Disclaimer: Rurouni Kenshin is the creation of Nobuhiro Watsuki, with the manga and anime rights belonging to Jump Comics and Sony Entertainment, respectively.
Seven
The sun was vindictive; if yesterday it treated with a pleasant mildness, this day it gifted with an out-pouring of the energy conserved previously. The air, heavy and stifling, made one feel sluggish and sleepy. Slumber was impossible though--as comfortable as steaming, wrapped up in a sweat-soaked futon, or baking outside on the smarting-hot porch. The temperature rose as the day progressed, as did the temper of a certain junior swordsman.
Being treated a junior person vexed Yahiko excessively. Why, hadn't he fought in one of the skirmishes of the Kenshin-gumi, a battle that surely contributed to the failure of a coup de tat and the downfall of Shishio Makoto? The brief rampage of the fire-scarred, double-crossed Ishinshishi hitokiri could never touch Japan's written history, but actually having a hand (and a ten-year-old hand, at that) in stopping it is surely worthy of note! And then there's that fight with Enishi's goons--that should count for something! Hadn't he won the fight with the Kamiya Kasshin Succession technique? Kaoru herself professed to never having successfully pulled such a move in actual combat.
Now at thirteen, Yahiko's learning pace hadn't slowed down a bit. But she had. There were times when she'd sit dreamily by the river, doing nothing instead of practicing or monitoring him. It was her who hampered his growth. He was simply learning faster than he was being taught. Can she still not trust him? Indeed, she trusted him to some measure. The premier student of the Kamiya dojo was given teaching responsibilities. She always said that there's always much to learn from teaching others. Maybe that was true, but it didn't stem his impatience at all. He wanted to learn. He wanted to know.
He still had a number of unpolished corners and edges, she'd say--and plenty of time to fix it all! Pace your self, went her favorite sermon. Let your momentum be your driving force. You must learn a lesson thoroughly first, before moving on to the next. Every infrastructure has a base; the base must not only be strong, but sturdy and firm. And so we build slowly but surely, paying attention to every aspect, every skill, from base to the pinnacle. That's how we train.
Fine. So she's married to Kenshin,--but she didn't need to use his deep-explanation-mode vocabulary! She always had a back-up explanation when Yahiko complained. Think of it as a sword then, she'd quip. In forging a sword, you don't heat the metal for a minute and three seconds That, unfortunately, was something he could understand. She'd continue her lecture. You must do this. You must do that. More orders.
Sometimes, he'd make a mistake, would miss a chore, and then she'll have lots to say. Take for example the previous evening's encounter. She had expounded on her topic extensively and energetically.
Okay, so he was sorry about missing practice yesterday, but she acted as if he was some unfeeling, morally-depraved monster who wouldn't accept a mistake pointed out, a chiding. (Hey, she ought to be used to his scowl! ) Did he have to collapse in a crying fit, publicly and emotionally declare his guilt, offer to commit hara-kiri or something? She was overacting, he thought. She was venting her boredom--or whatever it was--on him, nitpicking on his every single movement, in each of his waking moments. Besides, the practice yesterday was a mere make-up session--which wasn't the point, retorted she--and only that pervy, bug-eyed boy who had the hots for the (married and pregnant) shihondai turned up.
As was often the case, their verbal battle fizzled out after a while. (He couldn't possibly assault her physically, anyhow.) She lapsed back into the icy quietness he had found her in when he came home (before she exploded, naturally). Kenshin was as silent, as preoccupied as his wife, the whole evening. He didn't join her when she retired early, and wordlessly left the supper table and the impeccable meal she barely touched.
That morning, she exploded again. So Yahiko sought his peace among the serene gathering of the stalwart, ever-dignified trees. At least, he had something to look forward to tonight, he comforted himself. The dance was the first one he'd attend with Tsubame--not that it didn't happen before! They do bump in on each other in festivals, but that's because Kaoru and Kenshin usually drop by the Akabeko. But this time, this time he asked her himself. Knowing that sent in him a jolt of anticipation and nervousness. What would happen tonight? Would the fact that he asked her out change anything at all?
It was just a dance Yahiko felt a little silly, skipping about as if he was going to be presented before the court of the Meiji emperor. Still, he couldn't help feeling that tonight was going to be special. He wanted to look extra nice for the affair. He had swallowed his pride very early that morning, confided with Kenshin his plans for tonight, and asked for help in fashion and etiquette. The ex-wanderer smiled sheepishly, murmuring advanced apologies for being lowly-bred and unrefined, and being afraid of being little help. Yahiko was afraid that could be true but privately reasoned that his idol couldn't possible have snared a bride (two of them, actually) if he were truly as gauche and ignorant as he lets on (AN: kenshin is one lucky bastard, that's why). Besides, his days as a patriot surely lead him to close proximity of well-mannered, elegantly dressed peacocks--also called nobles. Kaoru, despite appearances, would have been good help, too; all the same, Yahiko honor-bounded Kenshin to secrecy, demanding him to forswear ever spilling a drop to his wife. Kenshin nodded in resignation, and uttered a plaintive little oro.
Yahiko remembered to ask his mentor's plan for the night but only received vague answers. After that, Kenshin became reticent, almost brooding. Yahiko was forced to abandon the topic, satisfied that his quarry--privacy--was assured. Only later, after his fight with Kaoru that morning, did he think to connect together the two adults' mutual speechlessness, Kaoru's outbursts, and the lack of the couple's itinerary for the night.
Thinking back now, he shrugged. Marital friction between the two was none of his business as long as neither of them involved him. Anyhow, Kenshin would find a way to thaw the busu sooner or later, Yahiko decided. Preferably not before the Bon Odori, not enough to tease him.
Now what do people do in the Bon Odori anyway? Obviously they dance. And then what? Maybe Kenshin could tell him. Kenshin? But he's married! Tsubame and Yahiko were not--Yahiko's thoughts broke off, leaving his face red and shiny.
Still, latent excitement was a heavy load in his stomach that threatened to break out into a thousand flitting, fluttering pieces. Yahiko firmly pushed aside his thoughts on tonight. With his attention restored to the old pathway, Yahiko saw Shirodachi's house nestled among the bushy branches.
Shirodachi's little house looked homey and gorgeously dainty, now that most of the ravages of time and nature had been repaired. That he had given her assistance in the outer restoration gave him a tinge of pride. The wood was now rid of splinters and was polished to gleam like the dojo's floor. No creaking issued when he walked up the porch, thanks to the pieces of wood he lodged under several steps. He entered past the sturdy doors and into the house. There in the middle of the modestly furnished but elegantly decorated room, on the middle of a newly-tatami-covered floor, sat Shirodachi.
"Shirodachi?" Belatedly, he remembered to knock. "Er… Good morning."
He realized that the late knock was stupid; he had already caught her attention when he spoke.
"Yahiko-kun!" Her greeting was bright and cheerful, as were her clothing and demeanor. "I am pleased to have a guest today. Oh, and even more pleased that it is you." She inclined her head politely.
"And I'm glad to see you, too," answered he without shame--surprisingly. To tell that frankly to a girl should have been uncomfortable. He was pleased to see her and was pleased that she wanted to see him; it was simply that.
Shirodachi looked very nice today as well. Her headful of black hair was a living shiny pearl, even more vibrant against her unadorned alabaster face. The red and yellow peonies of her kimono seemed to blaze with the young sun's rays that strayed into that still austere home. She was pretty, he thought. No. Beautiful.
Shirodachi demurely ducked her head again. "Thank you. I am flattered." Did he say anything aloud? It didn't matter. "Please sit yourself, my friend."
Myoujin Yahiko sat down on the offered cushion with the grace and austerity befitting his rank, befitting distinctions between human beings of bygone eras. In her hands, he saw, were pale, delicate blossoms-- mere wildflowers, though pretty and sweet often overlooked--artistically arranged. Wordlessly, she handed a bunch to him.
Stalks of different lengths held up the three blooms. Yahiko stared at them, contemplating on the pattern they bore. He rolled the stems on the pads of his fingers until the thin dainty things bruised, the smell of crushed grass wafting faintly, some dark smudges visible on some crooked petal. Earth. Man. Heaven--the hierarchy stayed the same no matter how he turned the stems, no matter how mutilated the tiny things came to be. Brown eyes followed the fall of a pink petal; Yahiko looked up, wincing.
"I'm sorry about that," he said, embarrassed. "Not really trying to be destructive here."
Pale white hands reached out to take the ruined flowers Yahiko sheepishly handed over. Eyes of deep vibrant brown --the only living color on the bleached pallor of Shirodachi's face--studied him closely, disclosing none of their secrets but prying his own.
"Anger can cause ill circumstance to pass whether or not anybody means it," she spoke quietly.
"Ah… yeah." Yahiko could only agree. What else? "Sorry all the same. And yeah…" He ducked his head awkwardly. Well, I've been told to control my temper better."
In that solemn face, her thin salmon lips relented to a tiny smile, as if to comfort him. "These little ones are of no moment. I only engage in ikebana to pass time. But you. Are you wroth with me, sir, these hapless blooms bear the brunt of your rage?"
"Huh?"
"Your anger has to be directed somewhere. Have I given some offense?"
"Er, no? I'm not mad at you."
"I'm glad to hear that, Yahiko-kun, but mayhap… Never you mind."
Mayhap? Yahiko thought. What kind of a word is that?
There was a silence for a while, and in that silence, Yahiko exhaled deeply.
" Such a great sigh surely has considerable roots," commented she.
Yahiko sighed again. "Life with tanuki-busu's a bitch," he muttered.
"Oh?" Shirodachi's expression was flummoxed. "I've never known of a cross between a tanuki and a dog. Such a creature would certainly be ugly."
"You don't have to take every thing so literally, you know," he returned with a grimace.
"Literal?" Her fine face cleared up. "Ah, so it is Himeki-san you speak like. Full of riddles and such. He makes good haikus. Explain yourself, Yahiko-kun, please? I've been schooled in poetry, you understand? Of course, I have never mastered the arts sufficiently…"
"Eeeeh? Himeki who? And you talk like one of those--? Geisha? Like my mother's cousin. I remember we used to visit her when I was little…"
He left it at that, not wanting the dogmatic defensiveness to rise to his throat like bile. His mother wasn't one of them, visited by the richest and most powerful. She was just one of the many faces, mere masks, in the pleasure quarters who serve meat in exchange for rice. A poor exchange--but it was for me, came the thought fiercely, and sacrifice like that has to be the noblest of all noble shit. She died with as much honor as his father did. Yahiko shook his head. His fight with Kaoru seemed to have loosened up some of his old memories.
"You are angry still," Shirodachi said. "With your mother?"
Yahiko hesitated, surprised. "Well," he said with unbidden honesty. "Sometimes, I guess. Childish of me, I suppose, but yeah." He shrugged. "Or maybe with myself, 'coz I was too young to defend her honor. Maybe… Maybe now I'd be good enough…"
Shirodachi wasn't paying much attention to him anyhow, riveted by her own thoughts. She was gazing far, mumbling vaguely.
"Mama-san said I wasn't good enough, though too good to waste."
"That didn't really make any sense," muttered Yahiko almost plaintively. He couldn't help it. Most of the time, he thought he understood what she was saying. He suspected her words had veiled meaning--but really! Now, she smiled at him warmly.
"Only that you explain yourself, Yahiko-kun," Shirodachi said. "I'm not good enough a poet to understand. That's why I wasn't accepted."
"Poet?" repeated Yahiko. "Anyway, I was saying that living with Kaoru isn't exactly great. Yahiko this, Yahiko that, Yahiko… I'm always wrong"
"Kaoru? Your mother… Strange way you call her. Mother. And yet, it displeases mine to be called 'mother' as well. She always did say she should have bought that herb from old nana, no matter what the price, instead of hearing such an insult from my filthy mouth. Said I should be with dirt where I belong. But it was so cold outside and my arms had blue spots already; why, I wouldn't be able to feel my limbs anymore And the snow--"
"Mother?" Yahiko was too out of it to comprehend the rest of what she said. "Kaoru is my master--remember her? The pregnant woman who dropped her parasol? Turned out it was hers. Forgot to tell she said thanks."
"I see." Shirodachi nodded, still keeping her eyes on him. He was forced to continue. There was no expectation in them; the compulsion was in him.
"I fought with her again this morning--and that's aside from last night's fight. She started it. She asked me if I had visited my mom's grave. Well, I haven't. Mother's far away, and I've tended to her last new year anyhow. The question ticked me off somehow. I don't know why. Maybe because I really did want to visit mom. But well…
"Anyhow, I would have told her any other time to just buzz off, or something. I said instead, 'What? You got no one else to drag with you? Drag Kenshin.' It's always him, right?
"I thought she was going to explode. She didn't. Her face just shook for a moment, then she retorted, 'I've already done my duties.'
"I thought that was really low. I mean, Kenshin's her husband; he should go with her.
"Then she asked instead if I'd made some make-shift altar thing at Sano's and that really ticked me off. I told her what does she care anyway? I told her to mind her business. And then she started crying. I hate it when she cries. It's not like her to cry."
"Oh…"
Yahiko was a tad ashamed of himself. "Well… I apologized. She just nodded, but at least she stopped crying. It was a weird thing, you know? I mean, we always fight, but that…. Sheesh. I would have been better if she slapped me or whatever. Like, she didn't hit me when we fought last night either."
"My mother punishes me like that, too. Once the sleeve of my kimono got caught on a nail and tore. I was so ashamed of my arm; it was so ugly. And I cried that she let me do chores at home, or in the fields, just that she not send me to town." She said this as a matter of factly, quietly.
He was stricken, though. "She hits you like that?"
"I deserved it," was her simple reply.
"Kaoru doesn't beat me," he explained. "It's sort of like a game, I guess. I annoy the hell out of her, all hell breaks loose." Yahiko snorted. "I don't know. Maybe the busu's actually growing up."
"I deserved it," Shirodachi merely repeated. "I should be grateful she doesn't turn me out. I do hope she doesn't sell me. I do, I do."
Yahiko stared at her. "You can't sell people," he stated firmly. "It's not right."
Shirodachi gazed at him sadly. "No it isn't."
"What province are you from anyway?"
"It doesn't mater. Sometimes, one simply does not belong. It's simply that."
Yahiko thought she was right. And yes, he wished nobody would sell him either, that nobody would turn him out.
How he wished.
~~~~~
It was the afternoon heat that awakened Kaoru. After Yahiko left after his grudging apology that morning, she had stumbled back to bed. Maybe Kenshin had tried to wake her for lunch, maybe not. Either way, she had just awakened at past three, ravenously hungry. There she was, now, sneaking in her own kitchen, stuffing her face in secrecy with her own boiled yam. Now if only the boiled yam didn't taste some much like a boiled shoe, it wouldn't be so bad.
It was stupid; He could easily find her, anyhow, had he wanted. Stalking one such as herself would impose no hardship on a man like the Battousai. Stupid also, because he surely would have a meal saved for her, something more edible, delicious, and nutritious than a week-old moldy cold tuber. But no. Under no circumstances did she want to see him, so there she was in the role of a mouse their house now lacked. Disgusting.
Actually, she and her husband had barely exchanged words after their ill parting yesterday. He was probably letting her cool off, refusing to push her. (He was still such a dear even in the middle of a fight it was irritating!) She was somehow grateful for the distance, and now she was worried he'd decide to put an end to their mutual silent treatment and seek her out.
She didn't want to make up yet. Worse, she didn't want to be near him--or see him, even. She couldn't figure out why, just that there was a persistent aversion. Maybe she was subconsciously being thick for stubborn pride. Pathetic.
Anyhow, after she and Kenshin make up (preferably today), they'd have to decide what to do in the Bon Odori tonight. They certainly ought to go. The town would be ablaze with lights, music, gorgeous decorations, food--mayhap even a cool star-studded evening. They could bring along Yahiko. She could buy him something, treat him somewhere, give him a good time--if only to make up. She had forgotten about his duties to his own ancestors. She could have at least helped him set up an altar for his parents in his room; It's not a home, but at least the thought was there. She could have….
What's done is tone. Or in this case, what's not done. Now she had to find an appropriate yukata for tonight. Better, her father had a sturdy old one he used to wear way back when her mother was still alive. Maybe it would fit Yahiko? He had grown considerably after all, even at twelve.
Still like some household pest, she scuttled to the storage and searched for the clothing. It wasn't there, was in her room, perhaps. She headed for the bedroom in tiptoes.
But what if Kenshin was in there?
So what? It was his room too.
Even so, she was sweating as he peeked in through a slit on their doorway. Silly, it was, scouring a room for one's own spouse, yet the moments that passed in that looming of the unknown were tense. She sighed in relief when she sighted their unmade bed, the empty space. He wasn't there.
Carefully closing the door behind her, she sat before her trunk and began rummaging through her things. She failed to produce the summer robe and began to speculate that she had already lent it to Kenshin for some previous occasion. Ponderously, she shifted her position.
Kenshin's side was always neat, shaming her now that she sometimes felt too bulky to even bother fixing up. His modest wardrobe was tidily folded; there she found her father's yukata.
She was carefully returning his things in order when she saw it: The sakabatou, an icon, perhaps a legend unto itself for those who cared, those touched by the kindness, the enlightenment of its wielder. She took into her hands, handling it almost with reverence. This object was central to the life of the man she loved--in corollary, her's as well. Somehow, it carried his ideals and the truths he discovered, his dreams and the reality he was forced to wake up to day after day. His past. His vows. His mistakes. His triumphs. His self.
Kaoru shivered. Anticipation? Fear? Foreshadowing? She felt icy cold for one minuscule moment. Now, her hands seemed to tingle with energy. Oh, the strength he must have used to wield this blade in his countless battles!
She slid the reverse-edged out of its sheath slightly, the visible fraction of the blade gleaming unabashedly in the suffused light. It was beautiful. Pure. Bloodless. The receptacle of power of the preeminent swordsman in Japan.
Entranced, she drew the entire weapon out of the saya and held it before her. She admired the bright shiny metal, began to explore by touch. Where the cutting edge should be was blunt, of course--not deadly, but far from harmless.
Now the opposite was the wedge. Wedge was such an ugly, lumbering, heavy word. The thin point--points--line that could sever a man from life should be called something light and lightning-fast.
Sublimely beautiful.
She ran a finger against its length and gasped. Sharp. The hand she drew away was bleeding lightly but steadily. But it was exciting, that budding red on her fingertip. Beautiful, that gush. Beautiful, that persistent, inconsequential pain.
Why? What--
Kaoru.
Kaoru. Yes. Kaoru's essence. Kaoru's life. Kaoru's blood.
She watched Kaoru's blood shyly creep out of that tiny well on the finger. Tentatively, she slipped out the tip of her tongue and tasted it.
Strong, sharp, and metallic--like the sword. The affinity of blade and blood proved evidently true. She looked down at the reverse-edged, seeing her visage gleaming on its polished surface, a drop of her life-fluid a seeming phantom mole on her cheek. The sakabatou had never before tasted blood. Perhaps it has never been complete either.
"Kaoru."
There. That was a call. The intense living red on the bright silver of steel was tantalizingly beautiful. And it was calling her.
"Kaoru?"
The scratching of wood against wood came obtrusively in her silence. Simultaneous with the telltale sound came the solid thunk of a falling heaviness and the clatter of the empty saya.
Her eyes shied away from the sword she dropped and settled on the man gazing at her from the door way, considering. Surely his swift eyes had already swept through the scene, had taken everything in. Guilt rose to her face; she was caught in the act.
"I was--I was cleaning up when I dropped it," she fumbled. "It's a heavy thing."
Kenshin ignored her flaming cheeks, but she knew… He knew. "Aa," he merely said.
"Did you want something in particular?" she burst out in discomfort.
"As a matter of fact, yes." Kenshin stepped inside. "I came to tell Kaoru-dono that the doctors and sessha agree unanimously that yams are not sufficient nutrition for her."
She sighed in spite of her self. "Fine."
"Leave the mess behind," he said with an appreciative nod. I'll take care of it."
Having already expressed her acquiescence, she did as she was told and made her way to her waiting meal. She didn't even look back as Kenshin sheathed his sword and returned it in it's place by their bedside.
Finished draft: 082303 1:38
Edited: 120403 Thur 00:43:25
Uploaded: 12/14/2003
Notes:
^.^ I don't have much to say except for... Um, please don't be too harsh on Kaoru. I notice people tend to judge Kaoru a tad too harshly. LOL.
To tocole: Thank you. I hope you continue to follow the story. =)
To watermelon: Thank you (and I hope you continue to follow the story, too ^__^ ). Clues, clues on Shirodachi and Yahiko and Kaoru and the baby.. I'm on tippy-toes organizing them. ^^; LOL. I'm glad you like the gradual buildup, and I hope I make the story smooth enough. As for the questions, like you said, I'm attempting to slowly build the answer. (wish me luck, LOL). Your feed backs really help me. Thanks again.
*sigh* Next chapter.
To all: thanks for reading. ^_^
(Oh, and if you get impatient waiting, or whatever, feel free to read my and Shirodachi's other fics. It's just a click away! *coughAuthorsPagecough* He he. Am I shameless? LOL. Jk.)
