"Heart Of Darkness"
By Amanda Swiftgold
Part One: Born Through Flame
Sun-sparkles drifted across the walls of the house,
its doors and screens opened to let in the pure, clean air and warm light.
The bouncing spots of reflected sunshine shimmered off his father's armor
like living things, lighting the shadows that stretched across the hanging
painted scrolls. For a moment, the boy was distracted by their shine; by
the way they seemed to chase away the darkness, but only in places. The shadows
remained just as dark where the spots did not touch.
His attention was soon pulled away from the play of
the lights, however, and back to their source. Kujuurou stared up at the
two tall figures standing in the doorway: one reflecting the light onto the
walls, and the other seeming to give it off like a prismic halo. Neither
his father nor his mother said a word, merely regarding one another as they
stood in the front room.
"I must go now, Miyuki." His father's soft, reluctant
words fell upon the silence and ate it away. "My daimyo summons me."
Sasaki Miyuki bowed her head, looping tendrils of her
long blue-black hair framing her face for a moment. "Yes, my lord. You cannot
ignore his summons." Gently he reached out and brushed his armored fingers
against her cheek, tipping her face back up. At his reprimanding smile, she
amended, "Masahiro. We will be all right," but not without a small smile
of her own.
The child's eyes focused in on the gliding ends of her
old-fashioned hair as they writhed lightly across the drafty floor. He nearly
sat at her feet and wound the strands around his fingers, the way he usually
did when he was tired, before he realized what he was supposed to be doing.
Kujuurou hefted up the large nodatchi in his arms as the weight seemed to
grow heavier. He couldn't disappoint his father when he had been given such
an important task.
Masahiro nodded. He seemed to pause a moment before
leaning forward to press his lips lightly on her forehead. "I know you will."
The tall man placed his helmet on his head and turned to look at his son,
waiting.
The boy looked back at his father with Miyuki's wide
blue eyes, taking in the sparkling helmet surrounding the short-bearded face.
He wanted to be this man, more than anything. A noble samurai, going off
to victorious battle... He felt like it would happen, soon, too, as he hadn't
been allowed to even touch the large weapon he now held, not before his recent
sixth birthday. I can't wait until I have my own sword.
"Kujuurou," his mother prodded, and with a start he
stumbled forward as if she had physically nudged him. He did his best not
to let the end of the scabbard drag on the ground, but it was difficult because
the nodatchi blade was longer than he was tall.
His father placed his hand on his young son's head,
a small smile on his face as the boy tried to lift the sword up to him.
Masahiro's large hands gripped the hilt, lifting the blade from his arms
and fastening it quickly and expertly to his armor. Miyuki smiled fondly
down at the blue-haired boy as he tried to pretend that the sword hadn't
been heavy at all.
Kujuurou raised his small fist in the air. "Glory!"
he said seriously, as a warrior would.
"Yes," his father replied, without the air of indulgence
that would suggest he was just humoring the child. Miyuki dipped her body
in a bow toward him, and he acknowledged it with a slight nod. Nothing more
was said.
And then Sasaki Masahiro was gone from the house.
Sun glinted off the gold lining the jade of his mother's
hairsticks as she stood in the doorway. Masahiro left down the path, and
she watched him go. Kujuurou came closer to her and stared outside as well,
until they could see him no longer. Soon that will be me walking down
there, shining in armor just like my father, he thought, looking up at
her face.
Miyuki was wearing an odd expression, one he hadn't
seen on her before. Usually his mother seemed tranquil and unworried, just
letting things come as they would. Now, however, she seemed as if she was
about to cry. It was very strange, for this had not been the first time Masahiro
went off to battle. It was also very scary. His mother did not cry.
Will she have a face like that when I go down the
path? The idea of that troubled him deeply. Maybe he would wait to be
a warrior for a while. Kujuurou wrapped a hand in the folds of her robe,
the heat of the sunlight warming his face. "I hope Father comes back soon,
Mother. Don't you hope so too?"
Slowly, Miyuki ran a hand through his hair, attempting
to no avail to straighten out the wild spikes that shone bright blue in the
light of the outdoors. "It is time for you to study," she said, as if she
hadn't heard his question.
Sighing internally, the child nonetheless displayed
the obedience that his parents required of him. "Yes, Mother." He disengaged
his hand from her robe and went towards the hallway, to find the scholar
who had been hired to teach him to read and write. However, before he left
the room, he turned to look back at Miyuki, who hadn't moved from the doorway.
Kujuurou wondered how long she would stand there like that, and just what
was wrong.
He stood in the garden almost a week later, holding
his wooden bamboo sword loosely in one hand and looking about for any enemies
who might want to make off with his family's valuables. The garden, with
its maze of plants and flowers, would make a good place for sneaky ninja
to hide. Kujuurou made sure to look carefully behind every tree and under
every bush. Even the low bridge crossing the trickle of a stream that ran
into the fish-stocked pool was subject to investigation.
Satisfied that the large area was free of intruders,
he wandered over to a place beneath a cherry tree which was just beginning
to blossom. The dirt was loose here, and he knelt in it, frowning down at
the ground. Once he had gone into his father's room without permission and
had seen the most wonderful thing: a huge map. The scroll was covered with
symbols and words he couldn't read quite yet, but he knew what it was for
- war planning.
Kujuurou held out his bamboo sword, and then hesitated.
A warrior's weapon was his pride. He put it carefully into his sash, and
searched the underbrush until he found a nice stick. The boy drew a large
abstract shape in the dirt. "This is our land," he said happily to himself.
He didn't know how to spell the name of his province, and so painstakingly
wrote out the symbols for his own name and for 'mother' in the dirt next
to the shape.
He sighed and trailed a finger in the dirt next to the
smudgy kanji of 'mother', almost unconsciously drawing a face with a smile
and very long hair. During the past week since his father had left for battle,
Miyuki had not smiled much. He missed it more than he would admit, wished
that his father would come back soon so that she would smile and laugh and
sing to him again. I wish I knew what was wrong. She still laughed when
Father was gone before.
He did enjoy the fact that she had been putting him
to bed now when she was ready to rest, instead of letting the old servant
woman Tama do it beforehand, as she had all of his life. She seemed to not
want to sleep, and would instead sit with him under their blankets and tell
him stories until he drifted off in her arms. He liked this change, for it
seemed to be the only time when she was happy.
A stray cherry blossom drifted down from the tree above
him and landed on his nose. Brushing it away absently, Kujuurou pushed those
thoughts out of his mind and returned to his map. The next blob that he drew
was considerably smaller than the first. "That's the enemy where Father is
fighting." A big circle then filled most of the space he had allotted to
the 'enemy country'. "Right there." He drew a long snaking line from his
name to where the circle was. "And that's the path Father took to the
battlefield. I bet he's there already and he's already won, too."
"I am afraid you're wrong, boy," an unfamiliar voice
said from behind him. He gasped at the sound and stood, spinning around violently
to see who was back there.
A man stood in the middle of the garden. He looked like
most other people did, with dark hair and dark eyes, but he was dressed like
a barbarian in furs, a simple yukata the closest thing he wore to normal
clothes. However, this was not the most surprising thing he saw. Next to
the man, as plain and calm as day, stood a large wolf. A cry in his throat,
Kujuurou backed up in fear, his feet smearing his map.
The barbarian man shook his head. "Calm, boy. Zombie
will not harm you."
"Zombie?" the boy said, hesitating. He eyed the wolf
cautiously, skeptical. He took a step forward, and halted. The wolf did nothing.
Maybe he's telling the truth... Forgetting that the man was a stranger,
his curiosity about the tame wolf led him forward. "Can I touch him?" He
said nothing, and Kujuurou slowly raised his hand and gently placed it on
the animal's head. The wolf sat calmly and allowed the boy to pet him, which
he did with increasing boldness.
Suddenly, he realized just what, exactly, he was doing,
and he pulled his hand back, grabbing onto his wooden sword's hilt. "Who
are you? Why are you here?" he asked, drawing back once more. The man regarded
him with eyes that he realized were an amber color, and not as dark as he'd
thought.
"Sasaki Masahiro will be defeated," the stranger said.
It took a moment for the statement to get through to
his brain, but when it did, it awakened feelings of anger that the sheltered
child had not felt much of before. Kujuurou bristled, yanking his practice
sword from his belt. "You liar! You take that back right now!" he ordered.
"My father will not be beaten!"
The man didn't even blink at his outburst. "Sasaki Masahiro
will be defeated," he responded in the same factual tone. "And you, little
lordling, will have to make a choice between death... and evil."
He was afraid. He didn't really understand what the
man was saying, but he was afraid nonetheless. His hands trembled around
the hilt of his toy blade, but he arranged his face into a scowl. Father
would want me to be brave! "Go away!" he screamed. "Go away right
now, you liar!"
Nothing happened for a moment as the barbarian stranger
regarded him with the same cool gaze, the wolf Zombie at his side appearing
as nonchalant as an animal could. The boy tried to steel himself, tried to
be brave as he waited for the man's response. And then, something. Kujuurou
hit the dirt as if the man had knocked him there, but when he looked up,
helpless tears in his eyes, the stranger was standing as motionless as ever.
Another voice pierced the air then. It drew his attention
and made him look momentarily towards the source. "Kujuurou, come inside!"
Tama, one of his family's servants, called across the garden. "You mustn't
play in the dirt with those good clothes on!"
He ignored her for a second, scrambling to his feet
and looking back to the intruder with all the righteous child's rage he could
produce. But no one was there at all, as if the man and wolf had vanished
into the air itself. If it weren't for the slight ache in his elbow from
where he'd hit the ground, he would have thought he'd imagined the whole
thing.
His heart pounding fast, he ran to where the servant
stood in the doorway. "Tama, where's Mother?" he asked urgently, tugging
on her sash.
"Well, indoors, but..." she began slowly, confused at
his sudden seriousness and distressed expression. He quickly lost patience
with her and ran past, into the house.
He soon found his mother, kneeling alone in front of
her koto. Wearing picks on three fingers, she ran her hands across the strings
of the instrument without really paying attention to what she was doing.
The gentle notes of a sad song rang out into the still air as he stood in
the doorway, waiting for her to notice him and ask for him to enter. Miyuki
seemed lost in her own thoughts, however, and so he finally just ran up to
her and knelt by her side. At the motion, her hands jerked up and the music
stilled with the last vibrations of the strings.
"Kujuurou," she said, blinking at him, "what are you
doing here?"
"Mother, there was a man in the garden," he said
breathlessly. "He was a barbarian and he had a wolf too."
She frowned and sat all the way onto the ground. "Did...
did he say anything, or do anything? Did he hurt you?" She tipped up his
chin and checked his face for bruises.
He shook his head, effectively getting out of her grip.
"No, I'm not hurt, but he knocked me down without even moving, Mother! And
he said... and..." He trailed off, looking away from her. Miyuki put her
arm around his shoulders, pulling him closer.
"What did he say, Kujuurou? You must tell me."
The boy leaned his head against her, hugging his mother's
waist. "He said that Father would be defeated," he told her reluctantly,
his face muffled in her robe. "And something about evil, and death. I didn't
understand..."
Through her robe he could hear her heartbeat, feel her
breathing. At his words, her breath caught in her throat in a kind of gasp
she muffled immediately. He raised his head and looked up to see her face
even more pale than before, her eyes wide with the sudden surprise. "Mother?
Do you know what he was talking about?"
She sighed softly and held him closer. "Don't worry
about it, my son. There are crazy people who like to scare children with
their demon's talk. If you don't pay attention to it then it can't hurt you."
Kujuurou pulled free of her arms and stood up. "I won't
pay attention to it then. I'll go back outside now and make sure he doesn't
come back!"
"No," she said sharply, stopping him in his tracks.
"I want you to stay indoors for a while, Kujuurou. If you're not safe in
our garden, you should still be safe here."
He wanted to protest, but his training took over and
he merely bowed, although he couldn't keep the frown off his face. Miyuki
looked sadder than ever now. What's wrong? he wanted to call out,
but he kept it back for fear that she would reprimand him for asking. "Don't
you believe it either, Mother," he advised her. "Father will win. He's the
best warrior in the whole country!"
"I don't believe it," she assured him quietly, her vision
focused on the koto strings. However, it seemed that she wasn't just looking
at the harp, but rather through it, as if she could see what was happening
to Masahiro where he was. "Man is a crazy thing," Miyuki said, turning to
look at her son and smiling at him. She stood gracefully and ushered him
out of the room. "Why don't we go have some tea now?"
He beamed back at her, his hand caught up in her robe
as usual. His mother was smiling again. Everything would be fine.
"No, you're doing this all wrong. See, the strokes must
go this way: right, right, and then down, do you see?" The scholar
demonstrated with a few artistic movements on the paper next to his practice
kanji. Kujuurou sighed to himself. Next to his teacher's writing, his marks
looked like he'd just put his fingers in the ink and smeared them around.
He nodded and raised his brush again, dipping it in
the ink. "Right, right, and then down." The brush moved slowly on its path
as he concentrated on holding his hand steady. His writing often tended to
be quite shaky. Finally the complicated symbol appeared, messy but readable
enough.
"Acceptable," the scholar said. "Now repeat."
The boy bent his head over the paper, his tongue caught
between his teeth as he worked on his writing. As he was nearing his last
row, the loud sound of hoofbeats outside the house made his hand jump and
ruin the kanji. He made a soft, frustrated noise, and then looked up. "A
horse? Is Father back?"
He started to stand up, but his teacher cleared his
throat warningly. "Sit down and continue," he said sternly. "Whatever is
happening does not concern children."
Kujuurou looked down. "Yes, sensei." He adjusted his
grip on the brush again and patiently repeated the motions he had been making
for the past ten or so minutes. He had nearly covered the entire sheet when
a flicker of motion caught his attention, and he looked up to see his mother
standing in the room, watching him. Her head was lowered, and her crystalline
blue eyes held a great sorrow that he could not even begin to understand.
"Lady Sasaki," his tutor greeted, only to be cut off
by her sharp wave. He frowned, looking at her curiously.
"I have news," she said softly to the man, her gaze
focused however only on her son. "One of my husband's men just arrived with
news of my lord. Sasaki Masahiro is no more." Miyuki's voice faded off for
a moment. "He and the others are ronin now, but most have followed him as
they have sworn. You may leave this place if you do not wish to do the same.
As a scholar you are not bound."
Both Kujuurou and his teacher merely looked at her for
what seemed like hours. The boy didn't really understand his mother's news,
but he knew it was not good. "Mother," he said finally, "is Father all right?"
She looked at him, almost impassive except for her eyes
of shattered glass. Her voice was steady, but monotone. "Your father is dead,
Kujuurou, and the man who killed him is coming here to kill us, too, so that
we cannot take revenge on him. General Asae will be here soon."
Kujuurou could not think, could not move or speak.
She's trying to trick me, like a test, to see if I'll be brave... my father
couldn't be dead, he couldn't be! He merely gaped into nothingness, stunned
at this concept.
The tutor blinked, trying to make a decision. "This
is the truth?"
Miyuki inclined her head slightly. "It is. Leave me
alone with my son." He suddenly sprang into action, gathering up as many
scrolls as he could carry from the table and bolting out of the room. Kujuurou
gazed slowly up at her, his heart sinking to his feet. This was no test.
It was as she said.
Finally breaking away from his eyes, she grabbed his
wrist firmly and pulled him upright. He just followed, unresisting, as she
swept back out of the room and led him firmly down the halls. She stopped
when they arrived in the large common room, where she had previously asked
all of the servants to gather.
They watched her with the same silent gaze she afforded
them, but Kujuurou could not help but stare at the deceased man lying stretched
out along one wall. The messenger who had arrived to bring them the news
of his father's death had followed after his lord once his duty was done.
Are we going to be with Father soon too? he wondered, muffling with
his blue sleeve the sniffles he was trying to keep in. I don't want to
be killed by a general...
"Our lord Sasaki Masahiro is dead, and his killer is
on his way," Miyuki stated, almost unconsciously clenching his wrist tighter,
and he cringed at both her grip and her words. "If you want to leave, you
may."
As she bowed her head in sorrow, several of the people
murmured amongst themselves and then flooded out of the room, orderly, quiet.
The only ones who remained were Tama and her husband, Ken. The elderly couple
stood together in the middle of the room, which suddenly seemed larger and
emptier than ever before.
Miyuki looked up to see them there. "Why... why are
you still here?"
Ken bowed to them. "We served our lord's father when
he was young. Where would we go? We will follow you, my lady."
His mother narrowed her eyes at them. "Would you follow
me where I am going, then?"
"Even then," Tama replied respectfully. Miyuki nodded
at them, a gallows smile on her face.
"Thank you. Kujuurou, stay here. I will be back shortly."
She transferred his wrist to the old servant woman's hand and hurried off
down the hall that led to his father's room.
He sniffled again, his eyes wandering back to the figure
of the dead warrior nearby. "Mother?" the boy croaked, trying to pull away
from the grandmotherly woman and her husband. "Don't leave me here... Mother..."
"Kujuurou, child," Tama soothed, brushing his hair with
a wrinkled hand. He didn't want her touch, didn't want either of them to
say anything to him. He tried to tug away from her as the tears started to
trickle down his face. He felt so cold and alone in this huge place
that seemed to be eating at him slowly. His mother had to know how
to save them. She had to.
The old gardener, Ken, put his hand on the boy's shoulder.
"Be brave," he advised.
He sniffled so hard he started to cough, doubling over
for a second. "I... don't... want to!" he howled, yanking his hand away from
the woman and tearing off after Miyuki.
He burst into Masahiro's room, his eyes nearly blinded
by the tears he couldn't hold back any longer. She was kneeling in front
of a chest, her face buried in one of her husband's kimonos. He didn't even
pause to see her start at his entrance before flinging himself into her arms.
Kujuurou sobbed into the front of her robe, feeling her arms slowly come
around him and hold him tight. When his tears had subsided, he looked up
to see her cheeks shine with wetness as well, her blue-black hair surrounding
them like a curtain. He whimpered slightly, his heart racing in fear. His
mother did not cry. The hope he was going to ask her about didn't exist.
Miyuki rocked gently back and forth, and the motion
calmed him slightly. "I had a dream, Kujuurou," she said in a slightly hoarse,
scratched voice. "You were a grown man, and you were strong, so strong, and
handsome... I wish it could be true." He hiccuped slightly, attempting to
slow his breathing, and her fingers trailed under his left eye as she looked
down at him with a small thoughtful frown. "The others... they... were..
yes," she whispered to herself, letting him go.
He shook his head, blinking the reddened eyes as she
turned and reached into the chest, replacing the kimono and drawing out another
bundle of cloth. "What's that?" he asked in a choked voice.
His mother unwrapped the cloth to display a short sword.
"Your father's wakizashi." She ran a hand across the polished metal lovingly.
"Masahiro, I will not dishonor you," she murmured. "Kujuurou, get my knife
from my table and bring it to me in the common room."
"Mother... the general won't kill us?"
She didn't seem to be able to look at him. "No. He won't.
He won't hurt us. He will not make us dishonor your father."
He knew what she meant, remembered his father's warrior
near the wall, but he trusted his mother's intentions and knew to do what
she said. Gulping painfully, Kujuurou stumbled to his feet with a nod and
ran toward their room. Her lightly-decorated knife lay on the low table where
it usually did, and he picked it up, letting it lay across both his palms
for a moment.
Father is never coming home again. His face,
reflected in the blade, was red from his tears. I know Mother wants us
to go and be with him where he is. So the general who killed my father can't
kill us too. Even as he stood there, one clear drop fell with a
plash to lay crystal on the metal. I think it's gonna hurt... Mother...
I wish it wasn't going to hurt...
Gritting his teeth and clutching the knife hilt
tightly, he spun around and ran to join his mother and the servants where
they were. The three adults said nothing to his arrival, but Miyuki put her
hand on the back of his neck, stroking it comfortingly. His hands trembled
around the blade as he began to understand what he was going to be doing
with it. He closed his eyes for a moment.
Ken nodded at his mother. "I will be your second, then,
lady. You will not suffer long."
"Thank you," she said in a clear, calm voice, unchecked
by tears. She had regained her normal calmness and composure, and that small
slice of normality helped him to breathe slightly easier. "Ken, I--"
A high-pitched shriek came from Tama, who stood just
outside the house, watching the path. "Lady, I can see people on horseback
coming down the road!" she called back fearfully. "You'd best hurry!"
Miyuki nodded and turned to her son, getting down on
one knee before him. "Kujuurou... my beloved." She loosened the gold belt
of his kimono, pushing it open as he watched her with apprehension. She took
his hand that held the knife with her own and raised it up, towards his stomach.
"Like this... see, just like this." She drew his hand up in a diagonal motion
to show him where the knife should go.
He just looked at her, stunned, and his hand fell back
down to his side when she let it go. Gently she took the knife from him and
ran her hand along his back soothingly before reaching to hold his hand in
her own. "Close your eyes then, now."
Kujuurou did so, pressing them tightly closed. He felt
a soft tickling along his stomach like quicksilver butterflies, and then
a sharp pinprick of pain. He whimpered, squeezing his mother's hand, and
his eyes flew open as the pressure fell away and she fell lower to her hands
and knees in front of him.
"I can't do this," she said in a soft, low voice. "I
can't... Ken? Come here."
As the man came nearer, Kujuurou drew back. "No, no,
Mother, I don't want him to!"
Miyuki touched him, hushing him. "Will you do it yourself
then? Will you promise me that you will be brave for me? Promise me, Kujuurou,
and then Ken won't have to. General Asae will hurt you if you don't."
He swallowed heavily, nodding. She smiled very briefly
at him, folding the knife back into his grip. "Hold the hilt tightly and
be brave, my son," she whispered. "We will be together soon, and no one can
hurt you."
Tama ran back in hurriedly, her hand at her throat.
"I see the torches, my lady! They are coming!" Miyuki nodded, loosening her
sash.
"Give me your word, Kujuurou."
"I... I promise, Mother." He felt his body shaking,
couldn't control it. At his words, his mother leaned forward and kissed his
forehead gently before sitting cross-legged on the mat nearby with the wakizashi
in front of her. I'm dreaming, I'm dreaming, soon I'll wake up and Mother
will tell me it's okay it's just a dream...
He looked on as Miyuki closed her eyes for a moment,
taking up the short sword. "There's no time," she breathed. "I wish... Masahiro."
Her face was calm, determined. She inhaled deeply and drove the sword into
her stomach.
Kujuurou tried to scream as he saw the blade sink into
her skin, disappearing inside her, but his throat clenched and he couldn't
do it. His mouth gaped open silently as Miyuki yanked the wakizashi upward
diagonally with as much strength as she could before she fell slowly forward
over the hilt, her hair spilling wildly in all directions.
Ken began walking towards her, to stop her suffering,
but his movement jolted the boy into action. Dropping the knife, he shoved
at the man's leg, startling him, and ran to where her huddled form lay. He
touched her, patted her shoulders, shook her. "Mother... no, Mother please
no, no, no..." he sobbed. At his touch, she fell over onto her side as he
shrieked in shared agony.
Miyuki struggled for breath to speak, pulling one
blood-soaked hand away from the sword in her gut to reach up to him and stroke
his face. He held her hand to his face, forgetting his promise, forgetting
to be brave. His tears turned red as they ran down his cheeks. "I... see
now... what it meant," she whispered to him. "Live... " Her hand went limp
in his, her eyes rolling back and closing. Kujuurou breathed fast in a panic,
dropping her hand and hiding his face from the sight of the blood pouring
from her body, from the pale-purple coils of her insides that threatened
to do the same.
"Kujuurou," Tama said from behind him, "you must do
what your mother asked, or let us do it!"
"No!" he screamed, his head jerking up. His throat ached
with the cry, but he didn't care anymore how he hurt. "Leave me alone!"
The old servant woman tried to say something more to
him, but her husband stopped her. "Let him be, Tama. All things will happen
as they will."
She nodded, taking his hand and holding her knife in
the other. "The army is coming up the path."
Ken drew his own knife, looking into her face. "Yes."
He squeezed her hand and braced himself. Almost simultaneously, the two plunged
their knives into the other's heart. They fell together into each other,
tumbling slowly to the ground, where their long lives ended.
The silence that began then lasted for a long time.
Kujuurou sat alone among the dead, staring at a fixed point on the wall.
He wrapped his arms around himself, rocking back and forth gently, as Miyuki
would have rocked him. No lights danced here. There were only the shadows.
He didn't move until the noises started, until the sound
of pounding hooves and loud warrior voices got through to his frozen mind.
It was then he slowly uncurled and stood up. They had told him stories, his
parents, and some of them had told of good children, obedient children, honorable
children. Children who would kill themselves so their fathers would be free
of responsibility, to take vengeance on the slayers of their lord. Most of
his father's men were dead, but others were ronin now. Were their sons dying
too, so Masahiro could be avenged?
The knife still glittered where he had dropped it, and
he went to pick it up, pulling open his robe even more. Kujuurou pressed
the sharp point against his stomach, where the tiny line of red began, marking
where his mother had tried to take him with her. But she couldn't cut
me. I must cut myself. He closed his eyes and tried in vain to stab himself.
The moment the point started to pierce his soft pale skin, he jerked his
hands away, and the knife with them.
"I'm a coward," he sobbed, falling to his knees and
curling over the knife with his head on the ground. He tried to push the
knife upward that way, but had as much luck as the last time. "I'm a coward!"
The sound of feet on the rocks in the path hit his ears,
and in a panic he jumped to his feet and ran out of the common room. He couldn't
let the general find him just sitting there like the coward he was. Kujuurou's
feet took him into the room he once shared with his mother, and he slid into
the bed, pulling the blankets rumpled over him, sinking down into the middle
and making sure they covered his hair.
Cold metal pressed against his cheek, but it still was
not as cold as his heart felt, as cold as the big pit that shivered open
inside him with a silent scream. He leaned his head against the flat of the
knife, biting his hand to make sure he made no noise. Voices rang throughout
the house as the general and his men discovered the bodies in the common
room and figured out what had happened.
Nothing seemed real, the entire thing just a huge,
convoluted dream. As he lay there, the boy thought, The general that killed
my father is here in my house. I'm still alive, so it's my duty to kill him...
if I hide until they go away, then I can run and learn to fight and kill
him. I have to do it. I have to now. He repeated these thoughts, calmed
by the goal, by the thought that he could hurt the man that caused this to
happen.
Men's voices came to his ears through the thickness
of the blankets, getting louder as they approached the room. They were looting
his house, taking everything of any value whatsoever, believing the entire
family was dead. Kujuurou could hear something else as well from his hiding
place. It sounded like crackling... That's fire... a torch. It's not that
dark in here, why do they need torches? he wondered, frowning.
"Got everything?" one voice asked, so nearby he had
to fight to keep from flinching away from it, hoping they wouldn't think
to look in the messy bed.
The other man chuckled. "Yes, but there's enough of
this jewelry here that maybe General Asae won't miss a piece or two if I
brought it home..."
"Idiot!" the other rejoined. "You think no one will
notice when your wife walks around in Sasaki jewelry?"
A faint sigh came from the man. "I suppose not. Should
we light it, then?"
There was a pause before the first replied, "We're the
last here. Burn this place."
One more time that day, his heart jumped into his throat.
The knife nicked his cheek as he pressed it closer, trying to compact himself
even more. The fire of the torch crackled as one of the soldiers set it to
the table and whatever else in the room would burn. There was a slight motion
of the covers as he tossed the torch onto the bed, and the soldiers ran out.
Kujuurou burst from the bed like he had been shot from
it. Everything was catching quickly, and he spun around to see that the rest
of the house was burning, too. Possessed now by only the urge for survival,
the boy stumbled for the doorway, thinking only of finding the way out.
The wooden framework of the building was starting to
fall, and beams creaked ominously above his head. The smoke was growing thicker,
and he covered his mouth and nose with his sleeve, trying to see through
it. He had once been so familiar with the layout of this place, but now,
highlighted in the flickering orange glow and shrouded in the smoke, he could
have been in a stranger's house.
The boy stumbled over the debris of a broken table,
coughing as his arm flew away from his face and he inhaled too much smoke.
It was too dark too see, and growing hotter by the minute. Kujuurou clutched
at his head, frustrated and scared. He had lost his family, and now his home.
He was not going to lose his life, too, not before getting revenge. He screamed
as loud as he could, closing his eyes and pounding his fist on whatever was
blocking his way ahead.
He coughed then, from the smoke that had gotten in when
he'd yelled, but when he opened his eyes again, he saw the way to the door
as clearly as if it were day and everything was normal. The smoke began to
cloud his vision again almost immediately, but he knew where to go, now.
Kujuurou pushed at the fallen wooden screen in front of him until it flattened
and he could climb over it. He ran for the doorway, from the flames and the
smoke and the death that was inside.
When he burst out, it was almost as if he were soaring.
He tripped and skidded his way to the ground outside, scrambling further
and further away from the inferno. Smoke clung to him like a misty gray cloak
as he collapsed in the middle of the path, taking in deep breaths of air
that tasted like burnt wood and burnt meat.
He was so tired now. His eyes began to close, almost
of their own volition. As he lay sprawled out on the stones and the dirt,
the sound of hooves near his head made him look up groggily. An armored man
stared down at him from very far up, seated on a dark brown horse. Although
he looked rather massive, especially from the boy's viewpoint, his face was
young. "What's... this?" he said slowly.
"Who're you?" he returned, uncaring of formality anymore.
The large hoof next to his face was making him nervous, and so he pulled
himself to his knees.
Another, taller man rode up beside the first, dismounting
and landing lightly on the ground at the same time as the other. "This is
General Asae Katsukane, insolent boy," he announced, looking down at the
boy with a frown. "Who are you? Did you come from the house? I thought everyone
was dead or gone."
At the name of the first warrior, Kujuurou's eyes opened
wide, all vestiges of sleepiness gone. That man killed my father! Rage
boiled within as he looked up at the only slightly-interested face of the
man. He clenched the hilt of his mother's knife, growling.
"Is that the son, Matsuyama?" Asae asked, angling a
glance over at the other man. "Younger than your girl, eh?"
The general's aide frowned and nodded. His face was
troubled, and looked vaguely familiar to the boy. "Yes... that is his son."
The child scowled darkly, gritting his teeth. "My name
is Sasaki Kujuurou!" he screamed, running for the man. For just a moment,
the general's face showed a flicker of fear at his wild appearance, but the
boy's blows did nothing against his armor, not even scratching its shine.
Asae began to chuckle, and with an almost negligent
motion kicked him sprawling on the ground. Kujuurou, caught up in his rage,
didn't even feel it, and with a loud, tearing scream, drove his knife into
the general's foot. The protective covering over it prevented him from really
stabbing him, but the blade did hit, he could feel that.
This time, he felt the blow to his chest which sent
him rolling to land on the path. He pulled himself up, wiping the trickle
of blood that ran onto his chin from his mouth, filled with such anger he
could not yet register the pain. It was hard to breathe, however, and he
rasped in the air as General Asae tore the knife from his foot.
"This one must die," he said darkly, reaching for his
sword and taking a step forward.
"Wait!" called Matsuyama, holding out a hand to stop
him. "My... my general. Katsukane... my friend. Please wait."
The general looked back at him, not very happy. "Kazuo.
Would you have me spare this boy, then? I thought all your ties were severed."
He nodded, sparing Kujuurou a glance. "They are. But
do you see the fire in his eyes? He has remarkable spirit, attacking you
when he must know he could never win. He would make you a great warrior indeed."
"No!" Kujuurou bellowed, whipping the hair off his face
and standing. "I will never serve my father's killer! You... you
bastard!"
Asae turned back to him, sneering. "Such talk. Did your
parents not teach you how to speak to your elders and betters? You are in
my power, coward. Your mother could kill her herself honorably, but not you?
Were you afraid, boy? Afraid it would hurt?" he spat. "Ha, boy. You're nothing
but a little girl." He flinched back at those biting words that hit so close
to home. He felt some of the rage leave him. How could he possibly kill someone
like this?
"Katsukane," Matsuyama said again, gently, "I ask this
in the name of our friendship. Spare him."
The general sighed. "Very well. Since you wished it,
you shall be in charge of him, Kazuo." He came closer to the boy, who bristled
at him and clenched his fists. "Look at those fiery eyes... Matsuyama's right,
you have quite a spirit."
He scowled and raised Miyuki's knife in his hand, reaching
out and grabbing onto Kujuurou's hair with the other. He struggled to pull
free, shouting and hitting at the man's arm with his fists, but the look
on the general's face stopped him. Slowly, he let his hands drop down, transfixed
on the blade gleaming red with the reflection of the burning house behind
him. I thought the other man said to spare me? he mused haphazardly,
ready nonetheless for the moment when the man would stab him.
The knife flashed, glittering in his vision, and for
a moment, he wondered what had happened. Then, he knew. His left eye throbbed
in sudden intense pain, the nerves in the torn skin protesting at being ripped
apart. He immediately clamped his hands to his eye as if that would help,
a scream pulling from his throat. Kujuurou fell to his knees, blood running
from underneath his palms and between his fingers to make branching red streams
down his face.
As the boy sobbed in pain, Matsuyama came up behind
the general. "General Asae?" he queried. "I thought you--"
"This one isn't worthy to be a warrior of mine," Asae
said as if his aide hadn't even spoken. "Quit that crying, you trash. I see
the fire has already bled out of you. You must have less spirit than I thought!"
He delivered a kick to Kujuurou's side, knocking him down to land on the
path again. He tried to stop his cries, but they seemed to come without his
control. Finally, he managed to bring it down to a few hiccups. He did it
more for himself than for the want to obey the general's order, since the
salt of his tears stung his eye terribly.
"I have put the mark of the bisento on you," the general
said when he had stopped crying, "so that all can see you are a servant of
mine. There will be no use running. You will serve me now."
No, I won't! he wanted to protest, but he couldn't
make the words come out past the pain. He sat up slowly, not moving his hands
away from his face. The pressure seemed to help a little. He... he cut
my eye out! I can't see... I can't see, it hurts so bad!
"You are no longer fit for the name your father gave
you," General Asae continued, looking at his mother's knife and then tucking
it into his belt. "I give you the name... Cale. That name is proper for trash
such as yourself. You no longer have a right to revenge. You are no longer
a Sasaki."
The words hit him like a slap, and slowly, very slowly,
he let his hands fall away from his face, let the blood pour free down his
face. His lips moved soundlessly in shock. How could he do this? How
could he?
General Asae turned back towards his horse, mounting
it again and bringing it up to where he and Matsuyama stood. "The servant
Cale is your responsibility, Kazuo, my friend," he said, his voice not very
friendly. "You wanted him, he is yours."
The boy audibly gasped in air, his face bloody and his
left eye squeezed tightly shut. "Damn you," he wheezed, "my name is not Cale,
my name is Sasaki Kujuurou!"
Asae's foot left the stirrup, and once again he was
kicked into the dust. The man drew his sword, pointing it down at him. As
he stared up at the blade through his good eye, he recognized it. His father's
nodatchi. That man had his father's nodatchi. He scowled at him, and then
clapped his hands back over his eye as the gesture made his wound well more
blood.
"Your name is Cale," the general stated before turning
the horse around and galloping off down the path to rejoin his army.
The man named Matsuyama looked down at him with a serious,
morose expression in his eyes. "Come, then," he said, "we must catch up with
the others."
He was descending into shock, so very tired, so much
in pain. He didn't notice when the man left his side and returned with his
horse, and he barely felt it as Matsuyama lifted him with strong arms onto
the animal's back. The general's aide mounted behind him, supporting him
with an arm around his waist. As he started the horse into a gallop, the
boy promptly passed out from exhaustion and bloodloss.
The remains of his burning home vanished into the distance,
but he never noticed.
It was not until the next day that he woke up, for a
moment having forgotten everything that had happened the day before. Only
when he yawned, however, cracking the scab that had formed over the wound
on his eye, did he realize that it was all true. Hesitantly, the boy sat
up, looking around without much interest.
The entourage had stopped their travels for a meal next
to a creek in the lightly-wooded forest several miles from where his house
was - when it was there, he reminded himself. The men were sitting
on their bedrolls next to their grazing horses. Most were already eating,
and Matsuyama was one of these. Another man whom he didn't recognize was
sitting with him.
"So you're awake, Cale," his new protector stated, not
pausing in his meal. "Are you hungry, then?"
It took him a minute to realize that the man was talking
to him. He thought for a moment. He was hungry, in fact, but before he could
ask for something to eat the man with Matsuyama started to laugh.
"Kazuo, you aren't thinking of wasting food on this?"
he chuckled. "Look at him. He'd foul it before it even got to his mouth."
The man raised an eyebrow at the boy. "You are right,
Rinoki," he said, and then turned his attention back to his bowl.
The child wrapped his arms around his knees and sat
dejectedly, from time to time reaching up to touch the scab on his eye gently,
as if he wasn't sure it was real. They should have just stabbed me if
they're just going to starve me, he thought. But I couldn't cut myself,
so maybe this is how they punish cowards like me...
Finally Matsuyama finished eating and stood up. Without
any warning or preamble, he grabbed the blue-haired boy's wrist and dragged
him away from the others and over to the creek. Wordlessly, he roughly yanked
the clothes off him and dumped him in the water before he realized what was
happening. Both his eyes flew wide open, the scab on his left one breaking
and starting a new trickle of red running down his already blood-stained
face.
The creek was very, very, cold, and he shrieked as his
skin made him aware of that fact. Slowly, the freezing water woke him from
the stupor he had been in, and as he shivered he stared back at Matsuyama.
"You, boy, are lucky to be alive," he lectured sternly.
"General Asae should have killed you - it is his right. I myself was surprised
that he spared you. You should be grateful for this, and you should also
be grateful of the fact that he had enough skill to mark you and not take
out your eye. You will find that you can still see as well as before." He
started in surprise at this, for it was true. He hadn't noticed before.
The warrior bent and picked up his old kimono, tucking
it over his arm. "Your name is Cale, and you will answer to that name." He
met the child's eyes, impressing him with his seriousness. "You are no longer
a Sasaki, no longer Kujuurou the warrior's son. You are Cale the servant
boy, and Cale only. You had best not anger General Asae, unless you wish
to be a test for the sharpness of his blade. Do you understand?"
He bowed his head momentarily. What use was there in
resisting? "I understand, sir," he replied in spite of his chattering teeth.
"Clean up now. I will return in ten minutes with clothes
for you more suitable to your position." He turned and left without another
word, and the boy stared at his retreating back until something got though
to his brain. He looked down at his face reflected in the lazy flow of the
creek, caked with dried blood and covered in bruises, just like the rest
of his body. He traced the scabby vertical line under his eye with a finger.
Very well, he thought, dipping his cupped dirty
hands under the water and watching the water flow over them, I will be
Cale. I will be Cale, but I'll also learn to fight, and avenge my father
and get my family name back. My mother will have to be without me for a little
longer. The face that was his, the face he saw in the river, was no longer
the face of the child he once was. It was said that the way of the warrior
was the way of death, and now he truly knew what that meant, and not just
in the literal sense.
Everything he had been as the little lord Sasaki Kujuurou
was left behind in the ashy remains of his home, lying dead in the sticky
pool of his mother's blood. Everything he had known and had wanted to be.
Everything he was. The child who had worn that name for six years had killed
himself by running away from death. He was as cold and still as his parents.
Now, only Cale remained. Just a small, insignificant
piece of humanity. The little naïve servant boy with one scar on his
face and another through the soul he had been unable to sever. He had been
born through the flames of a home and the quick flash of a knife. Cale was
all that was left.
But Cale was empty.
koto - A Japanese harp that lays on the ground and is played with picks. Here's a sample. (You can think of it as the song that Miyuki's playing, cause I do!) The sample comes from this page.
wakizashi - a spare sword, shorter than a regular one. A traditional weapon to use while committing seppuku.
bisento - a long-handled broadsword. A wicked-looking weapon, shaped like the vertical part of Cale's scar. See a picture of a bisento that I scanned here. In case that doesn't look too impressive, see a picture of a fight, sword against bisento. This thing is scary. I will use it again later.
