Sleepwalker, chapter 4: snowflake and ghost, part 1

(Usual disclaimer: I do not own the characters of Samurai Champloo, drat it, so all I can do is use them mindfully and with love...and a few other intentions. As ever massive gratitude to my nakama, Gecko and Neko, for their endless patience while I sweated this one out.)

Edited July 2009 to purge it of fangirl Japanese. --OK, except for the dates.


[mid-December (Junigatsu) 1671.]

The opening-of-term ceremony was over and the path from the formal hall back to the students' quarters was full of excitedly chatting boys, comparing class lists, looking for last term's friends. Yukimaru wove his way steadily through the throng, ducked around a knot ahead of him, and saw too late that Saisashi was at the center of it. No chance of escape now; the rough-looking upperclassman had spotted him. He strode out and blocked Yuki's way, grinning.

"Yuki-san, you haven't seen my new sword yet. It just arrived this morning with a messenger from my family." He drew it from its sheath and presented it under Yuki's nose with a proud smirk. "Pretty, neh?"

Yuki sighed. Bright, shiny, Edo shinto steel. "Very nice, Saisashi-san." He tried to be on his way, but the older boy's grin had become a black scowl. He stopped Yuki with a hand on his shoulder.

"I suppose you don't think it's as good as that rusty relic of yours."

"Well, of course it's not." Yuki tried to be patient. "It was made last year. You know modern steel can't touch the Five Schools' work. And it's got--" he squinted at the frilly hamon--"what are those, maple leaves on it? Even you can't really---"

"At least my family can afford to buy me a new sword, instead of sending me to school with something that's been hanging in the hall for a century."

Oh, he'd just known the ignorant toad was about to get personal. He brushed the hand off his shoulder. "Saisashi--"

"--Excuse me."

A low, calm voice he'd never heard before. Yuki turned in surprise, had to look up to meet the eyes of the newcomer--striking, clear, dark grey eyes as calm as the voice, set in a pale, fine-boned face. He was taller than Yuki but looked no more than a year or two older, his long sidelocks neatly trimmed. Those eyes flicked over him in an instant, took note of the clan crest adorning his dark-green sleeve; slight, gracious incline of the head.

"Perhaps you'd draw your sword for us, Hojo-san."

Yuki bowed respectfully, making the same note of the other's indigo-blue. "--Takeda-san." And drew, with a very slight flourish, the venerable blade. He was so proud of it. It gleamed with a dark sheen of oil, its plain curve graceful as a willow bough, the hamon a simple, clouded wave.

"If I may?" --curious tilt of head, long hand extended; Yuki allowed him to take it. Who was he? He was sure he'd never seen him before, and there was no way he'd forget this presence and face, certainly--

Saisashi's voice, dark, bitter laugh. "So you're back with us. Monster." The last word so quiet that he could pretend he hadn't intended the other to hear it, but clearly had. If he had, though, he gave no sign. Yuki would have stared at the sempai, had he not been absorbed in watching the beautiful stranger (--monster?…) study his beloved katana with a practiced and thoughtful eye.

"Without seeing the tang--" he glanced up at Yuki--"I would say this is a Masatsune, probably the first one, an early Bizen blade about four hundred years old. Is it so?"

"It is, yes. It was my father's and my grandfather's."

"As I thought. It's probably met my grandfather's." (The slightest smile; it was enchanting.) "It's seen long service--" he sighted along the elegant curve--"but is in admirable condition and polish. I'm honored to meet it." He bowed and handed the katana back to Yuki, who in quiet pride returned it to its saya, unable to resist a quick so-there glance at Saisashi--

startled to see he was staring at the tall boy with an expression he could barely believe, a mixture of envy, resentment and…fear. Not hate or anger, raw fear. What on earth?--

"Not that I expect you to respect anything of the kind, Saisashi." And for an instant the calm voice sliced like a new-sharpened blade. "--If you'll both excuse me."

Yuki, staring at Saisashi's murderous expression, was still registering that his defender had known who he was speaking to when he realized he had gone. And I didn't even say thank you! He pushed past the bully and took off after the other's long stride at a quick trot--(what odd looks he was getting from other students: surprise, studied indifference, startled intrigue…) --caught up beside him.

"--Takeda-san?"

Moment of wide surprise; he'd pulled him out of his thoughts. "--What?"

"I'm sorry--I didn't thank you for speaking up for me. I do appreciate it."

"Oh--" He was oddly shy when not offering a learned discourse. "You're welcome. It was nothing."

"It was something to me." Sigh. "I can never get him to hush like that."

Walked a moment in slightly awkward silence, then: "I'm surprised at his ignorance. Why was he insulting your sword?"

Eloquent snort. "Because he's Ashigaru, that's why. The only swords his family has, they made out of farm tools. Or bought on the streetcorner. Hmf. He talks a lot, but if he's samurai, I'm the Shogun's mistress--" --fell into embarrassed silence, suddenly realizing that they were near to the end of the path and he had been chattering the whole way, trotting at the Takeda boy's side.

"You're very outspoken." Mildly.

"And you're very quiet. I wasn't annoying you, was I?"

"No. You remind me of someone at the dojo where I've been studying." That little smile again.

"But you do live here?"

"I've been away, but--" glance around, unreadable --"I live here. --And this is my door."

"Oh!" really had come all the way to the older students' quarters. "Then I will say sayonara and thank you again."

"You are most welcome. Sayonara." Polite bow before closing the door.

Halfway back to the junior students' quarters before he realized he hadn't asked his name…


So, he was home.

Jin set down his bag and folded onto the futon he had left a year ago, looked around at the big airy room lined with futons and chests and neat, spare belongings, feeling stranger than he ever had in his life. How could the place where he'd lived for so much of his life feel so foreign? The moment he'd passed the big willow and stepped onto the Mujuu's grounds he had felt wrong somehow: the path was unraked, the signboard a bit askew, there was an uneasy sense of disarray and neglect all around: had it always been that way, and he just too familiar to see it, or had things gotten somehow worse in the little time he had been gone? And if so, why?

And…

They didn't like him here.

It had been easy to forget that in the warmth of Gojuu Hall, where he was a welcome guest from the start and became almost one of the family; where no one knew the details of his past, or would have judged him so if they had. But here he could feel the old rumors and suspicions coiling back around him like some poisonous smoke, almost taste them when he breathed. In so many eyes the same old distrust, the same memories: he'd been so accustomed to it before that he'd never felt it, but now it was like a light crawling touch on his skin. Like Saisashi's bitter voice…

Saisashi. Always there with his whispers and dark stares, the only older student to challenge Jin again and again once beaten in the dojo; too afraid to confront him directly, inside a pack of fawning friends whenever you saw him, as if barricaded. It wasn't just the hurt pride of one defeated; he was afraid of Jin, of what he believed Jin was. So you're back with us, Monster…. Hm. He'dprobably hoped he'd be killed by bandits on the road and never return, if such a thing can die. And in Jin's absence he'd apparently found a new target for his arrows…

…and hadn't he been a welcome surprise, in the midst of all this. The bitterness eased a little at the thought of the grave, respectful tone, the open regard of the Hojo boy's clear dark eyes. How apt that he should be of that old clan, neighbors of his own, both friends and rivals for centuries; perhaps it was a foretelling.

Too new here to have inhaled that poison…but the next time he sees me he'll have heard all the stories, and he'll never look at me again. Not the way he did.

The thought cut surprisingly deep, and he stretched out on the futon, buried his head in his folded arms. I have changed. Have I changed too much to live here?…



The moment Yuki he reached the general students' quarters he was assailed. "How did you do it? Everyone's talking about it."

"How did I do what?"

Everyone tried to talk at once, Tadayo beating Hiroshi to the lead. "Have a whole conversation with the Dojo Ghost! It's unbelievable! No one ever talks to that one, but you just walk up and start chatting like his best friend--you're something else, Yuki-chan--"

"Don't call me that." He dropped onto the futon, instantly surrounded by the curious faces of his classmates. "I didn't see anyone even try to talk to him, but people stared at him as if he'd been dead or something, and Saisashi called him a monster! And what's this 'dojo ghost' thing about? Who was that?"

They exchanged glances. "--He-"

"Chea, of course you don't know, he's been gone the whole time you've been here." Tadayo drew himself up a little. "That"--very significantly--" was Takeda Jin."

Yuki thought hard. "Supposed to be the Master's favorite, isn't he?"

Their faces fell. "That's all you've heard? Yuki, that's not the half of it--that was Takeda Jin! The mononoke! The best fighter and the strangest kid ever to live at the Mujuu! It's been nothing but stories about him since they brought him here from the massacre--"

"--wait, wait! Akh!" Yuki had been planning to go to the dining hall, but this sounded much too good to pass up for mere food. He scrambled to his feet, hurried to the door and collected some fruit from the bowl on the entry table, dove back into the group. "All right, tell me, tell me everything."

And for nearly an hour, with utter relish, they related every single fable, rumor and fact that had gathered around his benefactor's name in the lore of the Mujuu. How he'd arrived one cold spring night of Mariya-dono's first year as Master here, a silent, trembling six-year-old, the only survivor of a clan-warfare bloodbath; how he'd responded to nothing until the Master gave him a training sword, and then suddenly showed such fearsome skill that the instructors themselves fell silent. How no one dared spar with him except the whispers, the stories…

Some said that while alone and surrounded by the corpses of his family he'd been kissed by the Death Goddess, and that what looked out of those uncanny eyes now was no human soul but a mononoke, a vengeful spirit craving revenge; some even hissed that the strange, cold boy had never been human at all, born with a demon's heart, that he himself had massacred the clan, man, woman and child alike. (Yuki thought of the calm voice, the clear gaze: who could think such a thing?…) Some even claimed that there was kitsune blood in his family, that a woman wronged by his ancestor Takeda Shingen had prayed for revenge and been granted the powers of a fox-daemoness, and the child she bore to Shingen had nearly destroyed the clan; look at this one, don't you think he could be part fox? And hasn't he a crime to avenge of his own?..

"Oh, that can't be true." Yuki was nearly breathless with delight.

Hiroshi nodded. "They say that last one's really so; in the Takeda histories, even."

"So most everyone in the place except Mariya-dono has kept their distance from him for years, and then for whatever reason he takes up for Yuki-chan in a spat with the dojo bully, and Yuki just runs right after him when he leaves! Cool!" Tadayo was enjoying this immensely. "I guess sending him off to Gojuu Hall really did teach him some human manners, since he didn't freeze you solid for your nerve."

"Well, I don't care what everyone has always thought of him," said Yuki firmly. "He was very polite to me, and put Saisashi in his place too, better than I could." Maybe they'd meant to put him off with their stories, but it hadn't worked; in fact, now nothing on earth could have kept Yuki from speaking to him again…

Hiroshi saw his expression and grinned. "Do you think he's handsome? Maybe he should be your elder brother. You're going to need one to keep Saisashi from grabbing you every chance he gets, the pig."

Pelted him with a peach pit. "Tscha, I just met him, 'Roshi. And from what you tell me, he wouldn't be easy to court." Scowl. "--Saisashi doesn't even like me, he just wants a boyfriend from an old family so he can shove him around. I'll cut his hand off one day, I swear."

"Get Jin on your side and you might get his whole arm. He's no friend of 'Sashi's." Quiet Hiroshi looked very serious. "All these horror stories are just smoke; what really makes him scary is how good he is. Wait till you see him fight. You won't believe it. I've never seen anything like it, and my father's won a dozen duels."

"You mean it?"

"I mean it. He's probably the best the Mujuu has ever trained. I'd bet you my horse Mariya-dono is planning to make him headmaster one day."

Yuki finished off the second peach in silence. So the ghost-story legend of the dojo, who just happened to also be a gifted swordsman and the light of the Master's eye, had singled Yuki out for his first conversation in who-knew-how-long? Well, he had no intention of letting that be the only time. This was all far too good to let go of...


And when he got a next chance, he walked right up and took it.

The tall boy was walking, as before, along the raked stone path between the training halls and the students' quarters, and while he was not smiling, there was something in his face that suggested good news, at the least. So Yuki collected his courage and intercepted him.

"Good day, Takeda-san."

Just an edge of annoyance in his face, and Yuki prepared to bow out, but --to his delight--the edge faded markedly when Jin saw who was addressing him.

"And to you. Perhaps we should be introduced."

Yuki bowed. "Hojo Yukimaru."

"Those swords have met, then.--Takeda Jin." Bow in return. "But it seems you knew that."

"My friends were amazed that I'd been talking to you." They were walking on side by side quite naturally, Yuki unable to ignore that there were turned heads and whispers because of it, Jin oblivious.

--Short sigh, lowered head. "I'm sure they were."

"You don't mind if I do?"

"--Did you have something to ask me?"

Yuki took it as read: you may speak to me, but have a point. Fine, then. "It's probably not my business; you just look in better spirits than yesterday."

Jin nodded, glancing at the Benten fountain as they passed it: two junior students were raking moss out of its courses and the water already flowed more clearly. "That needed doing.-- Sensei is pleased with my progress. He says he'll recommend my taking the junior instructor's examination, though I'm just seventeen. It's quite an honor." Half-look at Yuki. "I'll probably be one of your teachers, since you're new here."

Delight at this thought matched his amusement that Jin was so certain of passing the exam he was already assessing his future students. --"Well, congratulations! You should be proud."

Jin lowered his head: quiet, modest: "It's an honor to serve the Mujuu in any way." But Yuki caught the quick flash of his little smile, saw that he was, indeed, practically glowing with pride in himself. Grin: I'm getting the knack of reading this one, I think…

"So, is it permitted to watch the examination? I'd love a chance to see your work, especially if I'm going to be your student.--Which I hope," he added daringly.

He'd thought Jin would be flattered by this, but to his dismay, his face darkened. "I'd rather you didn't."

"But--surely I won't make you nervous?"

They'd come once again to the end of the path and the older students' quarters. Jin gave him a searching look. "Would you come in for a minute?"

"Of course," Yuki bowed, and Jin slid the door.

It was cool in the big chamber, lit only by late daylight filtering through the walls. Yuki had never been in the older boys' rooms, and noted that they were almost exactly like those for younger students, only less crowded--each one seemed to have as much space as allotted to two of his juniors. But they were set out just the same: enough floor space for a futon, a chest for belongings, and one modest piece of furniture: a cushion, a lamp, a deity figure. Yuki glanced around him, saw that most of the chests' lids had been either padded as seating or served as personal shrines, supporting small deities, incense burners and candles, mandalas in frames. Jin's own box, beautifully carved and painted with the floral version of the Takeda mon, bore a reading lamp, several scrolls, and an exquisite little Ryokai mandala, its detailed gilding bright even in the dim light.

Jin had pointedly left the door wide open, the universal dojo symbol that nothing private was going on within, and now leaned his shoulders into the door frame. He gestured that Yuki might sit, but he didn't, unable to read the moment clearly. He ached with distress that he'd said the wrong thing, and just now too, when Jin had seemed genuinely happy…

"I suppose you've noticed," said Jin, "that you're the only one who talks to me."

"Yes. And I--"

"I'm glad you do. I like it." The simple thing seemed a hard confession; Jin's eyes stayed on the dusty toes of his white tabi. "But it's just because you don't really know me. That's why I don't want you to see the test."

Yuki blinked, trying to hear everything that Jin had said, and not said. "You think I wouldn't speak to you anymore? But why?"

"You'd be afraid of me."

Not a boast or a threat: a simple, desolate statement of fact.

Could it be? …"Is that really what this is about? All the ghost stories and--is that why everyone stares at you so? For fear of your skill?" Couldn't keep back a small, disbelieving laugh. 'Takeda-san, are you that good?"

"Yes."

Again, simple fact. Disbelief and laughter alike fell silent in Yuki at the stark weight of it. Jin raised his head, looked into his face, an unmistakable appeal in the shadowed eyes.

"--Yukimaru-san…so that we can talk a while longer…please. Don't ask me again."

Yuki made him a deep bow. "If that's your wish, of course not."

..looked at him standing there in silhouette, a line as graceful and keen as a blade, solitary, so pure, like something set apart by the gods; he was like a boy in a story, Yuki thought, who had prayed to become the greatest of swordsmen, learning too late that the one with that gift walked alone in the world, an enemy to all…

His throat was so tight he almost couldn't speak; he wanted to cry. "I won't ask. But--Jin-san--" it was so important to say this, to make Jin meet his eyes--"I wouldn't be afraid. No matter what I saw, I would speak to you again. I swear it."

Jin crossed in front of him, settled onto the futon crosslegged, folded into himself.

"Thank you--" almost inaudible--"Yukimaru-san."

Yuki bowed again and almost bolted the room.


He caught himself just in time--it would look terrible if he were seen running out of the older boys' chambers, especially if anyone had seen them go in (tsheh, he was getting used to the idea that there was a faction watching Jin like government spies…) --and walked fast down the path, mind racing. Aren't we all here trying to become as good with the sword as we can? Is it so wrong that one of us might be very good, even now? He could hardly believe Jin's classmates could be so unsure and resentful, rejecting him for this reason alone...look how it's hurt him, though he tries not to show it…

Yuki stopped and leaned on the Benten fountain, her flow now clear and steady, trying to let the water's music calm him. It tore his heart to see Jin in such distress, so sure that Yuki too would turn from him, find his beauty too terrible in its true form--

No one had ever made him ache like this before…

He shook himself. If you don't get out of the main path, idiot, in one minute the whole place will see you sniffling on the Goddess' shoulder, and you will never, ever live it down. Go somewhere else and cry. Anywhere else.

He had a favorite spot in the peach orchard that no one else knew; he turned to head there--

And, of course, walked straight into Saisashi. Alone, yet.

That's it. I'm cursed. I'm going to move back to Izu and become a beekeeper.

"Yuki-san, whatever is it?" The bastard couldn't even pretend to hide his glee. "Fight with your new boyfriend already?"

"Mou! Leave me alone." Trying to shove past him--

'Sashi grabbed his shoulder. "Remember what I said, when you see what he really is. Remember it, Yuki."

"Pig," snapped Yuki, "don't you dare mention him." And went running for the orchard path, not even caring that now, blast it, it would be all over the dojo by dinnertime.


Darkness had fallen, but Mariya Enshirou had not yet lit the lamps in his room. It would only be a gesture, even if he had: no material light would make the path of his thoughts any clearer.

He hardly knew where to begin. A dozen students had not returned for the winter term, sending letters of polite resignation. There was too much to do at home, they were needed in their family businesses or estates, they had no real use for the sword; or, more damning and painful, they were taking up study at another school. A practical school. One that would teach them simple fighting skills, Yagyu-ryu perhaps, something dull but useful.

Mariya sighed grimly. The dojo could scarce afford to lose anyone, let alone so many. Already it had begun to look shabby around the edges; it shamed him, but there was only so much maintenance the students could do and still keep up their classwork. He would be patching the roofs himself next--not that honest work was any shame, but…

And he doubted next year would be better. The country was at peace, and seemed likely to stay there. Battle-tested warriors were working as bodyguards for merchants and noblewomen, and counted themselves lucky to have any masters at all---and those were plain fighting-men, not Zen artisans of pure technique like the ones training here. He wondered bleakly where this next class would go, the novices just started here, when they stepped out five years hence--let alone if they chose to stay on. He blessed the faith they'd shown by enrolling here, but was he repaying their faith with something they couldn't use? Was his worst fear coming to pass, and the high, serene beauty of the Mujuu losing its place in the practical world? He believed in it with all his heart, always would believe, but it was hard fact that even the noblest technique must pay for the roof over its head. If they lost more students next term, or did not gain new ones…

And there were dark rumors in the air, word from other schools that they had received strange visitors, been made startling offers. Gojuu Hall, for one, by Jin's account: Niwa-dono had sent the stranger on his way with a firm refusal, but had been disturbed and uneasy, and that in itself was a warning. Something was afoot, something poised to take advantage of the changing times and the dojos' worries, and he didn't like the smell of it. If such an offer came here…grant me strength, Ancestral Masters…

At least Jin would be taking an instructor's post soon, which would relieve the burden on his already overworked and underpaid nanadan. He'd insisted that Jin accept at least a token salary, but they both knew it was only to ease his sensei's pride that Jin had agreed: he'd argued that his living expenses were already covered by his residence here, that he had no others, and that--Merciful One guard him--he would gladly work for nothing to serve the Mujuu and his master. That at least had sounded like the old Jin.

The old Jin…Mariya rubbed the tight knot between his eyes. He'd had two conversations with his adopted son since he'd returned from Gojuu Hall, and was still unsettled by them. He had, of course, expected the boy to be changed: that had been the point. But…

He met your eyes so directly now, answered you with confidence; quiet still, but with the stillness of deep water, not brittle ice. He had always spoken to his shishou more familiarly than any other dared, and it had been charming in a precocious boy, but now it felt oddly unsettling. And there was no fear in him now. That had truly startled Mariya. The haunting darkness that had always been there, deep in his eyes, under his voice, was gone.

And he knew he'd been counting on it.

He'd expected something else, and had miscalculated, badly: he'd underestimated both his finest student and his oldest friend, and that was almost the worst of all. Niwa-san had not tamed his falcon's temper and sent him home to serve, but found in him what Mariya had never seen, given him back something lost. He was stronger. Less erratic, less unstable and troubling, yes; but that look in his eye that said he cared nothing for his own safety, would do anything his Master willed, heedless of reason or pain…somehow Niwa-san had washed it away.

You have healed him, old comrade, as I asked. But I fear he was more useful to me broken...

If the worst came…if he needed a weapon fiercer than any other…had he thrown it away? Would a whole Jin, a loyal and willing disciple, be as fearsome as the cold-eyed wolf had been? What had he done? Was he sorry?

He sighed, and lit the lamps. He had letters to write.


--Chapter 4, part 2 follows directly.

Small footnote: this use of "elder brother" is a bit more specific than the previous one. It was common for an older dojo student to 'adopt' and mentor a younger one, protecting him from harassment and bullying as well as guiding him in his studies; partners in such a relationship would typically call one another "big brother" and "little brother." It was also common for these relationships to become romantic and/or sexual; bonds forged in this way could last a man's entire life, even alongside a conventional marriage.)