Disclaimer: Rurouni Kenshin is the creation of Nobuhiro Watsuki, with the manga and anime rights belonging to Jump Comics and Sony Entertainment, respectively.
White
Friend
Melpomene & Shirodachi
Kyu
There exists a moment in every day, night, or in-between, when the sun is totally out of the sky--not merely covered by clouds--where the world is a limbo-like grayness, half-visible, half-unseen in the remaining light. Twilight had always been sort of mystical for Yahiko. Even that crap about some doorway to the world of the dead opening at dusk (or was that dawn?) sounded pretty cool.
His appreciation of the sunset and its aftermath was probably influenced by the Himura's daily habits. It started years ago, soon after Enishi invaded and disappeared, after everybody went away. Every afternoon, Kenshin would pause from his chores, watch the sunset, and become thoughtful, sometimes pensive. Always, Kaoru would be there somewhere to touch him in some way: a tentative hand on an arm, a light tug on a red lock. In fact... In fact, once or twice Yahiko may have walked in on the couple while something important was going on. One particular memory involved a giddy Kaoru, a serenely happy Kenshin, and--what made it especially memorable--an embarrassed Yahiko who had ran away from the dojo like nuts. Nowadays, it was a regular aesthetic thing. (The sunset-watching, that is).
The dusk today, however, Yahiko was missing. The trees darkened the woods, blotted out the skies. And he was at Shirodachi's anyhow. It didn't matter.
Yahiko didn't forget to knock this time, but when he peeked inside after receiving no reply, Shirodachi wasn't there. Undaunted, he stepped into the room, kicking his sandals behind him. Something beyond the solitary partition made the paper glow a warm yellow, and toward that he went. He tread over the tatami noiselessly and knocked on the nearer wall of the hut.
"I am surprised to see you this evening," came the instant reply.
Shirodachi was sitted before a low desk, but whatever she said, she certainly didn't look surprised to Yahiko. In that semi-darkness, with the lamp focused on her work, she looked downright bleached. Her pallor was kept from ghastliness by her long hair, a mass of jet black twisted into a complicated coiffure. The brown of her eyes were rendered pitch-black, as were her lips--lipstick?
"You are going somewhere special tonight? I perceive a change in your manner of dressing."
Indeed. And he could perceive a change in her manner itself. Somehow, she seemed more mature, graver... sadder. Yahiko approached her cautiously.
"Yeah," he said. "Actually, I was on my way to the Bon Odori at the town square. Er... I was wondering if you'd like to come."
She made an indecisive sound, apparently, thinking on the matter.
"Come on. The dance'll be fun. There'll be food, lights, music, and, uh, dancing." Yes, the lameness surely made it sound all fun and laughter, he thought miserably. "And... and... Tsubame will be there, too. Didn't you want to meet her?"
Shirodachi smiled mysteriously, though a tad sadly. "True, but I don't feel like going out, Yahiko-kun. Besides, I don't believe I've brought appropriate apparel for such celebratory affairs."
Now, Yahiko knew nothing about affairs and what's appropriate, but he thought her dress right now was pretty. It was the same kimono she was wearing that morning. In the darkness though, the red had bled into black and the yellow paled to white, so her dress did nothing to add to her color. She was still stunning, though, somewhat... unreachable. It was all darkly elegant, and she exuded an air of casual formality. Which was downright weird if you think about it, he thought in bemusement.
"All the same," Shirodachi said. "You're invitation is a great honor. I regret to decline, truly, but I have not planned for a social event my whole visit here. I would rather spend time in my home in private."
"Oh, I see." Somehow, Yahiko felt disappointed. "I'm sorry."
"Oh, but you are certainly very welcome to stay. Your presence by no means breaches my personal space. In fact, I insist. Please, sit. Anywhere! I apologize for the disorganization."
"This is where you sleep?" The question was merely for verification; he had already sighted the futon neatly folded on one darkened corner.
She smiled in amusement at his stricken expression. "It bothers you?" she said, a first, he thought, glimmer of humor from her since they met.
"Er... no," Yahiko replied defensively. As if to prove his point, he squated down next to her and peered at her work. "Calligraphy?"
"Yes."
"I kinda never got the hang it."
"Oh, but surely you know of even the most rudimentary of skills?"
"Well, yeah. Kaoru taught me."
"Good! Then, I shall write my name. And then you write yours."
Carefully, she dipped her brush, pressed off excess ink, and began making delicate, almost wavering strokes.
Shirodachi.
What he saw made his heart jump to his throat. And it stuck there, his heart, seemingly motionless. His breathing arrested. His neck stiffened. Coldness, black ice, slithered up his spine. Later, he often wondered how it would have been if he remained in such a state forever. Would his entire body just freeze over? Would he be sitting there in stasis, feeling, perceiving but unmoving, watching until the very worms crawl out of the earth to devour his remains? But as it was, he would never know. His muscles shook away that iciness, and he melted, melted enough to swallow his heart back in place.
Beat.
Shirodachi was looking at him. Yes, her eyes... Those were the things that glinted back lamplight in that darkness, glowing marbles that floated in mid-air, half substantial, half not. Little comfort.
Beat!
Whoosh. Breath rushed out of his nostrils like fickle children. He sucked in air to replace that loss. Quickly. Sharply. A gasp.
"Yahiko-kun."
The spectre had spoken.
"Is something the matter?"
Shirodachi.
He shivered again.
It's just Shirodachi, dammit!
"N-no!" he chirped in protest. "I'm perfect. Why?"
"You gasped, sir."
Yahiko remained silent for a while. Finally, he spoke: "Why do you write 'shi' with the character of 'death'?"
It was a long time before anybody spoke. Shirodachi didn't reply to his question. He figured it was a stylistic choice she had a right to make. After all, many of her stories seem to pulse with hidden pain, unspeakable suffering. He didn't really know her after all. What she had been through... What she had seen, felt, done... He wanted to know, truly. But there was a barrier there. There. And he was afraid to go beyond that... Why should he? Her past was none of his business. In fact, she should be offended by his prying remarks!
He felt shameful, really. First of all, he freaked out just because of a kanji character he didn't expect to see. (And... okay, fine, he'd admit it. Lamplight plus shack in the woods did make an uncanny combination.) Second, his big mouth was at it again. He started to gather strength to apologize, but couldn't quite reach the threshold of courage.
But then, she spoke. "I would like to tell you story, Yahiko-kun. It's what many would call a tragedy. I ask that you listen all the same, for the world is not as kind and wonderful as we all hope it is... "
And so the lamp burned its ration of oil and a tale was spun from the oblivion of memories.
Once, there was a maid of slight height and fragile wrists. She had seen far less than a score of winters, yet her eyes bear the coldness of a thousand. In their dark depths, you see the world in all its agelessness---the eyes of the gods, even in their sagacious overseeing of foolish mortals, seem to peer through as with divine windows.
Thus, the people grew to fear her probing, mysterious eyes and the white, white of her translucent skin. Thus the people turned against her in distrust, suspicion, and jealousy. Thus, she came to be found so far from the pastoral serenity of her origins. And thus, she came to be under the tutelage of a great courtesan.
When first she came, the lady that ruled the establishment had high hopes for her. "Perhaps, this child's song shall carry across this city–nay, this realm," she said. "Perhaps her wit shall pique the most knowledgeable of scholars, her graceful movements entrance the most demanding nobles."
But the girl's eyes still bothered all. She grew from child to maid under the eyes of the mama-san, but rarely did her lips open for conversation, never did her throat give forth music, seldom did her body sway in dance.
"Perhaps, she could still spread fire over loins of the most stoic gentlemen," declared the mama-san. "There are those whose tastes involve little dalliance or cat-and-mouse games."
Alas, the maid walked as if with an orb of ice around her. An apprentice, she remained, even as her esteemed contemporaries rose to prominence. Nonetheless, the young girl did strive hard, listening and absorbing everything taught. The mama-san was satisfied with her, if only as a servant girl, one of the courtesan's maids.
The maiden knew neither joy nor sadness, but she was satisfied with her station in life. Inevitably, however, came the day when she learned the true implications of living the niche fate dropped her in. Her faithful friend, the same lady she attended, became sick in her stomach, and that, which came every moon, ceased to flow. It was the fruit of the secret things they did behind those doors. A mistake, wept her friend Ayame, that nothing could be done about. The mama-san's fury was great and fearsome, for the courtesan was slow to undo that error. The maid sought to protect her mistress from the mama-san's wrath. The mama-san became wrought with the maid, but desisted from banishing the one with child. She who-was-spared still wept day and night, and her dear friend knew not what was to be done.
The maiden's young heart went out to the unborn being, for she knew how it was to be so unwanted. Thus, she spake unto her bosom friend and begged love for the little one. To no avail were her tears and supplications; the desperate woman was too moved by her own predicament to care. Generous libations, Ayame dosed herself: cordials, serums, incantations, anything to make the blood flow again.
Once the maiden came upon her stuporous friend on the verge of drinking a vile potion. Gently but firmly, the faithful one confiscated the simmering brew.
"I should be wrought with you," uttered the melancholy one. "Should you refuse to relinquish that which is not yours."
"Pray, to what purpose shall this poison serve?"
"It is no poison. I shall drink it. Return it now!"
"Drink it?" the maid snapped. "Do you not know the effects of this on your child? It is not blood that will flow out of you. Life!"
She became despondent and downcast, at that moment withdrawing into a world all her own.
"Is this the life I have to live as well?" she whispered.
The maiden's companion felt pangs of remorse, as she beheld her friend's grief. Ayame repented and chose to keep her infant. Joyous was the maid in learning of this decision and in her contentment, swore to care for her mistress's child from the moment of birth and evermore.
Yet time flowed in its inexorable, ever-forward journey. The magnificent empire wherein the fair maiden resided fermented with its eons-old intrigues and troubles. The city pulsed with anger, anguish, sorrow, and hate till the very earth threatened to burst. And whispers flew from mouth to ear, to mouth to ear, and round, and around...
Fleeting words were all she heard, she whose tale we tell. Little heed did she pay to these querulous notions. Though it was such, place and time conspired to enfold her into proximity of those deeply embedded in these disturbances and into the convolutions of Fate's machinations.
An evening came when the maiden's new mistress, Rika, was called upon by the mama-san to attend to a certain gentleman, a lord. The lady was punctual to heed the ultimate mistress's hails, and came with her maid. They came into one of the guestrooms, where the mama-san and a man sat. The maiden could see very little of this man, for she dared not give offense with her ogling.
His sandals were off, left outside or else taken care of by some servant, feet tucked underneath his thighs and blanketed by the excess folds of his gray hakama. A cup of tea sat cradled on one hand. It was a beautiful hand; wiry muscles steadied that grip, and veins stood out like rivulets among plains and crests. Now, up that hand was an arm-guard. A warrior? Indeed the customary pair of blades carried by the samurai lay by his side, readily accessible in face of wicked antagonism.
Has such as person as this one hurt Ayame-chan?
Curiosity overcame discreetness.
The maiden took her eyes from the floor to peer discreetly at this man-----who was no man after all! He was... a child. Surely, such a young face was no warrior. Surely, he would not require such services from the lady. But the mama-san was solicitous to this man-child.
The man-child greeted the courtesan presented to him and paid no more attention to her after. The maiden was flummoxed, for usually the proprietress and customer settled deals before she and her mistress were summoned. Miss Rika was popular among visitors, too, and was quite frequently indisposed. A few taels of brilliant gold could sometimes cure her of whatever ailments she was stricken at the moment. That day, however, it seemed the mama-san was offering her prized possession to this young warrior voluntarily.
"I would only require a room for the night," spoke the boy. His voice was young, naturally, was fresh and hopeful.
"Oh, but surely, sir. Rika and her gentle hands, her rounded arms... Or perhaps more of our other ladies you wish to see?"
"No, thank you."
"Very well, then," said the mama-san, still all-smiles despite loss of more profit. "I shall send for your bath, sir. We are always at your service." She motioned for Rika and the maid. Both rose and left the room. As the young girl readied to shut the door to enclose the child within, a strong hand stopped the door.
"Child, you leave your mistress to walk bereft of her shawl this chilly eve."
A bolt of indigo silk fluttered before the maiden's face.
Though surprised by the man-child calling her "child," she demurred and uttered her thanks. She took the article and bowed low, as proper.
"You, girl, shall look at me when you speak to me. I am not so tall as all you peasants should break your necks should you set your eyes upon my visage. Surely, I am not so terrifying."
Sure enough, he was not. This the maiden discovered as she coldly answered his challenge. Her dark, wise, and secretive eyes came to probe his face with her intent sharpness, but were met, instead, with determined brown orbs. The tilt of his eyes was tasteful and aristocratic, and his face was handsome, on the brink of pretty. As it was, his gorgeous lips were drawn up into a stern line, betraying no emotion whatsoever. His stance was confident, calm. His dress was unremarkable, but neat. The swords he held on his other hand seemed perfectly in place, a permanent adjunct to his self.
This was no child.
The maiden shunned his eyes then, for they were so much like hers-----taunting, lurking with seeming secrets, teeming with hidden knowledge. And she stepped onto the threshold and started her way.
"Lady, I have changed my mind."
The proprietress was being called back. She hastened towards the caller and passed by the maid with admonishments for her being too slow.
"Yes, sir?" said the mama-san. "What service may we render you?"
"That young woman. I shall have her as my maid this eve."
The one he spoke off stopped in her tracks. "But, sir, that child is--"
"I shall pay the same sum for her as I would for any of thy other women."
The mama-san hesitated. "Oh, but she is inexperienced in these matters."
"She has taken care of her mistress well. Rika-dono certainly glows with this young lady's ministrations. With me, she shall have no coiffure to comb, no obi to untangle."
"Very well."
"She is the only servant I wish to see."
"Yes, yes. It will be as you wish."
"Remember; she is mine. Give her no other duties."
And those words echoed in the young girl's mind, smarting and painfully new.
That night found both boy and girl in an uncomfortable position. The young maid waited aside expectantly after she showed the young man to the baths. But as she stood there to await his bidding, the man-child merely did the same, looking at her with equal expectation.
After a stymied moment, the boy spoke. "Is there anything else you need to attend to, child?"
The maiden straightened her neck to look at him full in the eye. "My mistress decides what she wishes me attend to first, master. Shall this humble one begin to undress you?"
Laughter threatened to erupt from the maiden's lips, then, for the man-child's cheeks flushed an interesting shade of rose. He coughed and regained composure.
"I believe I would be able to manage that by myself," he said lightly. "Stay outside, if it's not much trouble."
"Very well, my lord," answered she. "His lordship must remember to call in loud tones, for the walls might muffle his voice to impo---."
"Remain here then," he interrupted hastily. "Lest your mistress scold you on my account."
Thus, he began to strip his clothing and slowly revealed a well-sculpted body that showed quiet strength. To the planes of flesh and skin were the maiden's eyes drawn unconsciously. Within her, new feelings came to surface, and she was troubled and shamed.
"I shall look afar to appease your modesty," she said shortly, when she noticed the young man standing about still in his pants.
"If it pleases yours," came the faint reply.
The splash of water told her that he was in the tub, so she proceeded with her duties in silence.
The lack of conversation was a cloud that shrouded master and maid, even after that rejuvenating bath. Even as the maiden laid out supper for the young lord, they exchanged scant words.
"Your meal awaits, my lord," said she. "It won't do to let the cold devour your victuals before do you."
The young man sat before the table. "You shall eat with me," he ordered. The girl did as she was told.
More moments of silence slipped by. Then, without warning, the man-child spoke, "You are to call me Himeki."
The maiden paused briefly to train her eyes on his as she answered. "If it pleases your Lordship." She bowed as proper.
"I am no lord. Will never be. You shall desist from addressing me so."
"I will do as you ask, sir."
"Himeki."
"If you must insist."
"I do, lady."
"Himeki-san."
"There." For the first time since they've met, the young man smiled. The maiden couldn't help but stare—it suited him so. "Perhaps now we would best a conference of statues in the liveliness of our exciting social engagement."
The sarcastic edge was not lost on the young girl. She bowed low and uttered the most heartfelt apologies.
"As my mistress said, sir," she stammered. "I am but a maid. I possess not skill to charm nor talent to entertain. Alas, I can do nothing to alleviate your boredom."
"This is what you say, eh?" said he. "I should have expected so. Naturally my overtures for sake of goodwill and friendship would fall as if on fallow fields."
The maid had nothing to say.
"You know, you are cold. Even as you have entered this chamber, I felt the death of winter stroke my very breast. Very well. To me, you shall answer solely to the name 'Yukijirou."
"Yukijirou," she repeated. "Then Himeki is not your real name."
"True. That is all you shall know."
Morning light came and kissed the nose of one pale-faced young woman. With the quiet energy of the newborn sun, she went about her usual chores, sweeping the empty halls, the deserted front of the inn. Most of its inhabitants were still sleeping, had only began their tread to the realm of dreams. In this flitting world of escapism, night and day were turned around—no doubt the as seal of some enchantment, the concealment of the temporal and the painful.
"Child, what are you about at this hour?" asked the mama-san. "Have you forgotten your duties? Hie and to your master you go!"
The maid bowed low in apology. "Mistress," she said. "He whom I serve departed from your esteemed roof three hours before midnight fell. I have yet to set eyes on his lordship this comely day."
The mama-san was stern. "You have confessed your trepidation towards such conquests—do not think I have forgotten! You have tasks to fulfill. The time has come for you to fulfill your role in my house. Do not permit him to leave again. It's a disgrace that a man should leave one of mine to seek some other pleasure. Earn your bread!"
"Yes, mistress. Though..."
"Speak your mind."
"I do not know what to do."
Her laughter was short and barking. "No serious hindrance. He would, child. Indeed, what man knows not?"
And so that night, the man-child returned. Again, he bid her call him, "Himeki," but he allowed her to help him bathe without comment. His meal he shared with her once more, but little words did they exchange. When all was done, the man-child prepared to retire.
"Goodnight," he said cordially and promptly turned away.
Yet the maiden stayed.
"Well?" The warrior was surprised. "You still abide? Perhaps, you have neglected some chore?"
"This is the second night, sir."
Silence. He had taken her meaning as the mama-san said he would.
"You are but a child," he said finally.
"I am no child, Himeki-san."
His eyes knew she spoke the truth, and he asked no proof from her. Testimony she still gave, with no words but simple action. She removed her robes to let her body speak for itself.
"A specter then," he whispered, breathless.
He came to her and took hold of her wrists. A solitary finger came to graze at her translucent palm, ran down from her pulse to a finger tip. With his thumb, he rubbed the blue-green veins that stood out on her paper-white joint.
"This is no phantom's flesh," he said. "Yukijirou."
That eve transformed two people. The next morn brought a man who had been a boy and a woman who had been a girl. And when the woman awoke that morning, the man was nowhere to be found.
Yukijirou, as we should call her now, cleaned the room, changed the sheets, made everything ready for the next clients. Seeing as there was nothing she could add to her work in there, she took time for herself to wash and then visit her friend and former mistress, the child-bearing Ayame. She then presented herself to Rika-san.
As she did her chores, the white one was summoned by the mama-san. The proprietress was brisk, but the lines on her face spoke of her pleasure.
"Child, you have yourself a contract," she said. "Make sure you are seen with no other man but him. We have to take precautions for such a dangerous client..."
"W-wha?" Yukijirou asked.
"Oh, don't be stupid, child," snapped the mama-san impatiently. "When the gentleman calls, go to him. You shall fulfill your other chores as usual. Rika shall cease the teaching of our ways to you. It seems his lordship desires you for your ignorance."
"Y-yes."
"And another thing. If he wants to call you 'Yukijirou,' you shall be Yukijirou. Refer to him as he wishes. Furthermore, his lordships prefers that those proceeding be unknown to the rest of the world. I trust you shall be discreet."
And so she was. Unbeknownst to many if the household, the white one, she of the witch-eyes, was now Yukijirou, the courtesan, bound to a mysterious warrior with youth and vision beyond his years warring in his eyes. Still, contract or none, many days passed with no further event of note. Yukijirou continued to be apprentice to Rika-dono and to regularly visit her bosom friend, Ayame-dono.
A fortnight later, the maiden Yukijirou was roused violently from sleep.
"Hold your questions, child," whispered the voice in her ear. "Keep mum and make haste."
The maiden Yukijirou did as she was told, rising swiftly to her feet. In the dark, the figure groped for some raiment to clothe over her sleeping wear. She was whisked away as soon as the ties of the robe clasped into a loose knot, passing through dark corridors. Into a room she was lead, a plain room that appeared to be holding supplies and such.
The mama-san fell into all fours in the dark, seemingly in search of something. Yukijirou's eyes had yet to adjust to the lighting and could follow few of her movements. She wondered if some lamp would aid her mistress's chore, but obedience stilled her tongue. Tatami mats scratched one another, and the sound of the soft thud as they fell aside further puzzled the maid. Incuriously, she waited till the proprietress chose to include her in her workings.
A thin line of light appeared then, and this expanded into an opening the width of a large woman's hips on all sides. Soft lamplight from below glazed the mama-sans face with the slightest of yellow, chiseled her face with shadow and light.
"Get thee down, child," she mouthed, and the maiden called Yukijirou obeyed. Into the hole she slipped, with no regard to what lay within, and the proprietress followed, closing the portal after her.
It was a dug-out chamber of stamped-down earth. Soil may be packed to form four sides of the wall, but nature could alter that as it pleased her. Rain would oooze away the secret den and the enraged shaking of the earth could easily loosen the walls into submission.
It was a tomb.
But the man on the pallet was no dead man. His breathing, nonetheless, reminded her of one close to his grave—indeed he could very well be in his. Blood coated his wiry body. Even his face barely betrayed his identity. The one called Yukijirou knew him still.
"Himeki-san," she said.
The mama-san nodded. "Your master would have you serve him. The terms of the agreement stands unaltered. Commence in fulfilling your duty, daughter."
As before, the maiden voiced no question. She gave no comment on the cloaked, hooded figure ministering on the wounded man. The mysterious person gestured towards the wash cloth and basin of warm water, and she proceeded to wash of the caked blood, first from the unconscious warrior's face and downward from there.
Meanwhile, the figure was busy with his own preparation. "Hold him down," he ordered tersely to both mama-san and the maiden. The two came promptly to the supine man's side and held his limbs down. Morbid curiosity prompted the young woman to stare at the grisly operation that followed. With nimble, precise movements, the cloaked man cleaned the ugly gash at the warrior's side and sewed up the gaping wound.
"Smother his mouth with cloth," came the next command, and they did as they were told. With a fiery apparatus, he sealed the wound, and with the swift motion came a muffled scream from the afflicted. Some somnolent drug speedily drew back the patient into the depths of unconsciousness, however. Blankets were silently drawn upon the warrior, then the cloaked man rose to his feet.
"I came here to see to your indisposition." His words came without warning, without warning that it was meant for the young woman. "I shall be leaving you now."
"You have not made your examination, doctor," answered the girl neutrally. "And I feel no ailment that could possibly require your scrutiny."
"It will be as he says!" snapped the mama-san automatically.
"So it shall be then." The maiden bowed her submission.
The man spoke again. "Your sojourn here is not without peril. Vigilance shall be your comrade. Death hunts not only through that young man's body, but also from without. For your country's sake... fail not, child."
The child merely gazed on that hidden face. "I shall care for this man. I shall keep silent."
Then the mama-san and the masked surgeon departed. And there was only silence in that inescapable prison of impervious dirt.
To be continued...
Notes: Watermelon, thanks for reminding me. I was so bent on finishing of my Naruto fics that I've forgotten about this one. This chapter has actually been sitting in my computer for almost a year now. But I'm starting to write again for this, so rest assured. ) So thanks again for not giving up hope. Same goes to you, Blackheart Syaoran.
AN: Oo I found it. It's been years, but if there are still those who are interested. . . kowtows
