Fan Fiction ❯ Phantom ❯ The Dojo ( Chapter 2 )

[ Y - Young Adult: Not suitable for readers under 16 ]

Twilight had fallen and with it the heat of the day had faded away leaving the evening air cool and breathable. They’d worked like dogs all day but the work had paid off. Most of the holes in the roof had been patched, although a couple would require the expert touch of a roofer, and the floors inside had stripped of their rotten coverings, swept, mopped and swept again. Tomorrow clean, new tatamis would arrive and they would get to work putting it down. The walls inside had been scrubbed and would require only one coat of new white paint, something his father was working on now. The kitchen at the back of the house had actually brought his mother to tears as she looked at its old wooden counters, and the pit where they had cooked meals over a hundred years ago. She’d been too busy crying over the loss of her stainless steel kitchen to cook so they’d ordered pizza. Sitting on the porch leaned back on his elbows Yukishiro stared at the moon hovering in the branches of the tall tree. The more work they’d done the more his discomfort had faded until he was smiling as much as his father as they’d worked side by side to tear out the weeds. Even when he’d been stung by a hornet while tearing down its nest above the storage shed he hadn’t lost his good mood. It was hard to stay sullen and angry when you were working with your father. He and his dad had always enjoyed working together on projects and this was the biggest yet. His stomach full of pepperoni and sausage and his mind on what tomorrow would bring he didn’t notice his father’s presence till the older man sat down beside him. “Feeling better?” Hiroshi asked looking up at the moon as well. Yukishiro nodded and straightened out his legs crossing them at the ankles. “Yeah much.” He said. Hiroshi nodded patting him on the shoulder.“I’m glad. Listen I know this is a rough time for you, and I appreciate all your help today. I couldn’t have done it without you.” Yukishiro smiled and leaned over hugging his father, who returned the hug warmly before laughing softly. “Well I suppose I ought to go back inside. Your mother is in a frenzy scrubbing down the kitchen. I think she’s determined to find tile and steel under all the wood.” Hiroshi said as he rose. Yukishiro laughed shaking his head at the image of his mother speed cleaning. Hiroshi smiled looking down at him. “You know we haven’t gone into the dojo yet. I can’t imagine what it must look like. Why don’t you take a broom and see what you can do with it tonight.” He said as he walked back inside. Yukishiro sighed before slowly rising to his feet and stretching. Picking up the broom he walked carefully along the wooden porch towards the two shoji doors that opened into the dojo. Miraculously the doors were intact although the paper was rotted in several places, small holes dotting the shoji like cheese. Putting his eye to one he peered inside, and saw nothing but darkness, heat from the day still drifting through the unopened doors. Great, the place was going to be an oven. Sighing he grasped the door assuming he’d have to wrench it open as they’d had to do every other door they’d met today. To his surprise the door glided open as if it were brand new. Blinking slowly he stepped over the threshold and into the dojo area almost expecting to crash through the floor. The floorboards gave a slight squeak of protest as he stepped on them but no gut wrenching crash as he fell to his doom occurred. The dojo was dark, but even in the dimness he could see it was a long room, roughly three hundred feet in length and about a hundred wide. It must have been quite the dojo in its day, he thought. To have been this large there must have been many students. Walking forward cautiously he moved to the slotted windows that circled the room near the ceiling and pushed on the end flap. With a creak the panels around the room opened spilling moonlight into the dojo. No artificial light crept in, the tree and old wall doing it’s best to keep the glare of streetlights away. Yukishiro couldn’t bite back his gasp as he looked around. Having expected utter chaos, given the state of the main house, the tidiness of the dojo was startleling. At the far end stood a shrine and on either side of the shrine above it hung plaques, wooden bokkens hanging in rows of four on each side of the shrine and under the plaques. Yukishiro walked forward slowly still terrified the floor would cave in under him. Stopping in front of the shrine he looked up reading the faded kanji slowly. “principles of the kamiya kasshin ryu....” he whispered his eyes slowly scrolling along the principles of the forgotten form of swordsmanship. He frowned thoughtfully his eyes traveling over the dust shrouded shrine and bokkens hanging from sturdy bamboo holders in the walls. “what the hell is the kamiya kasshin ryu?” he wondered aloud. ‘It teaches you to protect without killing!” a female voice yelled, the voice faint and echoing as if it had come from a long way away. Yukishiro whirled around looking about searching for the source of the voice. “Hello...Is anyone there?” he called into the dimness. Shadows clung to the walls all the way to the open door, moonlight filtering in across the threshold a light breeze ruffling the worn shoji paper. Silence reigned for a full minute before he turned back to the shrine. “just the wind...” he murmured. Reaching out he let his finger travel over the edge of the shrine collecting a bunch of dust on his finger. Shaking his head he wiped it on his pants and taking the broom began to sweep. He could wonder about the dojos former owners later. The floors were covered in many decades of dust and it took him over an hour to gather the mess together and sweep it outside into the yard. Tapping the broom against the side of the porch he sighed and paused to rub the pain in his lower back. Glancing at his watch he saw it was eleven forty five. No wonder he was so tired. Judging by the darkened silence of the main part of the house his parents were already asleep in their sleeping bags. Hefting the broom over his shoulder and planting his free hand on his hip he allowed his gaze to travel slowly over the yard before he turned to face the dojo again. For a split second the shadows converged and became the silhouettes of thirty students turning and bringing their bokkens down with a unified shout. Shaking his head Yukishiro moved to the door looking inside. The dojo was empty. Of coarse the dojo is empty, he chided himself. Your too old to be letting your imagination run away with you. Leaning the broom against the outside wall to the left of the door he watched as a small patch of plaster dribbled down onto the porch. Leaning over he touched the plaster gently running his hands along it, feeling a seam that began some three inches from the door. Running his fingers upwards he slowly traced an enormous circle. From a distance it wasn’t obvious but up close you could see where the plaster had been repaired after something had gone through it. “wonder what could have happened to cause that...” he mused in a whisper. These old houses were notoriously sturdy; they had to be to last over a hundred years as this one had. Moving inside again he felt along the other side of the wall and found a seam that matched the one on the exterior. Whatever had happened to the wall had happened with enough force to puncture clear through the wood and plaster. For a brief second he had a vision of a young man being shoved through the wall, a katana piercing his shoulder. Hazel eyes widened and Yukishiro shook his head resting his forehead against the wall. “I’m just tired.” He said moving backwards away from the wall and turning to look at the dojo again. All was quiet in the night and he began to feel silly for allowing his imagination to take him over like that. Perhaps the heat of the day was causing him to hallucinate. Sighing he moved back towards the door and stepped out onto the porch. Turning he set the broom inside by the door and let his gaze wonder one more time over the interior. He had the uncomfortable feeling he was being watched but there was no one there. Only the dusty old shrine, plaques and rows of unused bokkens from an era long gone. For the briefest moment he wondered why they were the first family to live here in so long. Shaking his head he closed the door and went to unroll his sleeping bag, tomorrow was going to be long and hot and he needed his sleep. In the dojo moonlight streamed softly over the old floorboards and dusty shrine and the silence was complete.