Card Captor Sakura Fan Fiction ❯ To Chase the Playing of Fingers ❯ FUTATSU ( Chapter 2 )

Disclaimer: All rights, copywrite, and ownership belongs to CLAMP. Influences drawn from Samurai Champloo belongs to its creator, Watanabe Shinichiro.

Notes of Relevance: C.P.F. was inspired, largely, after having viewed the first five episodes of Cowboy Bebop creator, Watanabe Shinichiro's latest work, Samurai Champloo. CPF is not, however, going to follow the same plotline. You might more acurately say that CPF found a niche to start from and then chose a different path.

At the end of each chapter is a glossary of sorts explaining certain terms or historical references that will not be explained by the plot. If you're unsure of certain aspects or names scroll to the chapter's end and you may very well find your explanation there.

To Chase the Playing of Fingers

by: s. stewart

a.k.a.

teabiscuit

FUTATSU

'Just to say the word

home, that one word alone,

so pleasantly cool'

-Issa, 1762-1826

I

THE MORNING MARKET boistered about in its usual way, with vendors calling out enticements for their fresh raddishes and ripe pumpkins. A myriad of colors rounded out the square with each table attempting to encourage interest with a flare of scarlet or gold. It was the usual way of village trading, and certainly this morning held nothing to separate Tomoeda from such mundanity.

Well, nothing except for the solitary figure who stood in the crowd's middle, a wide space unconsciously drawn around him by side stepping shoppers.

He cut a striking image in his blue and yellow yukata, his shoulder length blue-black hair held back in an antiquated tail high on the back of his head. Perhaps more beguiling than the thin wire frames that covered his dark eyes, was the amused half smile that cocked his lips into a self satisfied smirk. His hands rested easily at his side, the left poised casually over the hilt of his short bladed wakizashi.

He continued to stare ahead into the teaming bustle of people as they patrolled the market place's four corners, his internal amusement never faltering. There was a flash of pale green before him, and then a familiar voice called out a greeting.

"Good morning, Eriol-san!"

Eriol turned and bowed in return. "Sakura-san, good morning to you as well. Are you shopping for the Mokuren?"

The tea house waitress nodded in reply and gestured toward her overflowing basket. "The vegetables are excellent today, it's unusual to have such a variety so early in the season."

Eriol eyed her kimono with quiet appreciation. The flaxen green cloth was finely embroidered with a jasmin and ivy edging. The color suited her oddly colored eyes perfectly- although, he really wasn't one to talk about oddly colored eyes, considering his own: blue eyes, no matter how dark, were not a trait indigenous to Japan.

"Are you waiting for someone?" the girl inquired.

"Possibly," he answered enigmatically. The verb choice generally referred to a set appointment, and Eriol was quite sure that the person in question was not planning to meet him in the least.

Sakura frowned, her curiosity piqued. She shrugged it off though and shifted her basket to the other arm. "Akemi-san will be making kibidango with squash."

"Is your Akemi-san hoping to find a Momotaro?" he teased lightly, returning his gaze to the crowd.

"It's best not to rely on legends, Eriol-san," she said.

"That's far too pessimistic a thought for one as energetic as yourself." There was a figure dressed in somber gray moving steadily through the crowd now. Eriol's eyes narrowed. Was that him?

"It's the truth. If you place your dreams in the hopes of someday finding a giant peach, your dreams will always stay dreams." She shifted the basket again.

The figure in gray was closer now- still though, Eriol couldn't see his face. "Sakura-san, I thank you for the conversation, but I feel it would be best if you went back to your Akemi-san. Right now."

"Eriol-san?"

The crowd shifted and the man's face came into view. Yes... it was him. Eriol's lips straightened into a tight line, his hand firmly gripped on the hilt of his wakizashi.

"There's going to be trouble here. Return to the Mokuren now, Sakura-san." Without removing his gaze from the swiftly moving man, he pushed gently at the girl's shoulder, causing her to stumble forward.

"Eriol-san, what is it?" she demanded.

The man had spotted him. Frowning grimly, he withdrew his blade entirely. "Just go! Leave now!"

Finally heeding his words, Sakura clutched her basket to her chest and ran for the square's edge. Already, the two armed men had caused the crowd to thin and spread as vendors dropped down their screens and customers withdrew behind secure walls.

Within seconds, the small space Eriol had previously occupied swelled into a wide circle of swirling dust. In its middle stood the bespectacled samurai, his shoulders bent forward and his sword arm cocked at a tight angle.

Across from him stood the stranger in grey, one hand wrapped securely around the staff of an elongated kusarigama, its sickle shaped blades glinting brightly in the morning light. His other hand was wrapped several times over in the weapon's trademark swinging chain. With his mouth widely stretched, the man let out a loud bark of laughter.

"Hiiragizawa! I see you still carry that little knife of yours. Was your father's nodachi too heavy to carry?"

Eriol did not return the laughter. "Uetake, I did not find you to reminince. There are matters to be resolved."

Uetake laughed again as he swung his kusarigama lazily in short fluid archs. "Resolution, Hiiragizawa? You seek resolution? That I can give you, my young boy."

The archs grew longer and Eriol tensed, knowing the attack would come quickly and without warning.

"You have no claim to me, Uetake." The archs slowed as if their movements were the casual shrugging of shoulders. The twin blades twisted as they were swung, the metal sending blinding stabs of light over the dusty square.

Uetake grinned widely and ran a red tongue over his two rows of stained yellow teeth. "You make me want to eat again, boy. But enough of this."

The first strike came to his left, a sickening lethargic twist of chain and blade. With a snap, Uetake had the weapon back in his hands. "Still quick, are you?"

Eriol dodged another blow and crouched, waiting for a pause between the archs to close in. Hoping to trick him, he lunged out with his blade. Uetake swung out his chain, his leer ever present. The grey clad man did not see Eriol bring up his saya up from the opposite side.

With a clang of metal on metal, the wakizashi's blade met the twin sickles and both recoiled. As Uetake realed from the backlash, Eriol's saya struck his right wrist. The snap of bone echoed loudly into the whirl of red dust.

A line of blood seeped from Uetake's mouth as he bit into his lip to stop from crying out. Eriol bared his own teeth in a stretch of grim satisfaction. With only one hand at his use, Uetake could no longer use his kusarigama to strike at a distance. The fight was now up close and personal.

"You've improved since last we met. Your father would be proud," Uetake cried jeeringly.

A screen of red fell over Eriol's vision. "You have no right to speak of him!"

Without caution, he threw himself into the fray, his arm length blade easily dodging the larger weapon to swipe at Uetake's exposed throat. The rough wood of the staff slammed painfully into his ribs as he took a blow from the side.

He lept backwards nimbly, his sword still held at ready. Uetake mimicked his stance, his broken wrist tucked to his chest. With a gutteral cry, Eriol ran forward, this time slashing toward the ground. Despite his injury, Uetake parried the blow and once again both stood facing each other, foreheads lined with sweat and chests heaving.

And once again, Eriol flew forward, a new target in mind. Uetake avoided the first lunge, but the second glanced off his temple. The cut was not deep enough to fell him, but it drew blood nevertheless and Uetake's eyes lost all their mirth.

Eriol didn't wait from him to recover. Forethought left behind, he swept forward, the second of his two swords drawn now. With both blades whirling, he saw the wide open expanse of Uetake's stomach. With a loud cry, he knocked aside the kusarigama and struck true.

The clang of metal struck his ears and the recoil sent him backwards. Having unconsciously closed his eyes, Eriol re-opened them. The official from the day before stood over Uetake, his outmoded chokuto held out in defense.

"Hiiragizawa! Withdraw immediately!" Li demanded.

"This does not concern you," Eriol said without removing his eyes from Uetake's kneeling crouch. He could see the glimmer of the man's stained teeth from beneath Li's arm.

"You're disturbing the peace and endangering the villagers," Li intoned.

"Move out of the way, Li-san. This only involves myself and that filth at your feet."

Li did not move nor did he lower his sword. "Sir," he said addressing Uetake, "Take your leave."

Uetake rose unsteadily and flashed a grin in Eriol's direction. "I thank you, sir, for helping an old man. I'll be seeing you, my boy."

Eriol leapt forward just as Uetake dropped a small packet from his hakama. A cloud of black dust shot up and blinded his eyes. When the smoke cleared, there remained only himself and Li who regarded him with an angered frown.

"You fool!" Eriol cried as he struck out with his blades. Li parried and whipped around, chokuto at ready.

"This was not my place of preference, but if you insist Hiiragizawa, I will not disappoint," Li said as he avoided another lunge. In a blinding swirl of blades and color, both struck and dodged, met and recoiled. Blow was met with parry, feint with counter, and neither found ground to advance upon.

In a dizzying display of skill, the two samurai leapt across the square, small clouds of red dust whirling behind each movement as tiny cyclones. Witnesses from behind their walls peered through windows, gaping and shuddering as one struck and another evaded. A lone girl, her vegetable filled basket left forgotten at her feet, dressed in the palest of greens, watched with her hand at her throat, a tight anxiety caught in her throat.

It was she who first caught sight of what would be the true excitement for Tomoeda that morning.

The initial inkling of a plan tiptoed into her mind as over fifty men flooded into the square, all armed, and surrounded both Hiiragizawa and Li. An authorative voice rang out, the feminine utterances immediately recognizable.

"Hiiragizawa Eriol! Li Syaoran! You are both to be executed tomorrow morning for the murder of my husband, the late prefect of Tomoeda. Witnesses have come forward who have testified to having heard you gloat over the act while drinking in the Mokuren Tea House two nights ago."

Isoda Kadiri sat on a carried dais, her figure artfully both solemn and vindicative. In her sombre colored kimono, she struck a painful object, and there was no doubt that the fifty men who stood at ready to seize either Li or Hiiragizawa believed her every word.

It was Eriol who first found his voice. "Who are these witnesses?"

Isoda smirked and waved her hand. A small space cleared for a squat woman with grey lined black hair and round cheeks. A small gasp came up from those still hiding in their shops and houses.

"Endo Akemi, repeat what you told me a few hours ago," Isoda ordered.

The hardy woman did not lift her eyes from the ground as she spoke out tonelessly. "Two nights ago, roughly before midnight, these two showed up and demanded lodging. As they were both armed, I let them in. After serving their meals, I made to leave but stopped after hearing a part of their conversation. I listened behind a screen as they spoke." She broke off abruptly.

"Continue, Akemi-san. Tell us what these murderers spoke of that night," Isoda said dramatically.

The stout woman went on, her voice monotone and flat. "They were laughing. One said to the other, 'Not a hard job, was it my friend? Just a trifle for the fee of three hundred mon.' The other said back, 'That Isoda squealed like a pig though...how disgusting. I was hoping for a challenge.' They laughed again. I crept back to the kitchen and wait there until dawn. I was too frightened to speak up until this morning."

"So you see, there is no point in denying it, Hiiragizawa, Li. Akemi-san is not the only witness. There are others. But I need not hear more. Tomorrow, you both die." She waved her hand carelessly. "Seize them."

From her stoop at the square's edge, the girl in green reached for her dropped basket, her lips tightly drawn. There was only path left to her now, and while it didn't settle well with her stomach, she was resolved.

She watched as the two captured men were escorted back through the street.

Indeed, fate had given her an opportunity. She would be a fool not to take it.

II

HER JASMIN AND ivy trimmed kimono had been sold along with the rest of her finer clothing. The vendor had been nearly gleeful when she deposited ream upon ream of brightly colored cloth, all carefully embroidered by her hand and none overly worn. She now crept along the side of the northern gates clad in a faded red hakama and topped with a short sleeved grey haori, equally faded.

For the journey ahead of her, these clothes would do just fine.

Sakura paused as she neared the gates. The two guards placed for the midnight watch were talking softly, the occasional murmur of their voices rising into the air. She counted the seconds until they would begin their rounds- a twenty minute patrol along the length of the northern wall. At two hundred, the two guards broke off their conversation and headed in opposite directions.

Sakura stayed low to the ground and held her breath until the guard had passed. She counted to ten and then dashed for the gates.

The village of Tomoeda was set up much like any other prefecture: four walls rounded the village, with both the northern and southern gates used dually as barracks and, when the occasion called for it, cells to hold criminals and other insurgents. In Tomoeda, the northern gates housed the twelve cells used to keep local miscreants.

It was to these cells that Sakura was hurrying. There was only a short window of opportunity before the guards would return.

She entered the first corridor, lit only by the rare lantern and cautiously moved forward. The first cell was empty as were the second and third. Anxiously she approached the fourth, ever mindful that time was passing and with it her chances of success. She almost passed by the fourth cell, thinking it empty, until her quick eyes caught the glint of another's gaze from within its depths.

"Eriol-san? Li-san?" Sakura called out softly. There came no response. She tried again. "I've come to help you- it's me, Kinomoto Sak-"

Her words were cut off as an arm reached out from within the cell and seized her roughly.

"Have you come to lie as well?" Li Syaoran's voice rang out hoarsely. "Have you come to gloat over the bribe Isoda paid you?"

"Let her go, Li." Hiiragizawa Eriol stepped into view and while his entrance was a relief, his tone was not friendly.

With a grunt, Li released her haori and sent Sakura stumbling backward. Piqued, she rubbed neck and scowled in the darkness.

"Akemi-san had no choice, Li-san. Isoda has her husband. And I certainly didn't know about any of this until this morning when it was announced for all." Sakura edged up closer, mindful not to get within arm's reach again.

"No more 'Isoda-sama?'" Li taunted coldly.

"I think I'll only free Eriol-san," Sakura returned waspishly. "As you can't be polite, Li-san, I don't see why I should help you."

"What do you mean?" Hiiragizawa asked in much warmer tone than before.

She sighed impatiently. "I mean that I'm here to let you out."

"Why?" Li asked, his suspicion all but tangible.

She hesitated; she would free them either way, but she did rather hope that they'd agree to her bargain. "I'm looking for someone, and I need help to find him."

"Who?" Li demanded.

"I don't know," she admitted but continued before Li could protest. "The guards are going to return any minute now. So either you promise to help me now or I'll leave."

"I'll help you," Hiiragizawa agreed without pause.

"I'm not leaving without my sword," Li snapped by way of agreement.

Sakura smiled in the darkness; the first step was made. "Fine. But first I have to get you out of here."

"And how do you plan to do that?"

She rolled her eyes, thankful that Li couldn't see the gesture in the shadows. "Have patience, Li-san, and you'll soon find out."

She pulled out the jade and ivory inlaid comb that held her hair back. Using her teeth, she separated the ridges until only the longest remained. This ridge she skillfully inserted into the lock. After a few twists and jabs, a loud 'click' reverberated and the door swung open. Just as quickly, she re-fixed her comb and stabbed it back through her hair.

"Your swords are probably in the armory. We'll have to hurry though; we've wasted enough time as it is," she whispered.

Along side her, the glare of Hiiragizawa's spectacles flashed tiny spits of light into the corridor. From the fall of his foot steps, Li was not far behind. The armory was at the opposite end of the corridor and most likely her lockpicking skills would be needed again.

As it turned out, the armory's door had two different locks, one situated near the door's top and the other at its bottom. While Li made impatient sounds behind her, she yanked out her comb and set to picking the locks. Two clicks later and Hiiragizawa pushed the heavy door open.

Had she the time to do so, Sakura would have loved to spend at least an hour perusing the armory's contents. Most of the weaponry was dated, some looking to be as old as the battlefields of Sekigahara. While Li and Hiiragizawa searched for their swords, she knelt by a shelf holding a variety of daggers, their blades teethed with enamel strips that glowed in the gloom.

A medium sized dagger, its hilt inlaid with a curious pattern of obsidian and garnet, caught her attention, and without a spark of guilt, she tucked the knife up her sleeve. Straightening, she walked over to Hiiragizawa who stood, an amused twist on his lips.

"Did you find everything?" she asked softly.

"Yes, however our friend Li seems to be having some difficulty."

Sakura followed his train of sight and saw Li, crouched on the floor, a furious expression in place.

"Li-san?"

"They tried to clean it- the fools actually tried to polish the blade using their usual slop," he whispered fiercely.

"Li-san, we have to go. You can fix it once in the forest."

He grunted in assent, and once again Sakura led the way back to the main hall and the exit through the gates.

She gestured for them to wait while she hurried on ahead to check for clear passage. The small bit of lantern light showed that the first of the guards was quickly approaching. It would be tight.

"Follow me," she ordered once returned, and without word, they stepped quietly behind her.

While not having grown up in Tomoeda, Sakura had spent enough time in the village to have more than a passing familiarity with the various passageways and alleys. It was with this knowledge that she led her two companions through the heart of the village without raising alarm or drawing attention.

Another five minutes passed and without fanfare or thankfully discovery, all three slipped out of Tomoeda and into the dense forest that surrounded the area.

III

HITOKOE-KAZE FOREST or Hito-ka as most called it, was an expanse rarely traveled through. During the early daylight hours, the forest was much like any other of its kind. Damp, green, and bristling with life; Hito-ka held no mystique. Come the falling of night though, when Hiruko, the blazing god of the heavens, crept away to his rest, the demons of the dark hours reigned free. The forbidden lovers, Shina-To-Be with her vengeful winds and Tsuki-Yumi who bashfully clung to his round orb in the night, released their cries of longing.

Hito-ka rung with their anguish, the very trees acting as vocal cords to the gods' ancient words.

The forest held a particular romance for the girls in Tomoeda, as would any legend that spoke of lovers denied their chance at fate and yet continued to strive. The romance of the story was lost completely though as Sakura's inaugural sunset in the forest began to pass. The first of the howling winds rung its way down through the beech bows and clung to the vulnerable skin of her ears and throat.

If she closed her eyes, which she refused to do and yet did all the same, the shrieking wind metamorphosed into ghostly fingers that stroked hungrily along her flesh.

Unconsciously, she drew nearer to the two male bodies that had accompanied her for more than half a day without once saying a word.

Desperate to take her mind off what kind of devils the winds were hiding, she asked the obvious question. "Where are we going?"

Li turned and regarded her with a cold expression. "Do you mean to say that you've been leading us this far with no destination in mind?"

Sakura blinked, surprised. "I've been leading you? I've never even been in Hito-ka before."

"Decide then, where you want to go. The sooner I pay my debt, the sooner I can return to my master."

"But that's why you're here! I have no idea where to begin looking!" she cried.

Hiiragizawa, whose face had been pensively drawn for the past few hours, spoke up quietly. "Sakura-san, perhaps you should explain who it is you're trying to find."

She glanced up hesitantly from beneath her bangs and winced under Li's angry expression. "It's a long story, Eriol-san. Perhaps we should stop for the night?"

Another ghostly wail of wind struck down through the thick bows overhead. Hiiragizawa nodded wearily. "Sounds sensible."

Li Syaoran was cornered, and he hated to be cornered. There were few times in his life thus far that he'd ever been forced into a situation that he hadn't, at least on some level, wanted to do as well. Or in the very least, feel would be the best choice in the matter. His current situation, however, had him pressed so tightly between rock and earth that he felt the suffocating frustration as physically as two hands wrapped around his throat.

The incident in Tomoeda should never have occurred. He never should have been manipulated by that Isoda woman, and he never should have been arrested. The right way of things would have had him defeating those poorly trained soldiers and removing Isoda of her head. Kimura would have taken on his new title as Tomoeda's prefect, and then Syaoran would have returned to the capital and presented Musashi-sama with a tidily finished affair.

Instead, he had failed due to a paltry weakness that he knew would have his mother and the Elders ashamed. He couldn't raise his sword to those fifty men, not even a one, not even in defense. Their skills were nothing compared to his own, and with that other guy to help, Syaoran was sure that the matter could have been resolved quickly and efficiently.

Still though, all while that tea house owner droned on about some fictitious conversation, the debate had raged mentally. While his logic told him that the best avenue was to take out the soldiers, his heart had quailed. Those men did not know the error they were committing. They were acting honorably on the orders of the woman they considered their master. They did not know of Isoda's corruption or of her lust for power. They only knew that an order had been given and it was their duty to follow.

Syaoran simply could not fault them with their lives for doing what he too would have done given the same circumstances.

He allowed his family's sword to be seized and his hands tied. He did not fight back when they threw him in a cell. He did not complain when they fed him a bowl of slop and tepid water. In fact, he was nearly the model for compliance. But what else would his principles have him do? To have fought would mean death for those men, and as he knew then, their deaths would have been causeless.

He was many things, but he was not yet ready to shoulder that sort of guilt.

He had yet to feel the anger that accompanied that morning's events come that same night, but when he caught sight of that Mokuren girl skulking about in the dark dressed like a street urchin, his control snapped. There was finally someone culpable to direct his ire at.

He had grabbed her, wanting to see shame and fear in her face, wanting to see the mask she must have surely used to have tricked him so soundly from ever suspecting her slip away. Instead though, the girl merely gaped at him, surprise and anger of her own reflected in those strangely colored eyes of hers.

She offered her barter then: escape in exchange for help. That irritating Hiiragizawa agreed quickly enough, and while Syaoran agreed in his usual obtuse way, he was convinced that this particular choice would prove to be the kind that reshapes a life's direction.

Less than a day later, he sat beneath a dripping cedar, his stomach empty, with a guy who he liked even less than the simpering scribes who doted on him in Hong Kong and a girl who was currently occupied with picking at the precious stones inlaid in the dagger she had swiped in the armory. He was kilometers away from his master who would, most likely, be receiving word of his having been killed or some other such nonsense within another day's time.

Syaoran looked up just as the girl tucked the dagger back up her sleeve.

"I was eight years old then," she started without preamble. "We- my parents and I- had arrived in Tomoeda just that morning. Otou-san was a teacher and Okaa-san made medicine from plants and herbs. They planned to open a small shop."

Syaoran watched as the girl tugged restlessly on the edge of her worn haori. The flickers of the weak fire played an orange glow across her face, and her words gained a new level of interest, as if the atmosphere garnered to her employment.

"It was cold that night, very cold, and Okaa-san let me sleep in their room to stay warm. I remember very little of what happened afterward. There were many men, or there might have only been one. I only saw the shadows and heard the pound of feet from beneath my blanket." She dropped her sleeve and sighed tiredly. "I was too frightened to peak from underneath for many hours. It was only when I realized that my blanket was soaked through with something too thick to be water that I finally pushed it back."

"Sakura-san-" Hiiragizawa began but she held up her hand. Syaoran bit back his own words as she continued.

"They were both dead. You heard Isoda, Li-san, describe it, so..." She cleared her throat and went on. "I think I must have screamed. Like I said, I don't really remember. But someone else was in the room then. He was young, I could tell by his face. Fourteen, maybe fifteen, but very tall. He carried a samurai's katana and a shorter blade, a ninja tou. Despite the horrible scene around me, I wasn't frightened by him. I simply knew that he was not the one who killed them."

"How foolish..." Syaoran muttered under his breath. "Just like a child to believe any fancy that comes along."

Kinomoto lifted her chin proudly and shot him a sharp glance. "That may be true, Li-san, but sometimes it's best to trust your instincts. Everything else can be changed or manipulated, but what one feels- that's something to be believed." Her gaze dropped down to the fire and she picked up her last thread of thought.

"The boy, because that's really all he was despite the swords he carried, picked up a small case from the floor. I didn't know what it was then, but the instrument he played was a violin. I had never heard such a sound before, and the song he played made everything disappear. Like magic, I thought once again that my parents were merely sleeping and the blood that soaked the bed rolls and pooled on the floor was nothing more than a cold night's typical damp."

She lifted a hand to her hair and pulled out the same comb she used to pick the locks back in Tomoeda. She held it out on the palm of her hand and traced lightly over the small cluster of pink and white flowers depicted on its head.

"I woke the next morning to my parents' murder and this comb held tightly in my hand. I could only remember the vague details I told you and the mysterious boy with his violin. Even the last words he said were dim when I woke that morning. 'I'll find them, Sakura. Work hard until then,' he had said. Officials came from the capital and questioned me, but eventually the whole incident was written off as the work of a faulty robbery."

She swept the comb back up through her hair and fixed an uneasy smile across her lips. "So you see, Li-san, Eriol-san, I need to find this boy, this samurai who plays a violin. He knows who killed my parents, and probably, he knows why as well."

Hiiragizawa looked appropriately serious when he finally replied. "Then we should head south."

"There's trouble in Izu," Syaoran warned.

"These are troubling times," Hiiragizawa answered with a careless shrug.

"Why south?" the girl asked.

"The closest port open to the west is in Shimoda," he said shortly.

"I see," she said sounding far from understanding.

"Your samurai, Sakura-san, plays the violin, a western creation. It's a good place to start," Hiiragizawa explained patiently.

"So you will help me then?" she finally asked, her voice soft.

"That was the trade, wasn't it? You'd free us in exchange for aid in finding this violin playing savior of yours." Hiiragizawa leaned forward to add a few pieces of brush to the fire. It immediately sparked skyward as it ate into the new kindling.

"Well, yes, but..." Syaoran watched as the girl sighed, her lips drawn downward into a frown. "I won't hold you to it. It was unfair for me to do that- who wouldn't agree with his life on the line? This is my problem; it's wrong for me to force it upon you."

"Sakura-san, I owe you a debt nevertheless. I will accompany you to Shimoda; once there, we'll see." The well dressed samurai smiled benignly and gestured in Syaoran's direction. "Besides, I'm sure our friend here plans to make a hasty departure. I could hardly let you in good faith attempt this travel on your own."

Syaoran scowled and pushed down the impulse to immediately deny any such departure on his part. The girl was giving him a chance to return to his duties. He was free to clean up the mess in Tomoeda and return to his master. His tenure with Musashi-sama was nearly at an end anyway. Another two months and he was to return to Hong Kong and pick up the leadership of his clan.

There was absolutely no reason to embark on this fool's search for a mysterious boy who most likely never existed in the first place.

He glanced across the fire at the Kinomoto girl who was curled up against the white trunk of a bleached larch. She rested, quiet and still, her pale skin dyed a translucent crimson by the strengthened fire. He could imagine so easily the horror of her eight year old self waking to find the two most pivotal people in her young life slaughtered. He could picture the scene to an almost empirical level: the metallic taste of blood in the air, the sticky thickness of it beneath her feet, and the dank stench of ended life clinging to her nostrils. All of her childhood innocence stolen in a few hours' time.

He watched as her breathing slowed, her moment of rest changing to a needed slumber. The duties waiting him back at his master's seemed to dim in that slight moment. The strong compulsion to return and do as duty required faded to a mere annoyance. There was something...something to be found if he followed this path of fate. Some great unknown was waiting him, perhaps in Shimoda, perhaps elsewhere.

Just as he felt when he first met the girl, Syaoran was convinced of a hidden mystery beneath her common appearance. Perhaps it was this possible discovery, this possible unearthing of whatever secrets this girl held, that drove him to forget about Tomoeda's troubles and the man whose signet ring he still carried.

He withdrew his gaze from Kinomoto's pale cheeks and found his other companion's amused eyes set on him. With a scowl, he spat, "What do you want, Hiiragizawa?"

"Please, Li-san, there's no need to be so upset. I was merely going to remark that it seems you've made up your mind on Sakura-san's kind offer."

"Hnm," Syaoran grunted, eyes narrowed. "It's true, I have."

"Then when will you be leaving us?" Hiiragizawa asked with a careless flick of his hand.

Syaoran's frown deepened. "I'm not one to back out on my word. I promised to help her, and I plan to follow through with it."

"Your mother would be proud," came the non chalant reply. With a twist, Syaoran was on his feet, sword withdrawn and poised at the unperturbed Hiiragizawa's throat.

"What do you know of my mother?" he snarled.

Hiiragizawa blinked, undisturbed. "What mother wouldn't be proud of a son honoring his word?"

Syaoran lowered his sword, still suspicious. "I don't trust you, Hiiragizawa. You have something else in mind than simply helping Kinomoto-san."

"And you don't?" Hiiragizawa countered, that complacent smile of his traded for a smirk of smooth appraisal. "No one ever does something for another selflessly; human nature is inherantly selfish, and I am perhaps the most selfish of all."

"You say this proudly."

"I am proud of all my qualities- I am, after all, the creator of them."

Syaoran reseated himself and turned back to the fire. "I really don't like you," he said quietly.

"We only hate what we know to be part of ourselves," Hiiragizawa rejoindered in the manner of a wiseman. "The unknown is unrecognizable and thusly incapable of response. It is only the inately familiar which draws passionate emotion. Do you mean to say that you think we are alike then, Li-san?"

"I don't mean anything at all! Quit talking and go back to whatever it is you think about when not being irritating," Syaoran snapped before purposely clasping his sword in his lap and closing his eyes.

He blocked out whatever comment Hiiragizawa returned with and cleared his mind of all worrisome thoughts. The first lesson he was taught as a child was that the mind could not survive without the body, just as the body could not survive without the mind. And for both to be at their best, sleep was needed.

IV

PRE-DAWN WAS a strange thing in spring. The normally vibrant colors of spring were muted in those early hours, as if the world, in its moment of rest, was drained of all life and vitality. Even the inky blue of night lost its fervor in favor for opaque grey.

But this half bred Japanese found he liked these spring pre-mornings more than any time of the day, more than any moment in the year.

He remembered once, as a child, his mother with her wide blue eyes and freckled cheeks, showing him the far away planets that liked to hide beneath this curtain of asphalt and shale. She pointed out the mystery of these giant balls of gas and heat, some frozen at the core; she told him the legends of his father's country, of her country, and how for both, the heavens held the same intrigue, the same fascination.

"You see, Eriol, at heart, we all respond in the same way. The emotions of your father are no different from the emotions of me. Love is love, Japanese or English."

Hate was hate as well, no different despite the change in language and land. Eriol learned that within hours of footfall in this exotic land those few years before. It struck him as oddly ironic that he should meet someone who shared such a similar story as his own, minus the violin toting samurai, of course.

He wasn't nearly that lucky.

He opened his eyes, the eyes that betrayed him to those who valued fullness of blood over everything, over everyone. He opened those eyes and fixed them on the girl who might prove to take the shape of his own unique form of salvation. It wasn't often that fate handed you a journey destined to create or end your future.

And he had to admit, this particular package was particularly attractive.

Already there was a strange pitter-patter of affection in his breast for this girl, this Kinomoto Sakura. He felt the urge to protect her, to guide her, to help her with whatever she might ask. This odd emotion countered hardily with his usually very selfish heart. At the moment, it was both self serving and self less for him to accompany her and help her with her quest, but once at Shimoda, what was there to stop his usual wants from taking precedence?

There was nothing he admitted; nothing to prevent him from acting as selfishly as he had these twenty years past. For once though, Eriol felt guilty over it. Maybe this was a sign of his maturity; his mother would have liked that.

"How romantic, Eriol!" he could imagine her saying as her strong hands kneaded the bread dough she made daily, "Like a fairy-tale; did I ever tell you how I met your father?" He would nod eagerly, and she'd repeat the story he knew by heart. How his father came to teach in London, how he saved her from a group of thieves, how they fell in love and ran off to Wales to marry.

His mother never went beyond that part, though. She always stopped before the story lost its romance and became a tragedy.

"Maa...so maudlin this morning, aren't you Eriol?" he murmured aloud, a self depreciating smile in place.

He could only blame the morning's lack of color. It took a stronger will than his to imagine happiness when the heavens only showed bleakness.

"It's so early..." the very girl he had been ruminating over shook her head free from sleep's hold and blinked wearily in the damp air.

"Nearing the tiger's end," Eriol bowed his head in greeting. "Good morning, Sakura-san."

"Good morning..." she gazed over the small camp site, the fire having died hours before. Her eyes finally settled on the seated yet still sleeping form of Li. She regarded him with puzzled consideration before returning to Eriol. "Li-san looks less fierce when asleep."

"Sleep always shows us at our most vulnerable," he said quixotically.

"Does it really?" she asked, her voice paper light the chill morning. "I was told once that its when we love that we're most vulnerable."

"But to love doesn't exclude deception. Love is an emotion much like any other, easily hidden and easily manipulated."

"Then perhaps it's more true to say that it's recognition of love that makes us vulnerable." She shrugged and lifted a hand to her tussled hair. "This is too serious a subject when one is both hungry and longing for a bath."

Eriol sought out the mists overhead as they peaked in between the thick brambles of the cedars and lurches. "There's a small outpost with an inn just beyond Hito-ka; by midday we should reach it."

"I would advise against staying in Hasaki for the night." The gruff tones of the stony faced Chinese swordsman cut in curtly.

"Why's that Li-san?" asked Sakura

"My master has spoken of it often. It's the center for a bakufu support group in the Musashi Han. Two scouting units have returned with members killed or kidnaped after being sent to Hasaki. It is not a safe place."

Eriol smiled wanly. "They were polite enough when I went through."

"But you weren't escorting a young girl then, were you?" Li asked pointedly.

"I'm not a young girl; I'm seventeen," Sakura returned.

"Nevertheless, he has a point Sakura-san," Eriol began with a sigh. "No one questions a lone traveler, especially when he carries a weapon frequently used. But a woman always stirs interest."

"Always stirs trouble, you mean," Li muttered under his breath.

Sakura lifted her hands in defeat. "Alright, I can save my bath for our next stop."

"Let's go- the earlier we arrive at Hasaki, the better our chances for leaving without protest."

Eriol waited for first Li to pass him and then Sakura's slighter form before following. He wondered briefly how it was that Li knew the way considering his unfamiliarity with the forest. He even considered bringing it up but decided a quiet morning would be a more peaceful morning.

He searched overhead once more, his shoulders inexplicably lightened by the faint hue of pink pushing from underneath the horizon's edge. As much as he enjoyed these colorless pre-mornings, it was perhaps only due to the fact that in comparison, the brightness of dawn seemed even more spectacular.

"Pretty..."

His attention jerked forward to Sakura who stopped mid step, her face turned skyward and her lips parted in appreciation.

"It's so very pretty," she breathed, her arm rising as if to cup the steadily glowing sky in the palm of her hand.

"It's only dawn, Kinomoto-san. It happens everyday," Li said with what Eriol was beginning to recognize as the thin samurai's attempt at sounding uncaring.

"Yes Li-san, but that's what makes it so beautiful. Every day starts with something so pretty; how can you not feel happy knowing that such a scene waits you each day?"

Eriol smiled and felt that same strange rush of appreciation for this peculiar and willful girl. He saw the slight flush of Li's cheeks and noted that at least he wasn't the only one being affected.

"Very true, Sakura-san. It does make one feel joyful to move forward, if only to see another dawn."

She nodded and their walk began again.

FUTATSU

'Just to say the word

home, that one word alone,

so pleasantly cool'

-Issa

To Chase the Playing of Fingers

futatsufin

21oct04

1409

Historical odds and ends you might just want to know:

1. Kibidango and Momotaro: a dumpling made from wheat, this tasty snack is famous through out Japan because of the legend of Momotaro, or Peach Boy. The legend goes that a long childless couple one day found a giant peach floating down a river. When they cut it open, a boy came out who they named Momotaro. When Momotaro was older, he heard of a demon who causing havoc for villagers. Armed with only his guile and his mother's kibidango, Momotaro enlisted the aid of a dog, a monkey, and a pheasant. After bribing said animals with the kibidango, Momotaro challenged the demon and then defeated him.

2. Kusarigama: another fun weapon to exploit, this particular choix du jour made for a nasty decimation. The sickle blade was often coupled with two others that ran from a chain drawn through a wooden staff. It could be used for distance attacks or close contact. Either way, the kusarigama was not a weapon you'd want find yourself leveled against.

3. Clothing; haori, yukata, hakama, kimono etc: there are many different styles of dress used during this time period, although they all tend to fall within eight groups. Just to clarify though, the yukata was generally a summer worn casual garb. Kimono was not exclusively a female dress, although modern times refer to it as so. But for the sake of directness, I'm using said clothing as we generally know them. Ie: yukata=male garb, kimono=female. A haori was a short sleeved jacket worn with a hakama, or wide legged cotton or twill pants.

5. Shina-To-Be, Tsuki-Yumi: These were, respectively, the goddess of wind and the god of the moon. I took an extreme liberty in portraying them as forbidden lovers, there is nothing that I've read so far that has ever depicted these Japanese deities as having affection for each other. I just like the idea of my fictitious Hito-ka roaring with the cries of sorrowful lovers.

4. Shimoda, Izu: In March 1854, the Treaty of Kanagawa was forced upon Japan by US representative, Commodore Matthew Perry. The treaty made Japan open up two ports of western trade, one of which being Shimoda in the Izu Han. Izu, if you look on a map, is a peninsula southwest from Tokyo, or this story, the Musashi Han. Izu's presently famous for its hot springs and housing the magnificent Mt. Fuji.

5. Hour of the tiger, etc: Until 1873, time in Japan was colloquially referred to in terms of the Chinese Zodiac. Hours would range like follows: 11pm-1am was the Hour of the Rat, 1am-3am was the Hour of the Ox, 3am-5am was the Hour of the Tiger and so on. Japan did use a 'clock system,' however as the Japanese day was divided into six hours of daylight and six hours of night which depended upon the season, such clocks were in a continuous state of change and as they were so rarely used were hardly a commodity to communicate by.

6: Bakufu: Directly translated, 'bakufu' means 'tent government' and this referred to the 15th and 14th Tokugawa shoguns frequently moving control centers, also known as armies. As the shogun's basis of power during this period relied almost entirely on force and army strength, the necessity of frequently moving was due to qwelling different Han that showed sign of rebellion.