Bleach Fan Fiction ❯ Permanence ❯ Number 10 ( Chapter 2 )

Chapter Two: #10

The most famous street in Soul Society was unquestionably East Rukongai's tree-lined main thoroughfare, the Omotesando. Even the Seireitei, that Court of Pure Souls, had no avenues to rival this grand, glamorous approach to the Eastern Gate. Stretching across the breadth of East Rukongai's posh first district, the Omotesando was impeccably situated, and only establishments of distinction were permitted on its length. As a matter of course, affairs of commerce were conducted with the utmost discretion and elegance — and nowhere else was that done quite as well as at #10.

From the street, #10 Omotesando was merely a wooden gate set into a high wall of rough-hewn stone. Beyond this wall, however, lay a sprawling complex of old buildings paneled in antique cypress, connected by a network of covered walkways. It was only at night that the place took on its true face. With the fall of twilight, one by one the paper-screened doors would come alight with a warm glow, and muted laughter and conversation would fill the hallways. From time to time the stirring notes of a solitary shamisen would hover in the air.

It was to the sound of this that Hisana awakened; she knew it because the note hung in her memory. Around her, the world felt eerily still — great blackened beams of wood girded the ceiling above her head, an oppressively heavy satin blanket weighed her down. She blinked, squinted, tried to turn her head, and found, to her sudden horror, that she could not.

"Do not vex yourself," came the calm words from somewhere to her right. "You will be able to move it soon."

The memory of that voice slid over her slowly. Then, in the next instant, everything came back to her as if in one rush — the sound of feet pounding through the forest, the coolness of the earth, the weak cry of a child.

"Rukia..." The child's small, pinched face, tightly swaddled, surfaced to vividness in her mind. Only then did the import of her situation strike her fully. Dear god... what had she done? How was it that she was here, breathing, speaking, while her sister lay abandoned on that forest floor, left to die?

"Did I not tell you," the voice reproached softly, "that you should not vex yourself?"

The words came from somewhere much closer now — anxiously she flicked her gaze sidewards, and froze. The face, as nightmarish as in her memory, was mere inches away, bent near her cheek.

"Your neck was almost broken by that foolishness you attempted at the last. I thought it prudent to place you under a binding spell to prevent further injury."

He spoke in a whisper, his breath brushing her skin. A shiver started at her neck, slid down her shoulders. She kept her gaze fixed on the black-beamed ceiling, afraid to look at him, afraid to breathe.

"You mustn't hold yourself so rigidly like that. The strain isn't good for your neck."

She thought she felt his touch on her skin — she would have jumped in fright, shrunk away, but the strange hold that he had placed over her body kept her limbs absolutely still. He saw her flinch, though, and seemed about to say something when suddenly a door slid open, somewhere to her left. At that, he straightened away from her, looked up.

"Good evening, Mistress," he greeted cordially.

A silken hem moved briskly against the tatami. The air was suddenly tinged with heady, opulent perfume.

"I don't have much time, so this had better be quick," the woman said curtly as she settled herself into the formal sitting position. Hisana watched her face as she spoke — the blood-red lips barely moved against the shocking whiteness of the painted face.

"Have you ever known me to squander your time?"

"You are ever an unspeakable nuisance, as you well know." The woman's gaze slid sharply towards the futon, and suddenly Hisana found herself staring into eyes that seemed uncannily familiar — dark, hard like beads.

"This is the girl?"

"Her name is Hisana."

If Hisana had been able to move her neck, she would have gaped at him. He knew her name! She had seen him only once before, she was sure of it, only in passing. It had been the briefest of glances. She knew beyond a doubt that they had never exchanged words, that she did not know him, nor he her. Yet here he was, speaking her name.

"Have her sit up," the woman ordered.

"Would it be possible for the Mistress to move closer to her instead?"

"What's wrong with her?"

The man sighed, said apologetically, "She sprained her neck while trying to run away from me."

At that, the woman drew in a long, slow breath, narrowed her eyes.

"What have you brought me here, Takezo? I want none of your trouble. I have no time, no patience to deal with unwilling prospects."

He waved a hand in blithe dismissal. "Oh, she'll be willing enough, I guarantee you that — once she's been fully apprised of her situation." With a flourish, he gestured towards the futon. "Please."

She shot him a look of displeasure. But with a haughty toss of her sleeves, and measured deliberateness, she rose anyway and moved closer to the futon. Sitting back on her heels, she eyed Hisana's face assessingly, then, without warning, grasped the satin blanket and pulled it away. Her gaze swept down the girl's body, flicked back once to the face.

She let the blanket fall from her fingers. "I see nothing remarkable."

"Mistress is too hasty."

"The girl is passably pretty, but nothing more."

"Come now — your most popular girls are only passably pretty at best. They are very talented, though, I do grant you that."

She arched a brow.

"And what talent does this girl have?"

The man smiled. "That question I leave in your capable hands."

For a long moment they were both silent, one challenging gaze holding the other. Finally the woman said, lips tight:

"I suggest you apprise her well of her situation — whatever it is. I will not tolerate theatrics of any kind. In the event that she does run away, you will, of course, be held responsible for any debt she has incurred."

"Now there's the Mistress I know," murmured the man, chuckling softly. "Nevertheless — I am quite confident that you will soon be thanking me for the girl I have brought to you today."

The woman had already stood to leave, and now looked down at him.

"You were always one to brag." She turned cold eyes upon the girl on the futon. "See to it that she is ready by the end of hours tonight. I expect her to be bathed and made presentable by the time I return. She is to await me in the servant's quarters."

The man inclined his head politely, then watched with quiet amusement as she exited the room in a stately swish of robes. When the door closed, he returned his gaze once more to Hisana.

"Quite a remarkable woman, isn't she? In certain circles, she's a veritable legend — the most famous geisha in Rukongai, the mistress of its most exclusive establishment. But more significantly for you, my dear, she's also Mother to the most desired women in Soul Society." He paused, regarded her with a thoughtful smile. "And now, she's your Mother as well."

Hisana had no idea what he saw in her face — why he should look at it so intently as he was doing now. She could barely comprehend what was happening, much less what he was saying, and she supposed her bewilderment showed plainly, for now he shrugged, continued dismissively:

"Oh, of course she did not birth you — in this world, what mother does? No, she is your Mother because she will be the one to transform you, Hisana, to push you forth into the new life you will have. The women who call her Mother all owe her this debt — it is she who has given them everything: beauty, acclaim, anything their hearts desire." He reached out, touched her hair lightly.

"Is there not something you desire, Hisana?"

His words called to her memory the child left behind in the forest. He was watching her eyes, saw the sudden flash of pain. He leaned close then, and told her simply, "It is all within your power now."

She turned her head to look at him as he drew away. With a start, she realized she could now move her head.

"Better, I hope?" he queried wryly, springing up from the floor to his full stooped height. "I'll have the maids come in now to get you prepared for your meeting with the Mistress. Do try to be on your best behavior, my dear. Let your neck serve as a reminder of how foolish — and futile — any impulse of escape is."

"... You—"

Her voice sounded foreign to her ears, cracked with thirst and desperation. But before she could even form the question she meant to ask, he glanced back at her over a hunched shoulder, his brows lifting. Then he smiled — a twist of the lips tinged with triumph.

"My dear girl, I am the man to whom you owe your life." His eyes were brilliantly black, held her immobile in spite of the fact that she had already been released from his spell. "Don't ever forget that, Hisana. You can never escape me. I've brought the world to your feet today — and I will see you hold sway over it."

And in a manner just as strange and incomprehensible as his words, he was suddenly gone from her sight.

Two women arrived almost immediately after, hustled her up from the futon, down the hallway, and into a bathing room with brisk efficiency. Stripping the creased sleeping robe from her shoulders, they scrubbed her body with unrelenting thoroughness, then plunged her into the water steaming in the high wooden tub. Hisana gasped, the scalding heat shocking the haze clear from her mind.

"What a filthy girl," muttered the elderly woman who now leaned over her and proceeded to rub her cheeks raw with a washcloth.

The other woman, a young maid with a petulantly curled lip, snatched up the discarded robe from the floor. "You should have seen what she was wearing when he brought her in, Madam! The toilet rag would have been more presentable!"

"Is that so."

"I wonder what she could possibly be here for!"

The old woman made no reply, merely slapped the washcloth onto the edge of the square tub, and said bluntly, "Get your head under the water, girl."

Hisana stared up at her.

"I do not repeat myself," the woman stated flatly, before clamping her hand on the crown of Hisana's head and submerging it forcefully with surprising strength. Hisana struggled against her hold and came up sputtering, arms flailing, eyes blinded by the burn of the water. Choking, she gripped the edges of the tub, coughed out water. The women watched her with pitiless eyes.

"Her hair is a disgrace," remarked the old woman. "There's nothing that can be done with it until it grows out."

"Should we use a wig, then, Madam?"

Frail eyebrows arched in disdain.

"She's not a maiko. A clean kimono will suffice. But do comb her hair back so it won't hang so untidily in her face."

The maid nodded, eyeing Hisana critically.

"It's so strange — to think someone like her might become a maiko here. She's so... different from the other girls."

"Enough of your talk. Take that bucket and wash her hair."

The maid finished bathing Hisana, pulled her out of the tub and wrapped her in a towel. With brusque haste both women ushered her into an adjoining room, where they proceeded to dry her hair and dress her in a simple midnight-blue kimono. Hisana stood, numbly silent, and endured their ministrations without complaint. As they tucked and folded the silk around her, the elderly woman looked at her directly in the eye and said abruptly:

"Why are you here, girl?"

Startled to be addressed so, and completely at a loss as to what she should say in reply, Hisana merely gazed at her in helpless bewilderment.

"How do you know Takezo?"

"... I do not know him," came the quiet, hesitant response.

The woman studied Hisana in silence, then turned away as the maid brought up a folded length of red silk for her inspection.

"That'll do. Put it on her."

Watching as the obi was wound around Hisana's waist, the woman continued, "The Mistress will be seeing you soon. Bow low to the ground when she enters and keep your eyes down. When she asks you something, you are to answer in the most polite manner possible. However, you are not at liberty to ask her any questions. Is that understood?"

Hisana nodded, purely in response to the force of the woman's tone.

"Very well." The woman stepped back then, surveyed the completed outfit, and said after a moment's pause:

"Bring me the cosmetics case from the Mistress's room. And one of the simpler wigs from the storage closet upstairs."

The maid's eyes widened. "We're dressing her up?"

The old woman shot her a glare. "Go and fetch them!"

Hastily the maid left the room. The woman turned once more to Hisana.

"Now listen," she said in a voice suddenly lowered, "you don't look like a foolish girl, so I'll try saying this to you. Your situation is exceedingly suspicious." When Hisana looked at her blankly, she demanded with some impatience, "Do you even know where you are, girl?"

Hisana shook her head.

"This is #10 Omotesando, in East Rukongai."

"East Rukongai!" Hisana breathed, shocked.

"Obviously you are not from this district—"

"I'm from Inuzuri, in the south!" she burst out.

The woman's lips thinned in annoyance. "As I said — obviously you are not from here. And so what business could a person such as you possibly have with the mistress of this teahouse?"

"Teahouse?" echoed Hisana. The woman saw how her face paled, took pity.

"I said teahouse, not brothel," she said reproachfully, but the line of her mouth had softened. "An okiya is also part of the establishment. However, girls like you do not get brought in to become maiko. The Mistress is so well-known that she selects only the most promising and talented girls from the first districts to bring up in her okiya."

"I'm sorry... I — I'm afraid I don't understand," Hisana confessed, the meaning of the words okiya and maiko completely escaping her, as she had never heard them before in her life.

The woman regarded her with tangible disappointment.

"No... I don't suppose you would," she murmured. "But remember this at least — you're now in an extraordinary circumstance, in a place you would never have been allowed into had Takezo not brought you here." She moved closer to straighten the front of Hisana's obi, adjust the cord that held it secure.

"Now I don't know," she continued slowly, "if that makes you an extremely lucky girl... or an unfortunate one. But I do have a word of caution for you. Takezo is not a man to be trusted. I can assure you he does not have your best interests at heart. You must take care, therefore, never to place yourself in his debt."

The door slid open, and the maid came in, wig box and cosmetics case in hand. The woman stepped away from Hisana, and watched as the maid hastily applied the white face paint and lip rouge, then set the wig upon the young girl's head. In a matter of moments, the thin, bedraggled girl from Inuzuri had vanished; in her place now stood a woman of startling beauty, with eyes as dark as the midnight silk she wore.

"You must take care," the old woman repeated softly, gazing at Hisana's flawless white face.

Hisana sat motionless on the floor, staring at the door through which the two women had disappeared moments before.

Her head felt heavy, her shoulders strained. The horrid wig felt like it was tipping forward, like it had been made for a head far larger than hers. She lifted her hands to her nape and felt for the yawning gap at the bottom edge of the wig. The headpiece wobbled — gingerly, she adjusted it until it settled a bit more comfortably. She returned her hands to her lap and noticed only then that they were trembling.

The kimono she had on was luxury she had never before encountered in her life. Made of a heavy silk of the darkest blue, shot through with faint threads of silver, it shimmered in the candlelight. The wide obi at her waist was a thick, gleaming scarlet, kept her back stiffly straight and made it difficult to breathe. She did not understand any of it — the outrageously decadent clothing, the weight of the wig on her head, the unfamiliar paste of cosmetics on her skin. They had even painted her neck — painted it and pulled the collar of her kimono down so low she could feel the cold air of the room touching her back.

She shivered, and once more tried to make sense of everything. She could not. One thing, however, was clear: she was alive. She lived now, in this moment, had somehow emerged unscathed from that terrifying dash in the forest. Violation and death had seemed so certain — but by some unfathomable miracle she still lived.

Yet her sister remained abandoned behind a boulder on that forest floor.

Hisana clung to that now as the only thing she could understand in the world. She had left Rukia behind; now she had to go back and get her. With a deep and sudden conviction drawn from the simplicity of this fact, she vowed to herself that she would find her way back to Rukia that very night. It didn't matter that she was presently in East Rukongai and had no idea even of how to get back to the southern quarter and that forest in Inuzuri. All she knew was an urgent need to escape, to flee from this strange place with its unimaginable, sinister luxury.

She sprang to her feet and rushed towards the door.

Banging his elbow against the wall, Shiba Kaien cursed again, this time a bit more loudly, though less distinctly, than the last.

"Aaaghh... fuckit, Byakuya, d'ya even know where to go?"

Grasping his arm in a firm grip, his companion hauled him away from the wall and propelled him down the darkened hallway.

"I am not an employee of this establishment. If you had simply allowed the girl to lead you to—"

"And have 'er see me puke my guts out? No, sirr, thaaank you!" Kaien's head lolled towards him, assailing him with breath reeking of alcohol. At that, Kuchiki Byakuya pushed on the arm in his grip, thrusting his friend upright and away from him.

"Hold your tongue," he snapped, stifling the urge to gag out the foul air he'd just breathed in. Damn Kaien for being the braggart he was — he could never hold his liquor, yet typically, tonight he had been the first one to imbibe! And now here he was, stumbling over his own feet, babbling, hardly able to hold up his own head!

Kaien was doubling over again, one of his hands clutching at his abdomen.

"...there yet?" he mumbled, the grimace on his face telling Byakuya he was perilously close to retching right there, on the smooth polished floor of the hallway. Byakuya hauled him upright again, and with grim distaste quickened his steps, hoping that the corner coming up ahead would lead to an open walkway, or inner courtyard, or somewhere. It didn't even have to be a godforsaken bathroom, wherever those happened to be in this confounded house! Just somewhere Kaien could throw up his dinner, so hopefully he wouldn't—

"Byak'ya..." Kaien gurgled, his face looking quite green even in the weakly-lit hallway.

"Damn it, Kaien..." Byakuya said tightly, the words not on my uniform! rushing through his head. They were almost at the corner. The way things were looking now, they would probably have to stop at that corner and let Kaien do his business there... The thought filled him with disgust, but what else could he do? It was either the corner or his uniform. And, childhood friend or no, he was damned if he'd let Shiba Kaien smear him with vomit.

"In there," he commanded, reaching the corner and letting go of Kaien's arm. Kaien stumbled forward.

It was then that the most incredible thing happened. A girl came rushing out of nowhere, crashed into Kaien, and sent him sprawling backwards onto the floor, her body atop his. Something black and hairy went flying across the hardwood. Byakuya stared down in disbelief, in total mute horror, at the severed head that had come to rest against his feet. It took him a few moments, and several rapid blinks, to realize that no, it wasn't a head, it was actually a wig that lay there. A wig that must have been dislodged from the head of the girl who had collided so suddenly with Kaien.

Kaien, however, did not have the benefit of either rational thinking or clear vision at that moment to realize this fact. He stared at the wig, black and monstrous in the dim hallway.

"H...Holy shit! Byakuya!" he sputtered, his eyes wide, riveted on the ghastly object.

"It's a wig, Kaien," Byakuya said tersely, pushing it away with his foot. The wig rolled to the side, its hollowness exposed.

Suddenly both of their gazes were drawn to the girl who now hastily scrambled off Kaien and backed away from both of them until she hit the wall. She stood flattened against it, her eyes darting from Kaien to Byakuya to the length of hallway where she had come running from. Fear strained her features — every line of her body was poised for flight.

"Are you hurt?" Byakuya demanded sharply.

She stared at him in wordless fright.

On the floor, Kaien slowly rolled to his side, shook his head in an effort to clear it, and squinted up at the girl.

"God, Byakuya," he muttered. "You're scaring the shit outta her."

She looked from Kaien then back to him, and Byakuya noticed only then that her eyes were a startling shade of blue. Against her painted face, they seemed even larger, more luminous, and although he was well aware that at that moment Kaien warranted his attention more than anything, he found it difficult to look away.

Kaien was now attempting to push himself up; the girl noticed how the force in his arm weakened, wavered. After a moment of frozen indecision, she hastily crossed to his side and sank to her knees to help him sit up. Kaien swayed, his shoulders shook. The girl leaned closer, looking into his face with concern.

It all happened too fast. Suddenly Kaien was bending over, Byakuya took a step forward, and the girl was touching Kaien's face. Then Kaien's shoulders heaved, the girl gasped, and there was silence — a brief moment of shocked silence, before Kaien started retching once more, right into the girl's lap.

For a fleeting instant, she gaped at the sodden mess soaking into the silk of her robe, and at the man who shuddered against her, spasms seizing his body. Then Kaien raised his head, drew in a shaky breath. In that moment, all trace of apprehension left her eyes. She laid a hand on his back, helped him lean against the wall.

Before Byakuya could even fathom what she intended to do next, she was already looking up at him, one hand clutching at the enormous obi knot at her back.

"Please..." she tugged on the silk, "...help me undo this."

It was extraordinary, how he had allowed himself no hesitation — she was holding up one end of the sash, and he had taken it without a word, dropping down to one knee beside her. Her hand fumbled against his, distracting him; he pulled on the cloth but it refused to give way.

"This first, I think," she told him, her fingers tracing the slim twisted cord that girded the obi. She was right; he found the small, tight knot under the layers of heavy silk. Undoing it, however, took more work, as for some inexplicable reason, his palms were suddenly sweating. After struggling with the slippery cord for a few torturous moments, he finally managed to pick the knot apart. He pulled on the sash, and the elaborate bow loosened at once, fell away into his hands in a cascade of lustrous silk.

She wasted no time, was already loosening the front part of the sash. Hastily she yanked the silk towards her side.

"Thank you," she whispered, gathering the cloth and turning back to Kaien. Briskly she ripped off a section from the end of the sash, folded it twice over into a wide square, and wiped the sweat off Kaien's brow, cleaned away the traces of vomit that streaked his chin.

The spasms of nausea had passed; nevertheless Kaien's head rolled restlessly against the wall as he sought to steady his disoriented senses. At her touch, though, he stilled — then slowly opened his eyes. The stench of vomit hung in the air. His gaze slid downward, to her ruined robe. He let out a heavy breath.

"I'm sorry," he murmured, his lips barely moving.

She merely shook her head, then proceeded to use the remaining length of obi to clean up the pooled mess on her robe. When she finished, she gathered the ruined red silk and wadded it up into a tight bundle.

Kaien was watching all the while.

"Your hair," he reminded her.

She frowned, clearly missing his meaning. He smiled weakly, tilted his head towards where the wig lay.

Her gaze slid to the side of the hallway and she stared at the wig, her face suddenly frozen, as if she were looking upon an object of menace whose existence had slipped completely from her mind. So abruptly that she startled them both, she shot to her feet.

Byakuya stood; her eyes met his.

"Forgive me," he heard her say, as she hurried past him, her sleeve brushing against his hand. A sudden, absurd notion came to him then — to grasp her arm, stop her from leaving just yet. Something about her haste made him uneasy — the panicked movement of her body, the bright glaze of fear that had returned to her eyes.

But before she could move any farther, robes rustled forbiddingly in the silence, and a figure emerged from the darkness of the hallway.

"What do we have here...?" came the soft, icy query.

And the Mistress was upon them.

|| to be continued ||