Card Captor Sakura Fan Fiction ❯ To Chase the Playing of Fingers ❯ MITTSU ( Chapter 3 )

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At the end of each chapter is a glossary of sorts explaining certain terms or historical references that will not be explained by the plot.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.

Thanks to: I appreciate and welcome all the reviews..

This chapter's currently unbeta-ed. Will change eventually.

To Chase the Playing of Fingers

by: s. stewart

a.k.a.

teabiscuit

MITTSU

'Thus spring begins; old

stupidities repeated,

new errs invented'

-Issa, 1762-1826

I

AFTER FIVE MINUTES had passed, each second feeling much like an eternity, Sakura knew that they could not leave Hasaki soon enough. It was bad enough when she first entered the small outpost, all rough bark and ungraceful edges. The men stared as if she were an apparition concocted by Hito-ka to entice them to Shina-To-Be's vengeful winds.

If not for the comforting presence of the two well skilled and well armed men on each side, she might have thrown all propriety to the ground and made a mad dash for the outpost's northern exit.

She puzzled over this strange reaction to her presence as she munched on the freshly broiled river eel and rice the inn's owner kept a steady supply of for their table. Surely it was not so odd for a woman to pass through Hasaki for the men to act so deprived. Curious, she checked to see if anyone was paying attention before lowering her head and whispering to her companions.

"Does no one travel through Hasaki that they all act so strangely?"

Eriol placed down his chopsticks and clasped his hands in silent thanks to the much needed meal. "Not recently. It's as Li-san said, sides are being drawn all throughout Japan and even in this small outpost there is trouble. The tourists who were brave enough to chance Hito-ka's winds dare not chance stirring up hostilities here. The rumors all describe it as a nesting ground for trouble."

"What if they find out who Li-san is?" she asked, her bowl drawn close to disguise her moving her lips. Beside her, Li shifted restlessly.

"We leave," Eriol stated simply.

Sakura put down her emptied bowl and gestured for another round. She stopped any refusals before they came. "It is best to always eat as if it's your last meal. Hunger doesn't wait on convenience."

"Is this a requirement in Japan? To memorize annoying platitudes?" Li asked, his tone half annoyed half curious.

Sakura looked surprised, her delicate eyebrows raised as she considered his question. "Everyone says them, so I never think of them as platitudes. Don't they you have common sayings in China?"

The bowl clattered heavily onto the table's top, a ring of rice spilling out as it curved in a slow arch. Li's eyes darkened as he fixed the bowl and scooped up the spilled rice. "I never mentioned where I was from, Kinomoto-san."

She wisely chose to ignore his clumsy action and waved her hand. "Your Japanese is very good, but there's still a bit of an accent. It took me a while to place, so..." She broke off finally noticing the anger etched along his tightened jaw. "I'm sorry; did I say something wrong?"

He rose abruptly and dropped a few mon on the table counter for the meal. "I'll meet you back here in two hours' time."

Sakura stared after him, a little hurt by his curt dismissal. She slumped forward and bowed her head over her arms. "I didn't know it was a bad subject for him."

Eriol lifted a hand to pat her shoulder, hesitating at the last moment from touching her. There was something too vulnerable in the exposed piece of her throat to violate it with physical touch. Instead, he tapped the table with two fingers and drew her eyes back to his face.

"Li-san strikes me as the kind of person who doesn't like to show any kind of failing, even if it is something as insignificant as still having an accent when speaking in a foreign tongue."

"How come you don't have an accent, Eriol-san?" Sakura asked, momentarily distracted from her concern over the taciturn man. She winced as Eriol's normally complacent features schooled into a drawn frown.

"Why should you ask such a question?" he said as he straightened and stood back from the table. Without waiting for an answer, he dropped the same amount of mon as Li and bowed his thanks in direction of the patron. Turning back to Sakura, he said, "I'm going to look around. There was a shop that interested me. I'll return in two hours."

Sakura dropped her head to her arms as once again she managed to drive off one of her companions with little more than a simple question. Honestly though, why make such a fuss over something as paltry as one's origins? If she didn't care, why should they?

She began to stand up when someone called out.

"Jou-chan!"

She turned her head and her eyes fell level with the chest of a very broad and uncomfortably close man. She lifted her gaze until she found the man's face, towering high above her. Awkwardly she leaned back, and the stranger took this as an invitation to seat himself beside her.

With an abrupt slam of his thick legs against the wooden bench, the stranger propped a plump cheek against one hand and used the other to tap his lips. Sakura nervously shifted farther down the bench.

"Jou-chan, you look just like her," the man said, an odd smile on his lush lips.

"Excuse me, but I don't understand," she stammered. The man tapped his lips again and sighed dreamily.

"Just like her!"

"O-koiki! Like a wilting flower in its last sunset!" The man nodded eagerly and whipped out a wooden placard from his boldly orange yukata. Shoving it into Sakura's hands, the man waited like a dog for a treat while she blinked at it.

The wooden block was not an unfamiliar object. They were very popular in Tomoeda, although most depicted the holy peaks of Mt. Fuji or Edo Castle. This particular wood block painting was drawn in black and red, with a background of bamboo imprints. In the middle, drawn in thick black lines was the outline of a woman. Her hair and clothes were all kept in that same rigid black except for her lips which stood out as a stark scarlet. The only other spot of color came from the woman's comb, and in Sakura's opinion, that comb was perhaps the only thing that could possibly be attributed to resembling herself.

She gave back the wood block painting to the still dreamily beaming man and braved a weak smile of her own.

"Who is she?" she asked.

"Who is she? Who is she!" the man began dramatically. "She is the most elegant flower of all of Japan! The world bows down at the magnificient O-koiki's feet! None are worthy to touch her! None are worthy to come near!" He posed exuberantly on the bench, his arm shot forward. "She is O-koiki, the famed geisha of Edo!"

"Geisha?"

"Yes," the man reseated himself with a great gust of air. "I am Deushi Eishi!"

"Thank you for the...compliment, Deushi-san, but-" Sakura began hesitantly, but the robust man cut her off.

"Eishi! Eishi! There is no need for formalities between betrothed, my beautiful blossom caught from the valley!"

Sakura flushed but decided enough was enough. This stranger first accosted her with a painting of a geisha most likely three times her age and was now threatening marriage. "Deushi-san," she began firmly as she stood up from the table. "I'm afraid you're very confused. O-koiki-san and I look nothing alike. Perhaps the sun has been too strong for you this morning, and as my companions," she put particular emphasis on this last word, "are most probably waiting for me, I should go."

She ignored the downcast glimmer her words put to the overly dramatic Deushi's face and all but ran for the door. From behind she heard the man wail theatrically, "The blossom has wilted! It has fallen prey to the harsh hands of winter!"

Once outside, Sakura let out a breath of relief. She didn't care what kind of threat Hasika might hold when out in the open, at least she didn't need to worry that any other man might come barraging her with comparisons to wooden teethed geisha while simultaneously murdering the great haiku of Basho.

Wilted blossom indeed. The very thought.

II

HE HAD MANAGED to frighten away any curiousity with a few well placed glares. There was always something quite threatening in the sight of an armed man with an angry frown. But Syaoran was thankful for the dependable reaction; he was hardly in the mood to attempt the usual hedging of conversation, especially when any of these harmless looking farmers might be spies in disguise.

Although admittedly, if he was a spy sent to Hasika, he'd be very tempted to find many a reason to never leave.

The thick woods and heavy brush of Hito-ka hid much of the mountains' beauty. Now that Syaoran had unfettered view of the countryside from inside the Hasika valley, he could find nothing to complain of. Like one of the landscapes that were so popular in Edo and with his master, the crests struck proudly into the horizon, their peaks like jagged teeth biting into the sunlight.

Yes, a man could find much to gaze at while in this valley. So why was this such a trouble spot?

He heard the scuffle of fabric and shoes and his hand went to his side instinctively. Cautiously, he approached the side of the building where the sound was coming from. A comical sight met his eyes: two men stood, clothes ruffled and shoulders shaking. They alternately swung at each other, both looking as if the thought of hiting the other was their great fear, not of being injured themselves.

Syaoran cocked an eyebrow but didn't drop his hand. Harshly, he called out. "Hey you two. What are you doing?"

Both men immediately stopped their poor attempts at fighting. As if staged, one dropped his sword, hitched up his yukata, and made a mad dash over the alley's back wall. Syaoran stared after the surprisingly swift man before turning his attention to the one left behind.

Without introduction, the man clapped his hands and raised them heavenward before launching in an exaggerated speech.

"Thank you kind warrior! Hasika is indeed a valley of troubles. Danger lurks even in daylight; there is no where safe here. Spies and conspiracies constantly in the making- and yes, yes, just last week, there was uncovered yet another plot to kill the shogun. It is most unfortunate but my old bones must continue to stay vigilant. Trouble does not rest and so neither can Mokuda Hidehira."

Almost tragically, the man named Mokuda again lifted his hands toward the unclouded sky as if supplicating heaven for rescue from his plight. Syaoran was untouched, but his suspicions were minorly piqued. This was very odd behavior from someone who was presenting himself as a spy.

"Mokuda-san, who do you work for?" he asked.

Mokuda reared back, his face aghast. "I cannot tell you! I have sworn upon my father's name that never will I give way on my master!"

Syaoran shook his head, a bit wearied by the strange man's histrionics. "Then what can you tell me?"

Mokuda neared him hesitantly before peering down the brightly lit alley as if searching for a concealed set of eyes and ears. "Oh yes, warrior from the woods. It would be best if you left and reported to your master that Hasika is still in need of vigilance. It is best if it all stays as it is and no one is retrieved."

And just as the man previous had done, Mokuda yanked up his yukata, tucked his scabbard between his teeth, and leapt nimbly up and over the alley's back wall. Syaoran was left behind, annoyed and confused.

"What an irritating place..."

III

HE HADN'T LIED when he claimed to have seen a store that interested him. Of course though, Sakura most likely thought he was making it up as an excuse. It was, perhaps, a little unfair of him to desert her back there, but Eriol didn't really think Hasika was that much of a threat, despite Li's warnings. The small outpost only struck him as an odd back of the way kind of place, not a viper's nest of bakufu insurgency.

He poked his head into the short doorway as he pushed back the faded screen that gave the store its privacy. Eriol's eyes widened in amusement. Shelves upon shelves of tiny wooden figurines, a few painted, most not, and each catering to a forest scene. He picked one up and glanced it over, this time his eyes widening in appreciation.

It depicted a pond surrounded by trees, but the picturesque scenery was not the emphasis- instead it was on the half naked woman slipping out of her kimono to take a night time bath.

He held on to the small scene and rounded to the next batch of shelves only to stop suddenly. Three men were pressed in a tight circle, crouched down near the floor, their heads bowed furtively. Eriol didn't speak up but listened curiously to their loud whispering as he leaned against a support beam. He caught train of 'trouble' and 'conspiracy' and 'murder plot' but after the third repetition of such things, one of the men appeared to have finally noticed his presence and bumped his neighbor's elbow.

As one, all three straightened from their perch on the floor and bowed to him in greeting.

"We apologize, wandering stranger," began the first.

"For preventing your browsal," picked up the second.

"With our very secret meeting," finished the third.

All three again bowed, yet they didn't move out of the way. Eriol was curious now and more than just a little amused. Hasika really was an odd place. Perhaps there was something in the water?

"It should be I who apologize for not announcing my entrance," he said smoothly. He gestured to the wood scene he held. "I wish to buy this."

Again, the men chose to speak in turn, as if rehearsing lines in a play.

"We cannot except payment-"

"-take it as a gift-"

"-please pay no attention to what is written on the bottom."

None of the three appeared to notice as he immediately flipped over the small scene. Written along the bottom in broad strokes was the following message: Very secret meeting planned for next full moon. Tell no one!

"Pay no attention to this message here?" Eriol asked pointing to the inked characters.

The first nodded. "Yes-"

"-that is-" continued the second.

The third finished. "-the one."

"Please pay it no mind," they said as one, once again bowing.

"I should ignore the message that says: 'Very secret meeting planned for next full moon. Tell no one!' You want that I ignore this?"

All three beamed and nodded, alternating smiles with bows.

"And if I should not want to ignore the message?" he asked lazily.

The response was perhaps the most comical of the entire encounter. All three slumped to the floor, eyes glimmering with repressed tears.

"Then we should-"

"-be forced to change-"

"-our most secret meeting-"

"- to yet another-"

"-most secret-"

"-time."

Eriol gazed down at them and wondered if perhaps it was that the men were drunk. If Hasika really was full of spies and plots to murder important officials, then surely these men's actions could only be attributed to an over abundance of sake. It was beyond comprehension to think otherwise.

"Fine, fine. I'll forget what is written," he said finally. Like three matching fireworks, the men jumped up and bowed their gratitude.

"We knew that-"

"-such a samurai as you-"

"-could be trusted."

They seized his shoulders and directed him swiftly out of the store and back into the road before he could protest otherwise. After bowing once more, two of the men returned to the inside. The third though, frowned seriously and beckoned for Eriol to come near. Eriol obliged and lowered his ear to the man's mouth.

"Please pass along to your companion this message: it is best to leave things as they are."

With that cryptic envoy, the man nodded once and pulled back behind the screen that hid the store from the street. Eriol stared at the still swaying screen unblinkingly for nearly a minute before straightening and glancing down at the still clasped wood carving.

"Must be sake..."

IV

SAKURA STOOD WITH her hands on her hips, an irritated frown firmly in place. Hasika was not a large place; it took no more than a thousand paces to circle the entire outpost. Still, she had yet to find either of her wayward companions. For a moment, the possibility of them having left without her crossed her mind, but the anxiety that immediately rose with that thought left her in firm denial of such a chance.

She sighed and pushed back her bangs from her forehead. Despite its high elevation, Hasika clung to the humid air that flitted down from clouds as they wove through the mountain passes. The wet heat hung like a curtain even in the midday hours, sticking to skin and clothes, leaving nothing untouched. If a person were of a touchy disposition, Hasika might just prove his undoing, or at least that's what Sakura was considering as she continued to shuffle through the empty streets.

But of course, in order for such a thing to happen, there'd have to be people.

So far, none of the blatantly curious faces from morning had given a second showing. There were only the unsanded, bark heavy store fronts, and in between, the occasional leafy tree hiding a touched up hut. Nothing to speak of living inhabitants, and if not for morning's rude staring, she might be tempted to think the place deserted.

"Oy, Jou-chan!"

She stopped and turned, a nervous half smile pulling crookedly at her lips.

"Oy, Jou-chan, a flower such as yourself will wilt in this heat. Come, rest your weary petals under the shadow of a strong elm."

The incorrigible Deushi Eishi had found her. Sakura was unsure whether to be thankful for the company, however ill suited, or try finding that hiding place the rest of Hasika was sequestered away in.

"Er, Deushi-san, h-how are you?" she stammered.

Deushi lifted a paw sized hand to his wiry black hair and seized a tuft of it dramatically. "How quickly the she dismisses me! This flower, this perfumed creature, she does not even grace my name with her lips!"

As he continued to pull violently on his hair, Sakura thought it best to save him from possible injury. "Eishi-san?"

Deushi halted his gesticulations immediately. Instead, he captured her own, much smaller hand between his and cradled it like a fragile jewel.

"Please, sweet flower, your name?"

"I'm Kinomoto Sakura, from Tomoeda," she introduced while trying to casually reclaim her hand, but his grasp was sure.

"Sakura...Sakura! Like rain to dry lips- you bring even the blessed O-koiki to shame, my Sakura," Deushi exclaimed.

Sakura was suddenly quite grateful the streets were empty. She didn't know if she could take the embarrassment of having witnesses to this spectacle.

"Perhaps you could help me, Eishi-san," she suggested, her mind working quickly.

"Anything! Anything for the mother of my children!" he cried adamently.

"Er, yes. Then tell me, Eishi-san, where is everyone?" She blanched as the amorous man's attitude seemed to shift from exuberance to conflict. His brows furrowed and his thick lips twitched. Even that great mat of stringy black hair seemed to cowl in debate.

"Eishi-san?" she pressed and even gave his huge hands an encouraging squeeze. Mentally she winced as her slight movement spurred her unwanted suitor into unencumbered decision.

"Yes! I will tell you- you are as good as a member of Hasika now, as my future wife, my sweet Sakura. We shall plant many of the sakuratezu as we grow old; for each child, into the earth I will dig and as my sons age so will your trees." His eyes watered and Sakura lifted her free hand to her forehead wearily.

"Eishi-san? Where are they, please?" she asked again.

His black on black eyes re-focused. "It's difficult to explain, my tender blossom." Sakura winced at the endearment. "It would perhaps be best if I just show you. Come!" With that he wrapped his paw more tightly over her wrist and with a thoughtless yank, took off at a brisk run.

Colorless store fronts whipped by as a fine line of sweat began its descent down her back, tiny beads of the salty liquid pooling across her forehead. As Deushi continued his sprint through Hasika, Sakura silently paid thanks to the many foot paths that lined the outliers of Tomoeda. On nights when memory and dream became too heavy a tangible and the dimness of that her parents' murder gained a strict clarity created by an insatiable imagination, those foot paths gave her feet ground to flee across.

As she would run on those sleepless nights, attempting to escape bloodied memories, her mind would grow numb along with the tight stretch of her muscles. Her legs would cry and in that sweet mix of adrenaline and pain, the nightmares would retreat and daylight would bring sanctuary. While the necessity of those runs were ugly, their fruit gave Sakura the energy to cut and dive between Hasika's buildings and trees, to this 'hide away' Deushi kept calling about over his shoulder.

Just as suddenly as he had taken flight, Deushi stopped, not noticing as Sakura all but slammed into his broad back. She stared at the unremarkable hut, no different from the many others of its kind, as Deushi beamed proudly.

"This is where we put together all the plans," he explained.

"Who is 'we?'" Sakura asked, her real question left unvoiced: plans for what? Were the rumors about Hasika being a trouble zone really true? If so, she hoped that fortune was smiling on her today and either Li or Eriol were about to stumble out from behind a nearby tree.

"It is best you know the truth about your future husband," Deushi said, his voice uncharacteristically serious. With one of his large hands out stretched, he gestured past the outpost, to the mountains and the deep basin of sky above them. "We were all sent here, at first, because there was word that western weapons were being smuggled through the Hito-ka pass from south of Tomoeda. And at first, the few of us here tried to do as our masters asked: find the smugglers, learn of their leader, and steal the goods."

He sighed deeply and Sakura found herself warming to this more natural air. Deushi was much easier to bare when not crying dramatically or comparing her to plant life. "My wife to be, after many months, I and the men sent from other nobles soon realized that the rumors were not of Hasika, but by that time, we had all fallen in love with the mountains. We built our homes and tried our hands at a trade. Tourists began to visit. Hasika was now the place where we lived. But then, our masters asked for our return."

He pointed to the bland hut, the pride in his eyes unmistakable. "Mokuda Hidehira, a skilled samurai sent from the Den han far up north was the one who gathered us together in his home and suggested that perhaps we would not have to leave our beautiful mountains after all. He suggested that we invent new rumors- ones that all named Hasika as a breeding ground for insurgency groups, both for and against the Shogun. Our masters wouldn't dare take us away if there was word of trouble of that kind going around."

"So all those rumors that there's a conspiracy to murder the Shogun- you made them up?" Sakura asked slowly, trying to make ends of this odd information.

"Yes; I am blessed indeed. Not only is my precious blossom as beautiful as O-koiki, but she would make the Buddha smile at her wisdom." It seemed the composed, well balanced Deushi Eishi was finished with his brief soliloquy. The disturbed singer of theatrical compliments had returned.

"But surely when people visited they would realize that Hasika's perfectly safe," she pointed out. "I was thinking this myself when we were eating lunch."

"That's where Mokuda-sama's genius comes, my wife. He knew that eventually other nobles would hear of Hasika and send spies of their own. Those we can't convince to join us, we stage 'chance encounters' suspicious enough to feed to the rumors." Deushi's gaze darkened momentarily. "We were worried by your friends this morning. One of them was recognized as Li-sama, Musashi-sama's adopted son from Hong Kong."

"Li-san? Adopted?" This was news unexpectedly gained.

Deushi looked unduly alarmed. "My trusting flower, do you not even know those you travel with? Li-sama is the son of a Hong Kong noble family and has been taken into the house of Musashi under formal leigns. As the poet Fusho-chan once said: 'of my neighbor's lands, I take only their sons, their tender fruit.'"

"But Li-san is not here on official business, Eishi-san. And Eriol-san is only escorting me to Shimoda. You needn't worry," Sakura explained, hoping to assuage the man's concerns before his passions grew too heated.

"Foreigners are not to be trusted- they see not these beautiful mountains ripe with unwritten measures and nature's promise. Instead, they see trees to be torn down, streams to plunder, and caverns to pillage. Japan is not safe from their greed, and Li-sama can only be here to see what there is to steal." Deushi was once again speaking in earnest.

"Eishi-san," Sakura began firmly, taking several steps backward to put space between herself and the unwanted lover. "It's unfair to judge Li-san without trying to first know him. Li-san has a good heart; I can tell! So please, whatever you and your friends have in mind, it's really not necessary. We'll be leaving this afternoon."

She bowed and quickly turned, her gait sure footed and swift. Something in her gesture must have touched a nerve within the guileless Deushi Eishi, for he made no move to follow. His lips downcast in an atypical frown, he instead scratched his head and shrugged his shoulders in helpless acceptance. He watched as Sakura made the nearest turn and vanished from view, the humid air curling her ashwood colored hair in tiny tendrils that clung to the back of her neck.

Deushi scratched his head once more for good measure and then pocketed his hands, a whistled tune from his youth replacing the frown on his lips.

'It rises, the mountain bloom, with spring! Oh this lovely spring, my lovely spring! And all summer long, how we live, side by side...To forget the autumn and refuse the other, this we try, but still she knows. It falls, the mountain bloom, with winter!'

V

THE FLUSH CREPT, like a deceptive hand, up from his lips and across his cheeks, staining his still features with a guilty red that seemed to declare for all the world that indeed, Li Syaoran was a foolish boy. Stupid words spoken recklessly by a careless girl on things she knew nothing of!

'Li-san has a good heart; I can tell!'

He meant only to grab her arm, find Hiiragizawa, and then leave the strange outpost before whatever ailed the once loyal and dutiful samurai there began to ail him. Instead, he found himself pinned by the vagaries mouthed by a girl of only a few days' acquaintance.

Syaoran had been perambulating up from the opposite side of the road, hidden from view by the sun's eastern shadow when he first caught sight of the Kinomoto girl smiling nervously at a large, rotund man dressed in black. She didn't look afraid, so he held back and decided to listen in for safety's sake. The confusion from his earlier encounter with that bizarre Mokuda was soon explained away by the man the girl called 'Eishi-san.'

He, surprisingly, felt no anger toward the people of Hasika's deception. It was understandable, truly. Every man longs for a place to call his own; land to cultivate, a family to protect- these were the things a man desired, and a samurai, despite his training and sword, was still just a man.

So he understood. And he would not be mentioning Hasika's grand ruse unless directly asked. Since that would only happen if Musashi-sama already knew of the deception himself, Syaoran really needn't worry himself. An omission of information did not in its self create deceit.

But then this 'Eishi-san' mentioned him by name.

It was nothing to be ashamed of, to have been 'traded' with one of Musashi'sama's sons for a few years. It was done by all the old families; a Japanese tradition that managed to catch hold of even the Li clan in the international port of Hong Kong. His mother thought it best for him to know the ancient ways of ruling, even on the eve of what the western world promised to be a new age of industry and modernity.

Hundreds of years earlier, Japan had followed China's example, borrowed her traditions and language, her alphabet and her culture. China was Japan's benevolent mother; but as it was with every family, there comes the day that the parent must learn from the child. China had grown weak, and now Hong Kong was a hybrid of diversity, a land of its own. If Syaoran wanted to be Chinese, his mother had told him, he must go to Japan. There he would learn of how China used to be: strong, independent, and proud.

Two years earlier, he arrived by sea to the Musashi han and was welcomed by a hundred men in arms and his master. Musashi-sama named him as Li Syaoran, from Hong Kong and future leader of his mother's clan. None of the other samurai dared disrespect a future leader and so never once did he suffer from derision toward his home. Not a single soul ever mentioned that he was foreign or in any way different from themselves.

In two years, this never changed. He was simply 'Li' to them, not friend or leader, but fellow swordsman.

To hear this stranger, this ungraceful and uneducated man use such words in reference to himself was a blow to his pride. It angered him; but perhaps even stronger than that anger was a coiled knot of shame that crept into his stomach and rose up through his chest to finally find root in his throat, preventing him from crying out his outrage. To be classified along side the westerners who looted Asia as if she was nothing more than a piece of cattle to be weighed, prodded, and finally led to the slaughter was an umeasurable insult.

Li Syaoran was neither thief nor plunderer. He was merely a man; a man whose only wants were to build a home,have a family, and gain the strength to protect them- no different from this 'Eishi-san.'

But then she spoke. 'It's unfair to judge Li-san without trying to first know him. Li-san has a good heart; I can tell!'

She barely knew him, and yet she jumped to his defense and claimed him to have good intentions. Her words echoed in his mind, her voice reverberating in even tones, and instantly, the anger, shame, and guilt vanished. There only remained a strange, unknown warmth that reddened his cheeks and tightened his chest. A sweet pain for all that it was a pain.

Five minutes after she had bowed and said her farewell, Syaoran still stood, frozen behind the tree that had granted him privacy during the entire exchange. The time might have stretched even longer if not for an unwelcome hand coming to rest familiarly on his shoulder. The slight contact had him in sudden and violent motion: feet spread, shoulders taut, and sword drawn and held ready to strike.

At the edge of his sword's blade rested the complacent features of one Hiiragizawa Eriol, of late companion and present irritation. Hiiragizawa carelessly pushed away the blade and waved a small greeting.

"Li-san, you look flushed. Has the heat bothered you?" he asked innocently.

Syaoran's eyes narrowed suspiciously. "How long have you been there?"

"No longer than a nightengale's song," Hiiragizawa replied enigmatically.

Syaoran sheated his chokuto firmly on his back before stepping out from under the tree's shadow. "I think it best if we find Kinomoto and leave Hasika promptly."

Hiiragizawa nodded in agreement. "The people here are very peculiar. I wonder if perhaps they're all actors."

"Li-san! Eriol-san!"

Both turned as a feminine voice called out in greeting. Syaoran avoided making eye contact as said girl came skittering up, slightly breathless.

"I found out why everyone's acting so strangely!" she cried excitedly and proceeded to relay Deushi's information. Syaoran kept his eyes prudently on the ground, not wanting to increase the pain yet not pain that tightened his chest and which her presence seemed to stimulate.

He barely paid attention as she led them out from the main streets and toward the northern pass which would take them to the merchants' road and eventually to the river village of Ruoka-sa. He saved one last glance for the bark lined shelters that made up Hasika. Someday, he'd like to return and prove that Deushi wrong.

Syaoran reeled back into the present as the Kinomoto girl's words caught up to him.

"...compared me to O-koiki! It was too much..." she finished, exasperation plain in her voice.

"O-koiki?" he repeated.

Hiiragizawa flashed him a superior smirk. "She was a famed geisha from a hundred years ago. She even gained favor with the Shogun's brother and eventually married him. Her picture is very popular in Edo."

"Eh? The Shogun's brother?" The girl echoed. "Maybe it was a compliment after all."

Syaoran snorted. "It would have been a better compliment to compare you to nothing at all. A woman of worth is without comparison."

He immediately regretted his words as she stared at him, her mouth parted in a slight 'o.'

"But this is all irrelevant: my information may not be reliable for the future. Much of what my master knew came from spies in this area. If Hasika is really nothing more than a farce, then it would be best to proceed cautiously," he added, hastily redirecting the conversation.

"I agree," said Hiiragizawa. He pushed back his foreign made frames and sent a considering glance over Sakura's figure. "Sakura-san, it occurred to me earlier to ask- are you familiar with any sort of weapon?"

"Weapon? Not exactly..." she answered slowly, as if considering a separate line of thought.

"Not perhaps with even a knife? You do still have that dagger from Tomoeda, don't you?" Hiiragizawa questioned gently.

"Yes- but I've only ever used knives to cook. I really wouldn't know how to fight with one," she insisted. Syaoran once again avoided her gaze as she lifted a hand to push back a lock of hair from her unique eyes; her hair...a warm teak in color, distinct and yet not so different as to set her apart. It only took wanting to notice...

"Besides, why should I need to use a weapon when I have two body guards?" she added, her voice warm with unsounded laughter.

"It's foolish not to prepare for such things," Syaoran broke in curtly.

Hiiragizawa regarded him thoughtfully before nodding. "Perhaps, O-koiki-hime, a bit of tutoring could be arranged?"

Sakura smiled lightly and pulled out from beneath her haori the jewel encrusted dagger, unsheathing it. The blade glinted brightly in the sunlight, her reflection capture and warped in its fine shape. "We'll see..." she said finally before again tucking it back against her breast.

Silence fell comfortably and soon there was only the soft fall of their feet, the shuffle of dried leaves, and the crisp hum of the cicada. The trees swallowed the faint line of Hasika from behind, and ahead there was only the shadow of canopy and cloud. Both crossed into single beings, and once again, another notch was marked in this beginning of a journey.

Syaoran closed his eyes and let the strange emotions from that odd little outpost fade into nothing more than dim memory. He blinked back into vision and as the brilliance of midday struck and dyed his russet eyes into tawny gold, he allowed himself a slight reprieve. Despite his history and the years of long duty, he would give himself this chance occurence of fate and quandary and simply pretend that he could be as simple a man as that Deushi Eishi of Hasika.

Li Syaoran, for however long this journey took him, would no longer exist as adopted son of the Musashi prince or as future leader of the powerful Li clan of Hong Kong. He was simply a wandering samurai, honoring an obligation and protecting a girl.

Simply so, and no matter how farcical, if the men of Hasika could have such hedonistic self-deceptions, why not he as well?

MITTSU

'Thus spring begins; old

stupidities repeated,

new errs invented'

-Issa, 1762-1826

To Chase the Playing of Fingers

mittsufin

04nov04

0002

Historical odds and ends you might want to know:

1. Jou-chan: it's a colloquialism generally used by men when speaking to young women; it's very informal and is kind of like saying 'hey lady.' Jou-chan is considered slang-ish as well, which is interesting to note because most think of slang as a very modern creation and here was Jo-chan being used back in the late 1800's.

2. Geisha, O-koiki: O-koiki is a fictitious name based upon the famous geisha O-koi and O-kichi. For the misinformed, a geisha is not a prostitute. A geisha is more than a courtisan as well. It was and still is a very respected profession in Japan that involves years of training and schooling. While sex is a component of being a geisha, more commonly these women are hired to act as hostesses and as entertainers (not of the swinging pole variety). Unlike western cultures, the geisha profession was generally revered and much of its women were viewed upon much like Hollywood stars are today.

3. Edo: known in modern times as Tokyo. Tokyo castle= Edo castle, Tokyo bay= Edo bay, etc.

4. Adopted sons, et al: it was a common practice for noble families to 'trade' sons for a set period of years and 'adopt' said son into their family. It was a way to encourage marriage alliances and strengthen military ties. Whether any Japanese nobles did this sort of thing with China, I have my doubts. Tokugawa Japan was not big on 'sharing' with other nations.

5. Fusho-chan: Fusho-chan is fictional, as is his quite liberally written haiku. The haiku poets of Japan are often referred to as 'so and so-chan' and their quotes often maltreated by those who consider themselves connoisseurs of the art.

6. 'It rises, the mountain bloom...': an old folk song created during the Heian era in Japan.