you know?!"

The woman huffed in disbelief shaking her head at the boy. "I'm a healer, boy. I treat those kind of wounds!"

"Don't call me boy! My name is Kotaro!"

"Until you start showing some respect in my home, boy, I will continue to call you one." She shot back and turned away from him with the katana. She moved closer to the irori, glancing at the several pots and their various liquids, checking on the state of things. Then she stood and studied the broken blade before shaking her head, letting out a sigh.

"Don't do that!" Kotaro snapped as she turned the handle towards the light of the sunken fire.

Ignoring the boy she examined the broken, nicked blade. The tsuba, the hand guard, was also broken. She gripped the handle with both of her hands, brandishing the sword, and felt a subtle shift under her palms. A soft hiss of dismay escaped her lips and she glanced at Nanashi. "What did you run up against?" She asked softly.

"Give that back!" Kotaro demanded suddenly planting himself in front of her.

"It's useless now, child, the spirit of this katana is dead," she said. "The tsuba and tsuka are damaged, and the menuki are missing."

"The what?!" he snapped in confusion.

She shook her head. "For someone who claims to be this man's employer you sure don't know much about his gear." She heaved a sigh and flipped the katana around, holding the handle out to the boy.

"The tsuka is the completed handle, part of which is the ho, which holds the tang of the blade. It is made with wood, its shifting under my hands, meaning its split. The tsuba is the hand guard. It's broken. Something metallic, probably from the sword of his opponent, struck it. As for the menuki? Who knows..."

"What are those?" the boy, still defiant, tried to snatch the katana from her hands. She let him grab it and turned towards the irori.

"They're small, flat metal decorations, usually signifying the lord the samurai serves under. Or some other symbol of special meaning. They sit under the tsuka-ito, the silk wrap on the handle. They fit under the palms of their hands when they grasp the katana. It helps their grip. His are gone." She stirred one of the pots on its metal grate, while the larger pot, full of water began to boil.

Kotaro, holding the broken blade up, tried squeezing the handle to feel the shift and utterly failed. "You're lying." He growled.

"Think what you like." She shot back, rising and walked towards one of the walls. "Make yourself useful, child. That horse is still standing out there on the track. There's a barn on the left side of the building and room enough in the stall. We're expecting snow tonight. I'd suggest you get him inside."

"Don't call me a child!"

"So long as you keep acting like one, I will continue to call you one." She said and reached over, sliding the maple tree fusuma back and revealing a small storage room. She disappeared inside.

Petulantly, Kotaro growled and stomped, still holding the broken katana up. He scowled at the sliding wall the woman had disappeared behind. Then finally he moved over to where he had dropped his pack and set the katana down. "C'mon Tobimaru!" he ordered and headed for the sunken entry way, dropping down to sit on the floors edge to put his setti's back on.

The dog just lifted his head, tilted it sideways and let out a whine, before dropping his head back on his paws and looking at the boy.

Kotaro looked at him as he finished tying on the straps. "C'mon!" he ordered. The dog didn't budge. Kotaro huffed in frustration, standing up. "Fine!" He snapped, stomping his way across the en and out into the night. "That goose had better watch it!" he angrily declared.

Moments after he left, she emerged from the room, setting a tri-folded, thickly quilted, pad next to the wall, and draping a quilted blanket on it. She shook her head, seeing the boy had gone outside and she heaved a sigh. She went back in to emerge with another pad and quilt which she set near Nanashi. Another dash into the room and she emerged with a stack of towels and bandages and a small pouch. Turning, she used her foot to slide the fusuma back into place and set the stack of items on the floor between the man and the irori. One of the towels promptly went into the large pot of water.

Returning to face him, she critically examined Nanashi's face. There was some bruising and the rather prominent vertical scar on the right side of his face stood out in sharp contrast. Another scar had nicked his cheek on the other side of his face at some point in time in his life. She sighed, he was most definitely a samurai, more then likely a ronin. How had he got tangled up with the boy? Sweat dampened his temples, and he was shivering, despite the light coverlet she had put over him. He struggled with his breathing, still clutching the pillow to his chest.

"Nanashi?" she tentatively asked. What kind of a name was that? She settled on her knees beside him, reaching up and placing the backs of her fingers on his forehead. A soft moan escaped him. "Nanashi? I need to move you onto your other side... I need to check your ribs."

Just barely he managed to nod his head, attempting to speak and failing. Moving was a trial, but she worked fast and knowingly, resettling him with his face towards the fire. She twisted around to the water pot and reached for the small clay cup at its side. With great care she lifted his head and helped him to drink the water. Even that effort left him gasping for breath.

"Thank..." he panted, "thank... you."

She shushed him, settling his head back down, turning towards the various pots again. "Save your strength. Keep trying to breathe from lower dantian. I've a bit of preparation before the work I need to do on you."

"You're... the healer?" He managed to ask.

"Yes..." she said, extracting a few odds and ends from the pouch. Needles, sutures, and the blade of small knife went into a flat pan of water now heating over the fire grate.

"Kotaro?" he managed to gasp.

"Taking care of your horse."

Still unable to even open his eyes, his pain didn't stop Nanashi from smirking slightly. He let out a pain filled huff of air. It was followed by a wince as he gasped. "He's... a terror..."

"I'm worse," she responded, turning and reaching over him to pull the tie loose from his hair.

"Been... through... hell." He panted, letting her settle his head back down.

"Looks like you got the worst of it," She responded, eliciting another pain-filled huff of amusement out of him.

"Should... see.. the... other... guy..." he managed to mumble, a hint of amusement in his voice.

"Is your name really Nanashi?" she asked.

He nodded. "They didn't... know... what else... to call me..."

She frowned at that response, reaching up to pull his hair away from the clotted dried blood on his right ear.

"You?" he managed to whisper.

"They," she said with a slight mirth, "call me Hira."

"Healer?" He whispered then he winced at the attempt to laugh, before a fit of coughing hit him, leaving him weak and sagging into the floor. He moaned with pain.

"Enough talk, Nanashi." She said softly, examining the knick, seeing it could wait to be cleaned up. She settled a hand on his shoulder. "Let's get these robes off of you." She reached down and tugged the knot loose on the belt around his waist. He nodded and let her pull the pillow from his grip.

In the light of the fire, she could see the blood that had soaked through his robes and down onto the fabric gauntlet of his right arm. He struggled to breath from deep within, as she lifted his arm and tugged his frayed haori jacket down to his elbow, slipping his arm free. As suspected the haori, hanten, and nagajuban – the white under-robe- were caked with dried and semi-coagulated blood. Hira heaved a sigh, and began easing his arm out of the robes.

She let out a soft exclamation of dismay, as he groaned from the efforts to move. A deep slice across the upper part of his shoulder newly seeped small amounts of blood past what had already clotted and dried. Pulling the bloody gauntlet off his arm revealed a savage, through and through puncture slice from where a sword had pierced clean through his right forearm.

"How long have you been like this?" she murmured. "I don't know if I can stitch this," she added. She critically examined his shoulder wound. "Or this..." She murmured before sitting back and gently tugging his robes from his pants, flicking them behind his back.

"Getting... out... more... important." He managed to gasp as he shivered from the sudden exposure to the cool air.

"I see," she replied. Besides massive amounts of purpling bruises, she could see several much older scars criss crossing his side and down his back. She pulled the pillow back over and eased it against his chest. "Hold this," she said softly, reaching up to dash his hair off his face. "I need to see how many ribs are broke," she warned, guiding his arms back into place. "I'll have to press my hand firmly. Just keep breathing from dantian and clutch the zabuton."

He nodded. As she began to examine and probe, he couldn't stop the moans and gasps of pain. He was panting again by the time she stopped.

"Breathe, Nanashi..." she coaxed. "Deeper breaths. I don't want you getting any sicker than you already are. There's at least four broken."

All he could do was nod in reply. Hira turned towards the fire pit, pulling over a bamboo tube that sat on its end. Taking it's stopper out, her nostrils flared at the alcoholic smell emitting from it. She tipped some into the pan holding the needles, the knife, and spool of thread, stoppered it and set it down within hands reach. She stood up, letting him continue regaining control of his breathing, and snagged up one of the larger towels.

Within seconds she had two towels spread out behind him then she proceeded to tuck his robes as far under his side as possible. With her hand on his shoulder, she gently eased him to roll over onto his back, reaching over to help guide his hip. Once onto his back she let him rest a moment, while she slipped his other arm out from his robes. Then she helped him over onto his right. She stopped short of pulling the coagulated, clotted, half dried fabric from his wounded side, not wanting to tear the scabbing away just yet.

He tenaciously clutched the pillow to his chest, sinking back into the floor as she tugged the bundle of fabric out from under him. Hira then she arose from her spot. From somewhere off to his right, muted and low, he could swear he heard ducks. He struggled, his lips lifting in a snarl, to draw in a proper breath and he slowly cracked his eyes open.

Settling on her knees at his side was a small woman, close to his own age. Her hair, glossy and black as ebony, was pulled back loosely at the nape of her neck. She wore the simple common, everyday robes, of typical villagers. Haori, hanten and nagajuban. Hers were mostly in grey, save for the nagajuban under them all. Her eyes were dark brown and she paused seeing him trying to focus on her.

Nearly everyone he met automatically got that quizzical look on their face when they realized his own eyes were amber-coloured. Much lighter brown with a heavy dose of copper. It was the one thing he couldn't hide from people like he could his hair. The moment passed though, no judgement from her, as she took the hot towel and prepared to lay it over the mess that was his side wound.

"Are those..." he managed to gasp. "Ducks?"

She flashed a quick smile at him, setting a warm, moist towel on his side wound. He let out a gasp of pain as she pressed down, but then he felt the heat seeping into his body. The relief was indescribable he exhaled in relief, his tense shoulders dropping.

"Chickens too. The boy, Kotaro? He's in the barn." She held the towel firmly down, trying to get the warm moisture to seep into the sticky, tacky mess. "He must be a handful." She commented.

Nanashi huffed, regretting it and tightened his arms around the pillow to stop the coughing. "You can't... begin to... imagine..." he managed to grate through his teeth. "He's had... a rougher time... than me."

"Temple raised?" she asked. He nodded his head.

"He needs to learn manners around women."

"He just... needs to... learn manners..." he replied. "Just..." he sucked in air, trying to breath as deep as he could. "Just… take it easy... with him. He's been hunted... by the Ming."

"Hunted?!" She exclaimed.

"For some... bizarre sacrifice." Nanashi managed to say. "This..." he indicated his present condition. "Is the result... of getting him... out of their clutches."

Hira paused, listening to his words. "I have noticed quite a few Ming in the region the past year or so. They were after that boy?"

"Were..." Nanashi said with a note of finality as he sank back into the floor again, letting his eyes shut. "They're all dead." Something seemed to drain away from him. An overwhelming sense of weariness seeped into his bones.

"So did he really hire you?"

"I let him... think that." Nanashi whispered. "He's eight... His temple... was destroyed. His master... betrayed him. He's got... no one."

"He's got you," She said.

He huffed amusement, winced again, and tried to smile. "We're stuck... with each other."

"Ronin?" she asked tentatively.

He nodded. "Yes. I won't... serve under... another lord." There was such a note of weariness in his response, a sense of pain and finality. His eyes flickered open as she set her hand on his forehead. There was a faint smile on her lips.

"I understand," she said simply. "Save your talk now. I've got to get this field dressing off. Let me move you. You're going to need your strength."