the samurai is a storyteller
A/N: So there was a "Silhouette" short recently, which kickstarted with update. Surprisingly, King Gnu's "SPECIALZ" kicked me to finish this. Maybe I'll update time out soon.
Anyway, feedback is always appreciated. Thanks for reading!
"A story, just to pass the time."
The samurai is a storyteller. The Akatsuki are the audience.
"Do I terrify you so much?"
Orochimaru finds a compliment in the samurai's silence.
Rain, as the sword had predicted, comes to the city at dusk. It had haunted her, the thought of the downpour, as she traveled from the Toy Maker's forest abode to Sawa no Kuni. Tamashigi is the main hub of this quiet marshland and is located in the center of the swamp itself. The fog and the treacherous water provide protection to its inhabitants, much like Kirigakure. But the waters here are dark and deep, and the water boasts monstrous snakes and other amphibian creatures.
This is why, the samurai thinks, Orochimaru finds much comfort here.
"Snakes are reptiles, as you should know."
The samurai watches a snake slither from behind her and toward the… man in front of her. He rests a sleeve on the tatami floor, and the snake continues its way inside. He doesn't hide the fact that he's unlike anyone else she has ever met in the Akatsuki, and she doesn't hide her discomfort when she is in his presence. Orochimaru is one of the first she has met, one of the first that didn't actively endanger her life.
Yes, because the way Orochimaru terrifies her is silent. Like the way nighttime predators haunt their would-be prey. She'd never been completely alone in his presence before. There would always be another person there, and oftentimes it would be–
"He's gone out if you're wondering," Orochimaru says, "wanted to see the sights of this place for himself."
In truth, the samurai only does what she's told. Retrieve something or someone. Deliver something or someone. Gather information on something or someone. Her position makes these tasks easy, almost obvious. Samurai have more freedom than shinobi, it seems, especially those who can play the part of a traveling entertainer without the look of a shinobi.
"There's nothing out there in the marsh," the samurai comments, looking out the open window, "nothing he hasn't seen before."
Because the samurai knows him and has been with him enough to know him. And she knows that the marshlands of Sawa no Kuni, the humid and foggy atmosphere, are among the many things he dislikes. Headlining that list of things is the idea of waiting. But he isn't making her wait. She didn't even expect him to be here after all. This was only supposed to be Orochimaru, and she was only supposed to deliver something to him.
It is this scroll between them, thick with secrets and locked with vine-like bindings.
Orochimaru hums and several snakes come up from behind her. They slither around her, their forked tongues flicking near her. She almost shivers. He chuckles. The snakes move from her to the scroll, quickly slithering and carrying it to their master.
"I always wonder what's keeping you here," he notes. "A samurai ought to be part of a daimyo's entourage, after all."
She agrees with him but wonders why he's bothering to make conversation at all. She should be on her way now that her job's done.
But he continues, "Now you're doing the most menial of tasks for the most atrocious of people. What a blow to your pride."
She doesn't think that way, at least not anymore. She's one of them now, isn't she? A criminal. A mercenary. A deserter. It is only by pure luck she can masquerade as some storyteller or use what's left of her ties to the daimyo of Kaze no Kuni and hope that Atsumori does not look for her.
"I've always had little pride, thin as paper and just as brittle," she lies as she moves to leave. "It wouldn't matter much what I do."
She comes face-to-face with a fanged snake faster than she could blink. The reptile stares at her with its yellow eyes and she stares at it right back, holding her breath and willing her blood and body to be still. She cannot bolt now, predators like these react to the movement, the heat, the pulse.
The snake opens its jaws, and she's fully aware of how loud her blood is thrumming.
"Snakes can smell it if you lie."
She turns to him carefully, wary of the snake's movements, and tries to hold herself against his gaze. She knew Orochimaru's eyes were a sickly yellow, but at this moment they seemed to glow an almost garish golden color. So she looks away, already so tired of inhuman eyes peering into hers. The snake hisses, then slithers past her to return to its master. But she feels like something's coiled around her, preventing her from leaving.
"Why are you here, rounin?"
Orochimaru calls her a masterless samurai, and he is not wrong. Still, the word carries pierces through her and she winces internally. She is indeed masterless, having preferred to stay in the company of evil-doers than return to her homeland. Takamura no Kuni is still so strongly allied to Kaze no Kuni, and she cannot come home knowing what she has done. She chose the tragic farewell, chose the lovelorn ending of parting ways. Atsumori will rule the kingdom of ash and sand, and she will be elsewhere. Atsumori will continue the Okabe dynasty and she will be elsewhere.
She already is elsewhere. Here in the marshlands of Tamashigi, it is wet and humid, far from the desert of dust. The air is salty and reminds her of the sea. This is elsewhere enough. She is in the company of criminals; she is in his company, and this is elsewhere enough.
She does not look into Orochimaru's eyes when she tells him, "Leaving my guilt behind."
It is an active process, she thinks, how she is still trying to run. She prefers the smaller tasks, the menial tasks. She prefers traveling alone on foot. She prefers acting as a messenger or a scout and leaving her swords tied to their scabbards rather than acting as a mercenary. She prefers pretending she is a storyteller, a myth-chaser, a tourist, than a vagabond.
"So you're making a space for yourself among criminals," Orochimaru laughs at her and she feels herself shrink.
She doesn't think she is actively making a space for her among them, but she is working for them now. She is doing whatever they tell her to do. But she hasn't drawn her swords for them, which she considers the line drawn to separate her from them. She is no killer for them. She is just a messenger.
She shivers alone; it's about to rain again.
"Tell me a story then," he continues, "something interesting."
When she turns to him, he is grinning. His lips are thin, and she thinks she can see the indentions of his sharp teeth. She doesn't look away as she wonders why he would ask such a thing of her.
"The role of a storyteller suits you, as I've heard," his grin widens and snakes sprout from behind him.
She wants to ask who he's heard it from, but it might be from him. The thought is alluring, but she doesn't think any further than that, because the snakes stare at her with their beady eyes and she feels the air grow thick and heavy.
"So tell me a story."
She doesn't think she can escape this. If any other person, she might brush this off as an odd but not unwelcome request. She appreciates what opportunity she has to practice, to pretend, to hide under the façade of a simple storyteller. But this is the infamous and mythically menacing Orochimaru. She has seldom heard about him in her youth, but has gotten to know why he is just so feared and loathed.
She would have avoided interacting with him at all, but who was she to refuse an order? Who was she to refuse him, with all his snakes surrounding her? So instead of fleeing, she thinks of a story to tell. Instead of freeing her swords from their scabbards, instead of calling forth what is sealed within her, she sits properly on her ankles and presses her hands on her knees.
"Have you heard of the Jakotsu Babaa, Orochimaru-san?"
This is the first time she's ever spoken his name, and she knows his snakes can feel it.
"Of course I have, the unfortunate woman who found herself the subject of a demented fixation."
She doesn't expect his reply, but she continues nonetheless. She fixes her posture and treats him and his snakes as the audience she wishes to please. This old floor is her stage and the overcast sky of Tamashigi is her backdrop. She is a storyteller, and this is her story for this morning.
Thunder rolls in the distance, and she imagines it is an applause.
The story of a vapid woman being cursed by a lovelorn man is a story most people already know. They will tell you the ending is obvious, that the woman's ghost will continue to haunt the man until his death, but they don't know the actual origin of this tale, the skewed versions and half-truths are all they know.
She tells him about a woman named Shunrei.
She is young and beautiful, the favorite of her family, with cheeks likened to plum blossoms. But she is as boisterous as a cricket at night.
"Father, Father, look what I've found! It's a ladybug!"
"Why, daughter, its shell is as bright as your cheeks!"
But Shunrei is as vapid as they come and perfectly vain. As she grew older, she only became more beautiful, but nothing at all delicate or fragile. Her vanity only grew as long and as dark as her hair.
She mimics the act of brushing her hair, but pretends her hair is even longer, pretends it is as smooth as silk.
And no matter how vain she has become, potential suitors flocked to her family's estate in the hope of winning her hand in marriage and her family's great fortune. But she needn't deny any suitors like most of her age, because she never accepts any of them.
"Here arriving is Lord Sannosuke!"
"I shall not see him."
"But milady, he is already here!"
"But I cannot see him."
"Milady, I am honored to–"
"I cannot see him, truly. Can you?"
She plays three characters in this scene, the vapid noblewoman, the unwitting suitor, and the messenger caught in between. She's never done this kind before in an actual… performance, and she doesn't think she sounds convincing enough.
"I know this story," he interrupts her, "the lovelorn Sannosuke has her killed and curses her grave, and the unwitting fool turns her into a monster."
She doesn't deny his brief summary, and immediately feels inadequate. "That's how all these stories go."
"That's how all stories are," he adds, "and that's how all stories will end."
"In tragedy?" She asks. She doesn't reject the thought of every story ending in tragedy, because isn't that what death is?
"Such is the life of the vagrants and deserters you storytellers so love." There is no bitterness in his voice, but there is amusement. "Tell me, rounin, what is a story that isn't a tragedy?"
She knows little, but thinks she knows enough.
"Jugemu."
"The unfortunate boy drowns in one retelling."
"Shibahama."
"The protagonist can barely be called honest."
"Neko no Sara."
"Amusing, a swindler tries to outwit a swindler."
Nothing else comes to her mind, and she frowns.
"What story would you like to hear?" She asks quietly, knowing she has no escape. The swamp is filled with snakes, maybe, with their beady eyes and hidden fangs. Once she makes a wrong step, she'll end up dead. Once she tries to leave this room, she'll end up dead. She is a source of entertainment, the object of amusement, but why?
"There is no great story without a tragedy," he continues, "all stories should involve and invoke a sadness in its audience."
If that is so, then she only has one thing to tell him: "Then there are no comedies and there are no romances."
"Such is the life of our kind," he chuckles, and she thinks the snakes around him are too.
Our kind, she wonders what weight the two words carry. Is she so like them, being branded criminals and madmen? And yet, she was no wanted person. She did not ignite the flames of the civil war. She was not the killer of the former daimyo. She was just… here. Lost, perhaps. Or so narrow-minded that she didn't even consider going back once she'd retrieved the blade that breathed within her.
Seeing Orochimaru's interested expression, she doesn't know what he wants from her.
"I have heard, however," he starts, "that you have a certain sword in your possession."
She doesn't think about who could have told him, but she thinks about the when. It's not really like him to go about telling others what other people do, but perhaps Orochimaru had done the same thing to him as he's doing to her. Interrogation by simple questioning, gathering information by merely being curious yet overwhelming by his mere presence. Sometimes she wonders if she could do the same thing as them, intimidate others with her presence and solid gaze…
"I too have a similar sword," Orochimaru grins with his teeth. "Would you like to see it?"
She wonders what that would entail. Her two swords, Kunishige and Kuninobu, are set by the door. Too far for her to reach, and if she did, he would surely cut her down if he thought she was trying to attack him. Orochimaru is more terrifying in person, she thinks, and in all the few times she has ever interacted with him, she had always wanted to bolt like an animal caught in the gaze of a hunter. Well, she had thought herself a hunter at some point, but aren't they like animals too? Hunted as trophies and game, and to what end? The kind of peace that allows wars to happen, the weak to struggle, and only the strong to survive?
Atsumori would not have this–
Orochimaru tilts his head upward, and out of his mouth rises a snake, and from the snake, a sword. She feels sick to the stomach, stuck in her place, watching him with wide eyes and a sour taste in her mouth. She has never seen anything so… No, she has seen something far more grotesque.
He takes the hilt and lifts it from his agape mouth, and the sound that follows it is vile and foul. The moment the sword is in full view, he swings it and something… flicks onto her face. But she doesn't move, she doesn't breathe, if Orochimaru means to kill her for fun–
"The Kusanagi, as mythical as it is elusive."
–then she must think herself so important. She feels embarrassed for herself, but the sight of a blade she had only heard about as myth sends shivers across her body. Was this truly the sword of legend? Was he so readily showing it to her? Why?
"You look as if you've never seen anything like it," he chuckles. "Does it look so remarkable?"
He flicks the blade, and she almost jumps to her feet.
"Don't be so scared now, rounin," he chuckles and all his snakes do the same. "I've shown you mine, so show me yours."
She stiffens. He couldn't have known what she had sealed within her–
"You've swallowed a god too, haven't you?" He continues to prod. "You really aren't so benign as you make yourself seem."
But why would he tell other people about her? Would he have told Orochimaru about her ordeals in acquiring the blade? Would he have some strange kind of pride in what she's achieved alone? Of how much of her word she has kept while the rest of her promises fade and crumble away like–
"You have the makings of a criminal," Orochimaru laughs, "feigning innocence and naivety when you've successfully stolen from a god."
The snakes around him hiss in a similar laughter, and she shivers in their presence. If Orochimaru really means for her to call upon the sword by testing her will, her constructed obedience, then she shouldn't–
"Hyoujin Souken."
The name itself is funny enough, but fitting for the god who made it. When she calls forth its name, she suppresses the shiver that erupts from the pit of her stomach, wraps her arms tightly around her chest, feels the surging cold from the knots in her spine, and listens for the storm call in the distance. The summoning is always so dramatic, she thinks, always so theatric and too long to be effective in a fight that needs to end quickly… But the conclusion is always satisfying to see, almost cathartic to watch.
She holds out her arm, and the sword manifests in her hand like a flash of lightning, a clap of thunder, the sound of shattering glass. The blade itself is extremely cold, glistening silver in the light, but its appearance holds no clue to its actual power. She doesn't know if she should show him, doesn't know if he already knows, she hasn't shown it to anyone else, except for him–
"So it's as the legends say," Orochimaru hums, his and his snakes' eyes lingering on the blade, "a glittering blade of moonlit snow, bearing the ability to cut through time."
She frowns inwardly, tightening her hold, and wonders if he means to steal it.
"Have you ever used it?" He asks, "Would you like to test one mythical blade against another?"
She shakes her head instantly, and he laughs even louder.
"Do I terrify you so much?"
"Yes," she answers quickly. Honestly, no mythical sword in her hand can ever calm her nerves around him.
"So tell me the story," he says, "of how you came out alive of the dragon's cave."
"You should already know," she answers quietly, "he would have told you already."
She'd only told him about all this, the fantastic and comedic tale of a samurai venturing into the realm of the gods to see if one myth, among all others, was real and true and tangible.
"I consider it hearsay," Orochimaru grins. "I want to hear it from you."
When she doesn't speak, the sword speaks for her; lightning and thunder, the rain stopping.
He acknowledges the answer by turning an ear towards the window, "The sword's response is clear. What is yours?"
She doesn't think he would mean to kill her for the sword. If he did, he would have done so already. But she does think he means to challenge her, to see how someone like her could ever acquire something like it. The snakes around him slither away, out the window, into his sleeves, in whatever cracks there are… and she knows he's waiting for her to say yes.
She moves the blade back and bows her head. "I would be honored."
Orochimaru laughs, loudly, and she thinks the snakes in the walls are laughing too.
The night sky in Tamashigi is clear and bright, with the stars bright and the moon even brighter. However, the shadows on the ground are darker and larger, and Orochimaru feels the samurai is beginning to regret agreeing to this. He glances behind him, towards her, and notes her distant expression.
"Have you somewhere to be?"
"Not yet," she answers, "but I'd avoid traveling at night."
"You'd avoid fighting at night too," he replies. "The shadows overwhelm."
"The shadows always do," she mutters.
Still, Orochimaru continues to the open courtyard offered by the inn. The stone lanterns around the courtyard are lit and the hanging lights above sway in the breeze. There are still people out, with the lights of the other establishments like unmoving fireflies. But here in the courtyard, there is only him and her. This is a perfect setting for a fight, he thinks, or perhaps an assassination if it should come to it.
He turns towards her and gestures for her to begin.
She turns the blade away and asks him, "What are the conditions?"
He hums, "First to bend at the knee."
It's a simple enough condition that shouldn't involve bloodshed. If the samurai fears for her life, then she should know he has no interest in it. The sword, however… She looks up at the sky and then at the sword in her hand.
When she looks back at him, her breath is steady and her eyes are clear.
"All right."
After all, he thinks, it isn't every day one can face someone like him.
"But tell me first," he says as she readies her stance, "how does one cut time?"
It's a question he knows she can't answer, so he watches her move. He watches her steady herself, watches her breathe in and harden her grip on the sword that shines in the light.
"Like how one cuts anything else," she answers, "deliberately."
In that brief moment, he thinks she is threatening him.
So he waits for her to make the first move. How was she going to strike? Where will she strike first? When? Orochimaru hasn't faced many samurai, but he's faced enough to know how she would attack, how she wouldn't attack, what her priorities were, and he's sure she's going to want to end this as swiftly as she can.
When she readies her stance, he knows exactly what she's going to do. So he readies his stance as well, to passively receive what he knows is a hard and fast attack aimed to disarm him.
"Show me."
When she moves, she moves as he expects, swiftly with the blade pulled back. She's going to strike from below, and she's going to strike upward. He waits for her to close the distance and–
"Here."
Her voice is quiet, like she's somehow ashamed that she's moved to the space behind him in barely the blink of an eye. It was as if she'd suddenly materialized, sword and all, to the space behind him without any indication.
Was this what the legends meant when the sword could cut through time?
"What a terrifying thing," he says.
He turns quickly to catch her off-guard with snakes and the Kusanagi, overpower her before she can act with the sword again. She is caught off-guard, half-stumbling away from the snakes and using the back of Hyoujin Souken to parry the Kusanagi.
So a legend cannot cut a legend.
But she hasn't bent on the knee yet.
Orochimaru raises the blade again, meaning to cut through her, and she jumps back, pulling back the sword again.
"You haven't won yet!" He turns the blade and–
"Here."
–she materializes extremely close this time, and he can almost feel the huff of her breath. The blunt edge of the blade nearly hits the base of the Kusanagi, but he isn't his own legend for nothing. He slithers away, hissing in amusement, and the act catches her off balance. She stumbles again, and she tries to pull back the blade.
Does she not have control over her feet?
He thinks using the sword's ability takes a heavy toll on her. She said it so herself, she's never really used it–
"Here."
–but she materializes again, this time on his side, swiping the blunt edge of the blade to hit his arm, and he parries–
"Here."
–and she materializes yet again, this time above him, aiming to force him down by the weight of her own feet. And he decides to pull a trick, calling forth the snakes that have scattered in the courtyard to strike her in the air… And she is pushed onto the ground, as planned. Since her second attack, he's supposed that she wouldn't be fast enough to pull back the sword in the air. She needs firm ground to draw the sword out. She is obviously no bird. She hasn't yet learned how to fight in the air.
She's not bent at the knee, but his win is obvious. He watches her stand as the snakes around her crawl back to him.
"A truly terrifying thing," he tells her, "should you master it."
She huffs what he thinks is a laugh.
"A more terrifying thing," she replies, "to face a legend and survive."
He agrees, "I am but merciful, as one survivor to another."
She bows deeply at the waist, and Orochimaru hasn't seen anyone do this with so much reverence, much less a samurai.
When she rises, she tells him, "I would be honored to another match if the time comes."
If?
"You think so little of yourself," he laughs at her, "you've swallowed a god too."
"Do you feel it? Whenever it speaks?"
"Not anymore," he replies as he looks at the still-pristine Kusanagi, "only when it's spoken to, only when I permit it."
She looks at the Kusanagi too, and he can feel her hesitation and the slightest inkling of envy. She wants to do the same, does she?
"How?" She asks through her teeth. "How do you make it… stop?"
He understands what she means. He's had to tame this god after all.
"You'll know how once you listen enough."
He's aware of how cryptic it all sounds to her, but he won't give away what he's had to endure for years, decades.
"What did you aim for, rounin, when you sought the sword?"
She purses her lips and pauses. He waits for her answer. Above them, rain clouds begin to form.
"I don't know," she admits, "some proof? A name of my own? A feat to be remembered by? I… I wanted something great for myself."
It's all so selfish, but then again, isn't he the same thing?
"Have you heard the stories then," he muses aloud, "about those who, upon their deaths, became legends themselves after retrieving such artifacts, experiencing such feats?"
She nods her head, "Is that… Is that what you want to be?"
Orochimaru thinks she's looking for sympathy and laughs.
"Not at all," he states as if it should have been obvious. "I want to become immortal."
He's aware of how foolish it would sound to anyone else, but is there anyone more foolish than a samurai who would do all this?
"You're like him."
He knows exactly who she's talking about and shakes his head. "Then you've misunderstood him."
Her confused expression amuses him even more.
"He wants to become a god."
Her eyes widen like she's suddenly realized it, like she's ashamed that she hasn't realized it sooner.
"I wouldn't want to become so mundane."
He grins, knowing that he's somewhere close, listening to them and frowning, grumbling to himself about his partner planting such thoughts in the samurai's head.
"Come," he commands offhandedly, chuckling all the way, "you know how he is when he's missed the fun."
He walks back to the building, knowing the poor samurai's confused expression will stick with her until someone scolds her for it. She doesn't seem at all like someone who'd challenged a god and won a prize, and it amuses him still how she reminds him of his younger self, his green and ambitious self. He wonders how long it would take for her to learn, to mature, to master the Hyoujin Souken to his level of mastery over the Kusanagi, and once she has, what she plans to do with an ability that can potentially put her above all other shinobi.
He feels a shiver of anticipation, a tinge of jealousy, a lick of frustration. If he'd ended her life then and taken the sword for himself, what would his dear partner do? After all, he's quite fond of sending this samurai to the most uneventful missions to gather the most uninteresting things.
But why?
Orochimaru's grin doesn't fade, not even when he meets the sour grimace of his partner.
"And where have you gone?"
He chuckles at him.
"Killing time."
He doesn't miss his partner's narrowed glare, and he doesn't miss the samurai's reaction either.
She was about to laugh.
A/N: Work has been killing me, so please consider me dead until mid-October. And the sword has a funny name because:
Hyoujin – sharp, glistening sword
Souken – cold, sharp sword
I thought of naming the sword under the famously cursed Muramasa sword, Juuchi Yosamu, but then thought of giving it a unique and impossible name.