Rurouni Kenshin Fan Fiction ❯ Fear No Evil ❯ Chapter 2 - Dakkyaku suru ( Chapter 2 )

Chapter 2 - Dakkyaku suru

 

Where am I? What season is this?

 

He has vague recollections of seasons changing, but he seems relatively warm and dry at the moment. Not winter. He has experienced winter since leaving the City, he's sure of that. More than one? He can't say. Many days spent drenched and shuddering in some cave; many others, sweltering and dusty. Mountain passes. Rocky, empty plains. Deserted, endless meadows.

 

Season?? What year is it?

 

He's starving to death, he can tell that much. How long has been since I've even bothered to gather berries or pull a few nuts off a tree? Even finding water seems so much trouble… He tries to sit up fully, and almost succeeds. Sags back, out of breath, pondering his next move. He can't think clearly; he'd better get something to eat soon.

 

I wonder where the nearest village is. The road is close: if I am careful about my approach, maybe someone will tell me. Maybe I can even arrange to work in exchange for a meal there.

 

He rises, fighting overwhelming dizziness. So weak! Leans against last night's sheltering tree; steadies a bit. Finally, he's able to falter nearer the road. He perches on a large boulder and rests, waiting, exhausted.

 

How can I do this? I do not remember the last time I spoke with anyone.

 

That's solved for him: “Oi, tabibito-san!”

 

The greeting pulls him out of his haze. He struggles to focus on its source.

 

“I've seen roadkill that looks better than you! What happened to you?”

 

“I have been … on the road for awhile.”

 

“I can see that!” The stranger surveys the young man, taking in the filthy, threadbare dark blue gi, the tattered hakama, the sandals just barely hanging together. Yasete-iru! This botchan is barely alive.

 

“Please, can you tell me how far is the nearest village? And which direction?”

 

“You'll never make it in your condition. Come. I'm stopping for a bite anyway; share my meal.”

 

“Iie. Dame desu ne. Arigato gozaimashita, but I need only directions.”

 

What a curiosity! He won't even meet my gaze.

 

“I insist. I hate dining alone. Don't make me come over there and drag you here!”

 

Somehow, he feels compelled to obey. The man appears unafraid of me. Maybe I am less notorious outside the City. A world without the censure of my past? Could it be…

 

…

 

He wakes gently, easily. The sky is preparing for a soft, warm dawn. What a strange dream: someone unafraid, someone treating me like a … human. A different dream. So very different.

 

He starts. What in hell is that sound? The awful racket actually rustles the leaves on the sapling sheltering his head. Deep habit makes him instantly alert. I am not alone! ChikushÅ - where is my weapon?!

 

He feels the warmth of another body nearby. And a ki. Mild. Iie, not mild, but not … menacing. Not kataki. The blooming dawn reveals the source of the cacophony: a sleeper. A snoring sleeper. A vigorously snoring sleeper.

 

Soundlessly, he creeps nearer, then recoils in startled recognition, incredulous. The man in the new dream! I must still be asleep. Iie, I am awake. He fed me? Hai, I can tell: I have eaten recently.

 

The puzzle keeps him awake till dawn breaks. As the first bright rays of the sun break over the horizon, flooding the grove and stirring the birds awake, the sleeper rolls over on his back and gives a last great, raucous snort, waking himself. He yawns prodigiously, stretching and dragging himself into a slouchy sit. Scratches. Everywhere.

 

“OhayÅ gozaimasu! Look who's already up. The way you konked out last night, I was afraid you'd never come to again!”

 

“You fed me?”

 

“Of course.”

 

“Why?”

 

“Why?? You mean other than to drag you back from death's door? You're still too near for my comfort, as it is.”

 

…

 

The sun beamed on the scene, blessing it with her abundant warmth and light.

 

…

 

Kenshin met the other man's gaze, curious. “But why did you do it?” He felt, almost as a physical impact, the long-unaccustomed force of another's direct, steady gaze.

 

“Listen, boy, I may not have the soul of a bodhisattva, nor a daimyo's wealth to spare, but I care more about my karma than to merely pass by someone in your condition.” He did not fail to notice the amber eyes, hard, dark, hidden behind the fiery red hair, nor the curious angry scar on the cheek. Interesting. He's far too young to inhabit that face. But so gentle. What's his story?

 

“I have nothing to offer in return. I cannot discharge my obligation to you.”

 

“Did I ask??” the man snorted. “If I were looking for some kind of exchange, you can bet I wouldn't have expected it from the likes of you! All you seem to possess are what could only laughingly be called `clothes'. Oh, yes, and that katana.”

 

Kenshin tensed.

 

“Take it easy. It's all right. I gathered your `supplies' so they'd be safe. And to check them out to see whether you would survive today without my help. You won't. As for the katana: it's still in its shirasaya, and the blade, well, it's pristine. It's clear you've never used it. I'm not even going to ask why it's backwards.”

 

“It is hard to explain.”

 

“Did I ask?? Kami-sama…”

 

Kenshin had no answer to that.

 

“You know, in my youth I was first apprentice to a swordsmith. I had a certain talent with making tsuba; had just begun to make a small name for myself in that way. Then … well, I guess that, too, is hard to explain. Let's just say the chaos of the revolution had its way with many of us.”

 

He paused.

 

“Anyway, so here I am now, an itinerant metalsmith. At least my tsuba are still in demand, and my sword-repairing skills stand me in good stead. In fact, I'm on my way now to spend a month stocking some smiths' shops I know with my handguards. Why don't I outfit your blade for you? It won't take long, and I have everything I need with me.”

 

He rummaged around in his pack, pulling out a smaller bag that clinked metallically. Spilling the contents out in front of him, he sorted through it, pushing aside an assortment of habaki, seppa, a couple of tsuka, till he found what he sought. “Here, this is one of my own making.” He laid the piece in Kenshin's palm.

 

The tsuba was small, but quietly elegant. Its texture was almost velvety to his touch, and the slightly raised rim was exquisitely formed: sharp, narrow, exactly proportioned. And it was decorated with… He paled at the sudden memory: a garden at Otsu, the sun on his shoulders, the tender presence at his side…

 

“Do you see? The sukashi is a daikon radish.” The tsubako pointed to the design in the metal disk as he leaned over Kenshin's shoulder; he did not miss the boy's ashen face or the sudden wobble in his posture.

 

“Hai. It is surely that.”

 

Kenshin struggled to regain his composure. “Truly, it is a masterful work. But…”

 

“I know, I know: obligation.”

 

The man fell silent, slumped slightly back into himself; Kenshin waited.

 

The older man spoke from his reverie: “I wasn't always as I am today: When the times first began to move, I was swept up in the tide, but I had no wisdom, no ability to predict how my actions would resonate through my future. I thought I understood things. I … foolishly threw away the precious gifts life had handed me.” The man shook his head heavily. “Unless I miss my guess, you, too, carry a burden greater than you can discharge. Allow me to do this for you. And for me. I have a feeling, a hope, that this small action may resonate through the future…”

 

Kenshin really looked at the man now. Why did I did not read his ki better before? This was no ordinary traveler. I think I will obey this man. I think it will be all right.

 

…

 

“There, what do you think?”

 

The sword passed from the sitting man's hand to the standing one's.

 

Kenshin tried a couple of practice swings, and felt the new heft, the slight change in balance, the significant improvement in grip: again he felt gratitude for its presence, and now, also for the one who had completed it for him. He knelt and bowed low before his benefactor.

 

“I am indebted to you. If ever I can provide assistance or sanctuary to you or yours …”

 

“Yes, yes. You can stop with the bowing.” This is a good one, that's for sure. I hope he'll be all right. “Just one question: did I read that mei correctly?” Kenshin nodded; the man was silent, thoughtful. “I guess that answers some questions, but the ones it creates …”

 

He took a deep breath, rising decisively, slapping the dust off his pants legs.

 

“Well, okay. I've got to get back on the road, but I have a friend—a good friend—in the village I just passed. It's just over that crest there.” He pointed insistently, and held it long enough to make sure there could be no misunderstanding about either location or direction. Removing from around his neck a small carved stone on a leather string, he ordered, “Tell him I said to clean you up. And feed you! Don't worry: he'll let you work around the place a little so you can `discharge your obligation'.”

 

Kenshin looked up intensely. “Iie. You do not realize... This is not a good idea. I will be unwelcome.”

 

“Tawagoto! I'm the judge of that. And of my friend. You leave that stone with him when you move on. I'll be back through here in about a month, and if I find that you haven't given this back to him, or that you didn't allow him to spruce you up a bit, I'll hunt you down for the dog that you are! Am I making myself clear?”

 

“Hai. Arigato gozaimashita. Domo arigato.” He stood and picked up his small pack.

 

The man also began to gather his belongings. When he came to his food supply, he took out a smaller cloth and placed in it some salted fish, a few rice balls, and a variety of steamed, dried vegetables.

 

“Take this, or you'll never make it to the village.”

 

Kenshin hesitated. The man pushed it at him, and almost growled, “Don't be a baka, boy! Take it.”

 

That did it. Kenshin took it.

 

…

 

She smiled, excessively pleased with herself. Hai! That went quite well, ne?

 

…

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“come out (of a slump); break through; grow”

 

“traveler”

 

“scrawny”

 

“boy-child”; “kid”

 

“I can't”

 

“damn”

 

“enemy”

 

I must credit my father with inspiring the sleeping style of Kenshin's benefactor.

 

“good morning”

 

An enlightened person.

 

The temporary, completely unornamented, wooden hilt and sheath intended to hold and protect the blade just until it's outfitted with the final hilt, handguard, etc. I referenced Jim Gilbert's site at home.earthlink.net/~jggilbert and The Samurai Forum at sword.ne.jp for what little understanding I have of these sword components, and the particular tsuba I used for this story is at home.earthlink.net/~jggilbert/oldiron2.htm.

 

The ornamented handguard of a katana.

 

The little ring that sits at the base of the blade. I think its purpose is to provide a firm grip for the saya without actually touching the blade itself.

 

The spacer that goes between the tsuba and the habaki.

 

The ornamented hilt of the katana.

 

A design made by cutting out the shape of the object or pattern rather than carving or stamping it.

 

The addition of “ko” creates “tsuba maker”.

 

The swordsmith's signature on the nakago, or tang, of the blade.

 

“nonsense”