Mighty on the Earth
by aishuu

Part 3:

A week after Takota left, another stranger came. The Kurata weren't expecting any visitors, so they were less than happy about it. They disliked intrusions of the outside world into their quiet lifestyle, guarding their privacy zealously.

The Kurata had once been a warrior tribe, and vestiges remained in their descendants. Once the Kurata had swept across the land, plundering what they wanted and destroying what they didn't. Their legend remained in old wives tales outsiders spoke of the red-eyed demons that had mercilessly killed any who dared oppose them.

It had been a violent time before the discovery of gun powder. After that, the tribe had been pushed back; they disdained the guns that the ve'ho'e, the outsiders, had taken to using. They required no skill, and no honor. Their stubbornness to adapt to the new weapons was almost their doom; their tribe, which once numbered in the thousands, was whittled down to a scant hundred before they claimed the Rukuso Valley as theirs. While the land was beautiful, it was hard to farm and far off the conventional trade routes, so they were left to themselves.

The few traders that they did allow were selected carefully. It was Elu's, as son of the leader, task to make occasional trips outside the village to search for those who could be trusted. He would be leaving in autumn, around a month before the snows fell, to find someone to replace Takota.

The guard posted on the outskirts of the village - a usually dull task that offered plenty of time for carving or weaving for craftspeople - spotted the intruder a half mile from the village. He quickly hot-footed it to the main tribe to offer warning.

Kurapica had been rehearsing songs with his father, which gave him an excuse to follow Anoke. His father was one of the ranking villagers, and when the messenger arrived, his face drew with worry. After a second of consideration, he spoke to his son. "Come with me - just stay out of sight," his father told him, his face drawn with tenseness. He drew the sword belt that he kept by the door around his waist. "And wear your weapons."

Kurapica nodded, realizing that this would be another lesson for him. He ran to his room to grab the swords Elu had given him, hanging them from inside his shirt in the fashion of a proper Kurata warrior.

They arrived just in time to watch the stranger come into sight. Kurapica found one of the bushes that outlined the green, ducking out of sight. He had learned, while hunting small game using a sling, that stillness was an asset. His breathing was long and soft, making sure he was filling his lungs with oxygen in case something happened.

The man made his way to the green, and since he didn't seem to be carrying weapons, he was allowed to pass unhindered. The stranger was small and dark, and short. Kurapica was nearly as tall as he was. He held two donkeys, strong beasts of burden that could carry loads over the trails without too much hassle.

"I'm looking for Kurata Kurak," he said. "I'm Feitan, a traveling merchant," he said. "I hear you're looking for a new merchant," the man said as he stopped in the middle of the square.

Obviously the man didn't know much about the tribe, since he didn't know that only outsiders gave them "Kurata" as a family name. The Kurata only went by a given name, seeing no point in confusing things with additional names.

Anoke, as the ranking member of the tribe present, stepped forward. "He's on his way," he said. He made no offer of refreshment or to bring Feitan to a more comfortable place, a subtle snub. Moments later, Elu arrived and came to flank Anoke, his hands resting on the hilt of his swords threateningly. His usual smile was missing, and Kurapica shuddered inside.

The minutes crawled by with agonizing slowness as the silence hung between them. Feitan had a lot of patience, and didn't flinch under the hostile eyes of the tribe. It was admirable in a way, since he would have to be an idiot not to realize he wasn't welcome.

Kurak appeared in a matter of minutes. Had this been an invited guest, he would have dressed in the sharp clothing the tribe preferred, but this man didn't rate such an effort. Instead, Kurak was still wearing the bloody apron he used while butchering. He wasn't so uncouth as to be wielding the knife, but Kurapica knew he had weapons on his person.

"I'm Kurak," he said, not making any form of greeting. "What do you want?"

"I hear you're looking for a new merchant," Feitan repeated, showing no sign of reaction to the snubs he was being dealt.

"You can stay for the night before turning around, but we are not interested in trading," Kurak said, folding his arms over his chest. "There is a guest cabin at the edge of the village."

The cabin was little more than walls, lacking any sort of luxury. It would not be a welcoming place to stay - but no one was going to step forward to offer him hearth warming. The Kurata tribe had long since learned that few were worthy of trust.

Feitan didn't appear offended, merely nodding his acceptance. "Is there anywhere I can get a bath?" he asked.

"We are a people of limited means, and have no such facilities for travelers," Kurak said, his words pointed and splitting the fine line. The Kurata always had places for guests; it was those who hadn't been invited that found the cold lack of hospitality.

The man shrugged again, his indifference apparent. It was a different reaction than most who were turned away; many complained that they needed to be given a chance to prove themselves, but long experience had made the tribe cautious. Since their eyes were viewed as prizes by some of the most gruesome aspects of humanity, it was a lesson well learned.

The tribe wouldn't threaten the man openly, but being given a cold shoulder often worked miracles. It was hard to enjoy being someplace where people pretended you didn't exist, especially while the rest of the community reveled in its close bonds. "Very well," Feitan said. "If someone will show me the way?"

Yahto, a young fighter who ran with Elu, stepped forward. He was the tallest of their tribe, just a couple inches shorter than six feet, and the most muscular. Crossing his arms over his chest, he stared down at Feitan. "I'll take him, Kurak," he said, treating Feitan as not important enough to speak to. His eyes were glowing with the famed crimson that made them so prized; a sign of his youth. Older members learned to repress their fears and excitement.

"Thank you," Kurak said, smiling warmly. It was nice when tribe members stepped up to volunteer, however distasteful the task. Yahto wasn't volunteering for just escorting the man - he also had accepted guard duty until he left. It would be a long, cold evening outside in a tree for him as he made sure the man stayed where he was supposed to.

Feitan just shrugged as Yahto crooked a finger, indicating Feitan was to follow. The man just drew on the ropes of his animals without protest. As he turned, the man's gaze fell on the bush Kurapica was hid in, and Kurapica felt a cold chill work through his body. This man was dangerous, and he made a note to make sure he kept his weapons with him until he left.

The next morning, the stranger left with the sunrise. There was no incidents, and people quickly put the matter to the back of their minds.

A month after the encounter with Feitan, the Kurata held another celebration. Namid and his wife, Bly, had just had their first son, whom they named Helaku.

Birth celebrations were nearly as enjoyable as solstice ones, since there was mochi. A week after the child's birth, the clan gathered together to admire the child and offer gifts to the parents. Many children's items had been circled through different families this way; Kurapica's cradle had been a gift from Kurak; two years ago, it had been given to another Kurata newborn.

The crowd was dressed in its festive best, and all were celebrating merrily. The men were happily plying Namid with drinks, telling horrible stories about about how his life was going to change. Fathers played an active role in a child's upbringing, so Namid was learning about changing baby clothes and sleepless nights.

Kurapica obligingly held the child when it was his turn, staring into the clear blue eyes of the newest member of the tribe. Helaku gurgled, waved his pudgy little hands and tried to catch hold of Kurapica's ears. Kurapica scowled, untangling the tiny fingers from his hair a couple of times before he could politely pass the child onto Motega.

His mother was looking at him with nostalgic eyes, and he knew it would only be minutes before she broke out stories about his childhood. He ducked away, hoping to avoid overhearing the embarrassing tales.

Olathe chuckled as he went to sit beside her. She was wearing blue today, Kurapica's favorite color, and something inside of him responded to that, causing a smile to bloom on his face. She really was quite pretty, he thought, before wondering where the notion had come from. "Avoiding the parents?" she asked.

"She's going to start in on the first time she tried to change my diaper," he said moodily, dejectedly propping his chin up in his hands. "Then she's going to start in about my first word."

"What was it?" she asked.

"Ma, of course. Nothing real exciting. What was yours?"

"Hammock," she replied.

"Hammock? You're weird."

"It's not fun to be normal," she said, before sticking out her tongue. Glancing at his hands, she noticed a tell-tale stickiness. "Been at the mochi?"

Kurapica's favorite part of any birth celebration was the mochi that his mother made. It was sweet and had a good texture, and she only made it to welcome a new tribe member, since rice was expensive. He had found himself drifting to collect helpings from the food table more than once, but he wasn't alone. He had smirked as Huyana winked at him as they met for the third time. "I won't tell if you don't," she had said playfully as they took more mochi.

Olathe had noticed, and Kurapica would be regretting that. She would probably tease him for weeks about overindulging. "Just a bit," he hedged.

She tsked, clicking her teeth chidingly. "You shouldn't. You'll get fat."

He turned his nose up. "At least I'll be happier knowing I enjoyed life!" he said with false arrogance.

She looked at him, and he stared back, and they collapsed into a fit of giggles together. Glancing at her, he realized that he liked her better when she was smiling. She looked almost pretty. For a second, he was tempted to ask if she wanted to try kissing again sometime, but he repressed that notion without really thinking on it. Olathe was his friend, after all, and there was no need to confuse the issue by treating her like a girl.

That night, something unusual happened after he went to sleep. Someone's hand was on his shoulder, shaking him gently. He awoke slowly, his head still groggy from sleep.

"Huh?" he asked, a bit confused, but a hand over his mouth stifled anything he might have said.

Zaltana loomed over him, and he wondered why she hadn't lit a candle. Her face was inches from his own, and he saw that they were crimson instead of their usual deep blue. They were glowing in the dark, and he felt his adrenaline kick in. She helped him sit up, and his confusion increased as she slipped his shoes on his feet. Something was wrong.

She held a slim finger to his lips, indicating he was to remain quiet as she removed her other hand. It was only his absolute trust that kept his mouth shut and prevented him from asking for an explanation. The moonlight cast strange shadows across her pretty face, and he could tell she was terrified.

She handed him his shoes, which he slid on soundlessly. She kept glancing around, skittish like a young colt. When finished, he looked at her curiously.

"Whatever happens, you must listen to everything I tell you," she said softly. "We're going out the window, and I don't want you to look around. Just follow me, and keep quiet."

He had never been afraid like this before. He felt his eyes start to shift into tokushitsu, the red eyes of passion and fear. His vision sharpened, tinted by shades of scarlet and he felt his head start to swim. But she had asked him to trust her, and he would. Succumbing to terror and uncertainty would be counterproductive.

Instead of exiting via the door, his mother lifted him carefully so he could climb out the window. He landed softly, on the balls of his feet, and seconds later his mother was there. She glanced back at the house, before picking out a path to take.

Behind him, he thought he heard screams, but his mother's hand grabbed his own, compelling him to run forward. He wanted to ask where his father was, but they were moving so quickly it was all he could do to keep up. They were running like he'd been trained in his weapons class, stepping on the balls of their feet rather than their heels.

His homeland seemed strange and twisted at night, and he suffered from severe disorientation as once familiar surroundings were warped by his fear.

They were about to enter the woods when his mother pulled him up abruptly. It took a second for him to see why; a tall, bored-looking stranger was standing on the trail, and it would be difficult to enter the woods without him seeing them. She pulled his arm the other way, before dragging him off to the small copse of shrubs that were in front of Huyana's house.

His mother's arms tensed around him, and he looked up, seeing her red eyes flashing their fear. He felt his breath catch, wondering if they would be discovered.

One breath. Two. He concentrated on the sound of his breathing. Think of the sky, of counting the number of stars. Don't think what was happening to his people.

They would find him if he moved, so he needed to find something else to think about instead of the panic he was tempted to succumb to. His mother was here, and they were safe. He would mourn for the others later, but for now, they had to survive.

They could hear the sounds in the distant of battle, the chime of sword on metal, and the occasional sound of gunshots. His mother was shaking slightly in fear, but he told himself to remain calm and wait.

It was torturous, and took less than half an hour before the noise came to an end. The night plunged into a mournful silence, and Kurapica leaned back into his mother's embrace. He wondered where his father was, what had happened and why the world had suddenly been turned upside down.

He chanced turning to look at his mother, and saw his own fear written in her face. A parent wasn't supposed to be scared; a parent was supposed to be able to protect their child. An irrational surge of anger at his father worked through him. Shouldn't he have figured out this was possible?

They heard the sound of breathing approaching, two people who weren't trying to be careful. It was the intruders, their attackers, and Kurapica bit back a gasp of fear.

"There were supposed to by two-hundred and sixty-three," he heard a woman's voice said. "I saw eight take a ship, which Nobunaga has gone after, but we're missing one."

"Keep looking. The Genei Ryodan never leave survivors."

"Yes, Kuroro-sama."

How could they only be missing one? Kurapica wondered in horror. Both he and his mother were still in hiding. He wondered if they would be found; if they would die or have the chance to escape.

Then his quick mind figured out the mystery. Whoever had supplied the information about their tribe hadn't known of Helaku's birth, he realized. But they'd accounted for everyone else.

That made him start shaking, the slight tremors wracking his body. He tried to calm down, knowing he might make the leaves move, but his mind wasn't able to regain control.

Zaltana's breathing quickened, and then her arms loosened. His mother looked at him for a long moment, like she wanted to memorize his face, before kissing him on the forehead.

"Stay here," she said. "No matter what happens, stay hidden."

He nodded, the fear that was flowing throw his body like the wave of a tsunami paralyzing him from all action. He watched as she crept away from him, the red fabric of her tunic turning black from the absence of light.

He wasn't sure what she was doing. Did she think she could fight them? She was a jeweler, and while she had gone through the weapons training all Kurata did, she was long past her prime as a fighter. As far as he knew, she'd never participated in the hunts. His stomach started to churn, and he shut his eyes. He knew deep down exactly what Zaltana was up to, and didn't want to accept it.

He heard the slight rustling of grass as she made her way through the area, moving toward the trail. Not too far away, he could sense the presence of the intruders, and with sick certainty, he knew his mother was doomed.

"There's the last!" he heard a voice call.

He didn't see his mother die. He felt ashamed, but he had to keep his eyes closed. He heard her cry out with a warrior's anger, then the scuff of her feet as she tried to fight off her attacker. He wanted to come out, but he had given his word to stay hidden.

"She's dead, and I got them," a woman said, a curious flatness in her voice. "Can we leave now?"

"No point in staying. We've got what we came for," said the earlier male voice. Kuroro. "Gather everyone and tell them we're on our way. Leave the bodies."

The bodies.

They were talking about his tribe: his family and friends, the people he knew as surely as he recognized his own name. Bile rose in his throat, and he forced himself to swallow and not throw up. Getting sick now would be one of the worst things he could do. Instead, he curled up in a tight ball, pressing his knees to his chest as he made himself as small as possible.

He listened as the group moved away. They were probably taking the south trail away from the village - it wasn't the easiest trail, but it would put them on the nearest route to York Shin City. They would be able to go to the docks at Palis, and pick up a ship that would carry them away to the fabled metropolis. And from there, they would be able to sell whatever they had taken. Maldid and Rondon, cities close to Rukuso Valley, were tentatively allies of the tribe and might raise an alarm, but there was no sentimentality in York Shin City.

It was the longest night of his entire life. Eventually the sounds of the intruders died away, and the night was filled by nothing by silence and the gentle chirp of crickets. Kurapica lay curled in the bushes, mentally repeated the Kurata Prayer over and over in his head, trying to empty his mind of the what had happened..

The sun and moon shines on our limbs,
And the ground moistens our body,
Giving this body to the wind that blows,
Thank God for the miracle,
And the Kuruta territories...