Samurai Champloo Fan Fiction ❯ Nenju ❯ XV. The sound of water ( Chapter 15 )

[ X - Adult: No readers under 18. Contains Graphic Adult Themes/Extreme violence. ]

By: 3Jane

Disclaimer: I don’t own Samurai Champloo or any of its affiliated characters, which belong to Manglobe/Shimoigusa Champloos. Neither do I own the haiku of Matsuo Basho (translation by R.H. Blyth, this chapter).

Nenju

XV. The sound of water

___________________________________________________________________

She would never tell either of them, but they were less skilled at keeping things from her than they thought.

Fuu knew, for instance, that Mugen was actually listening whenever he crossed his arms and looked bored. She also knew that when he said that neither of them would change his mind about something, it meant that he knew whatever he was about to do was completely stupid, and that he would feel like an idiot in discussing it further even though they disapproved.

(The declaration of not changing his mind was normally accompanied by Mugen walking off without them, which then meant he didn’t need anyone, thank you very much, he could screw things up just fine on his own.)

Fuu was also relatively fluent in Jin-ese. A short ‘Hn’ that rose at the end meant “I am intrigued. Please elaborate while I think about this,” and a long ‘Hn’ without any inflection was “I am so not getting into this with you, but my dojo scrambled my head and made me unnaturally polite.” Sometimes, he would swap off ‘Hn’ with ‘Ah’ and they could be interchangeable, but an ‘Ah’ that followed a long series of ‘Hn’ was very different, and always meant “Stop talking. Now. Please.”

How the ronin acted was often a good indicator of what he was thinking, she knew. She liked it when he tucked his hands into his sleeves; that was Jin when he was comfortable with the world around him. Sword sharpening, on the other hand, was a very bad thing to see — she’d been with them long enough to understand he did that when he expected to be using it, soon.

At the moment, both of them were shouting — though not in any words.

Mugen wasn’t even bothering with a pretense of sleep; he lay, eyes open, on his sleeping mat with the foreign sword close to hand.

Jin’s eyes were closed, and his breathing slow and regular, as he sat upright with his daisho resting across his lap. She knew he wasn’t asleep; he was waiting.

Well, if they weren’t going to sleep —

“Why would she even bother?” Fuu ventured. “It’s not like we have anything she wants.”

Silently, Mugen looked at her, then ostentatiously shifted on his mat; his clothes clinked in response, as he raised an eyebrow at her.

“All right, she might want that. But she doesn’t know we have it.”

“We can’t be completely sure of that,” Jin said, dryly.

She rolled over on her mat to look directly at him. “What’re you talking about?”

“There’s a little noise when you move around a lot,” Mugen said. “Figured it out right before we saw Kohza.”

“You didn’t say anything in front of her, though. Right? You would’ve told me if you did that.”

“No, but she might have heard the noise. She’s not stupid — she might be able to come up with what we’re doing here,” the Ryukyuan said, propping his head on his hand, which Fuu recognized as ‘hurry up and happen already’ in Mugen-speak. “She knows we ain’t here to see her.”

“Still, I don’t see why she’d come out here. You said it yourself, Mukuro’s dead, and that Shiren guy, so all she’s left with is — well, her. Considering there’s three of us, we should be able to keep a girl my size from taking our things, right?” Fuu asked reasonably, and yawned. “So, we should be able to get some sleep, because that would be a good idea if we’re leaving tomorrow.”

“Hn,” said Jin, drawing the syllable out evenly, as Mugen grunted rudely.

She rolled her eyes, before closing them for the night. Idiots.

—

Fuu wasn’t the sort of woman who said things like ‘I told you so’; except, of course, for the times when she did.

Like now, for instance.

“You know,” she said conversationally, “I think the last time you both looked this rotten was when you ditched me for that old floozy. Remember? The one who got you both drunk and stole our money?”

Mugen yawned and rubbed his stomach before answering. “Bitch.”

“No, seriously, you looked better than this when Jerome was bandaging you.”

“Will you shut up?”

“Mm.” Jin hadn’t bothered opening his eyes, which — all right, it wasn’t as if he had never experienced Fuu and Mugen sniping at each other, but a girl liked to be appreciated for the effort she made.

She bounced in place a little, waiting her turn to board the ferry as Jin climbed in first. The day was clear and cool, seasonable for early autumn, and ideal for crossing the bay; she hadn’t enjoyed the ferry ride across to Ise last time, considering the rain and the rough sea. Today, though, the waters looked much calmer.

Mugen handed her in next, then leapt aboard himself when she was settled. The ferryman shoved off, the small boat moving smoothly with the current. It was early — they were the only passengers on board. Like Jin, the Ryukyuan leaned back against a barrel and closed his eyes for a catnap, as Fuu looked around with great interest. It was a treat to be able to sit for a while and do absolutely nothing, especially the sort of enforced nothing that meant there was nothing else she could do but relax; the sunlight was warm, and the steady thump of waves against the side of the ferry soothing —

— she woke, as the ronin shifted, his attention caught by something in the distance. She wiped the corner of her mouth surreptitiously. “We there already?” The harbor looked close, she supposed, but she could’ve had a few more minutes of sleep —

“No,” Mugen told her, shortly. “Someone’s coming up on us. I want you over by these barrels, now, and stay there.” She scrambled over the seat, past Jin who was focused on the horizon.

“One ship,” the ronin said. “At least a small portion of it covered in metal.”

“Goddammit.” Mugen cursed, a few words in his language she was coming to recognize; at least I’ll know a couple words if that’s where I end up, she thought to herself. I can be that woman who swears all the time. “Oi, ferryman! Pirates!”

The man blinked, looking at the small ship that was crossing the bay rapidly toward them, before freezing in place.

“Shit!” The Ryukyuan moved, knocking the ferryman to the bottom of the boat as he took the tiller. “We aren’t going to be able to get out of here in time,” he warned. “They’re sailing with the wind, we aren’t. Fuu, sit tight until I tell you.”

Obediently, she curled her knees up under her chin and wedged her back against the barrels as firmly as she could, bracing —

The pirate ship hit them, hard.

The prow of the pirate ship struck them heavily amidships, the metal edge shearing into the side of the ferry; the impact knocked her head back against the curved wood, hard enough to bring tears. Her eyes widened, as she saw the water seeping in. The metal was caught on the side, somehow, the motion of the waves pulling at the two ships, as the metal began to give way and the pirate ship itself began taking on water.

There were three men, plus one other who stayed on the deck of the pirate ship.

“You should have killed me,” Kohza said calmly. “That would have been the right thing to do, Mugen.”

“I don’t like people telling me what to do,” he said, as one of the men tried to circle around and come at him from behind; Mugen only rolled his eyes, as Jin brought his sword down, too fast to see — Fuu tucked her feet in more tightly, as the man’s head went thumping past her to splash into the puddle that was collecting. The body collapsed, a moment later. “See you picked up another guy. You’re Nobu, right? Didn’t think you made it off when Mukuro pulled that last double-cross.” This last was directed at a man standing alongside the Ryukyuan girl. The man shrugged, pulling the katana that hung at his side —

The first pirate had evidently been the worst fighter of the group, Nobu making a beeline for Mugen, as Jin dealt with the second. The ferryman had recovered his senses enough to crouch alongside Fuu. She gave him an annoyed look — what was his problem? — as he stared at the head rolling gently around the bottom of his boat. The man was completely in the way; the ronin was having to fight around him.

She opened her mouth to tell the ferryman to move, just as his boat gave an ungainly lurch from the water it had taken on. The movement jolted Mugen’s pirate, as he was moving to avoid a viciously spinning kick, knocking him back into Fuu; his weight pushed her away from the barrels, tippingtippingtipping —

Her arms flew wide, a gesture of supplication, as she fell backwards into the sea with her eyes fixed on Jin’s face; his face was open, unguarded with his eyes full of horror —

The impact and the cold — had the water always been that cold? She hadn’t remembered it that way — knocked the breath out of her, as she went into the water.

—

The kimono was so heavy, weighing her down like stones — she clawed for the bright surface, but her arms were too weak to pull her back into the air, her lungs burning — this is bad, she realized, the water closing over her head — she saw the morning sun, framed between her outstretched hands —

(I’m going to die)

— she kicked feebly, the ocean intrusive and cold against her skin like an unwelcome lover, the skirt of her kimono holding her legs fast and she was so tired —

(I’m actually going to die)

— the sun receding, too fast, the water growing dimmer —

(please, help me)

— before going completely dark.

—

(please)

—

They were too far ahead of her; she could see their backs as they walked away. She opened her mouth to call out to them — but her voice choked her as she ran after them through a field that had been ravaged by fire. Burnt out stalks that had gone to charcoal cut her feet as she ran, the scent of smoke tearing at her throat like dull knives.

They kept moving forward, as she caught up to them. She grasped Jin’s sleeve to make them stop, make them see her, and he turned around — he looked at her calmly, the front of his kimono crimson slick from the enormous wound in his chest, and why couldn’t she scream, he was looking at her with such concern, he put his hand out to her —

— she saw Mugen, then, his hands wet and red as they closed over her shoulders, his mouth full of blood as he kissed her, she could taste the salt on his lips as she fought him —

—

— and, choking, she spat up a huge gout of seawater onto the ground alongside her.

She blinked, the sun in her eyes, before she focused and saw them.
Alive.

And looking exceedingly worried.

Her body spasmed, as she gagged on the taste of salt and seaweed, and Mugen gently pulled her up until she was sitting, leaning forward against his shoulder. “Hey,” he said quietly, rubbing her back. “You stay away from those crow men, hear me? You tell them no.”

“You’re alive,” she croaked, and started to cry. She reached back blindly until she caught Jin’s warm hand in hers. “Both of you.”

The ronin knelt down next to her, lacing her fingers through his. “Yes,” he said simply.

They stayed like that until the racking sobs had subsided to hiccups, and she sat back, scouring her face with her waterlogged sleeve. “What happened?” Her voice was hoarse.

Mugen shrugged. “You got knocked in. Should’ve figured those ryu would be heavy.”

Frowning, she looked from him to Jin, who said, “Mugen reached you in time.”

She coughed. “You saved my life?”

The Ryukyuan scratched the back of his head, before mumbling something unintelligible.

“Thank you,” she told him softly.

He grunted, and stood up. “Fish face. See if your stuff to make a fire with is dry — I’m gonna go look for some wood.” Mugen set off down the shore, not waiting for an answer.

Jin nodded, and began delving into their sodden belongings as she watched. They were as wet as she was, she realized; the ronin’s long black hair hung askew down his back, as his clothing dripped onto the ground — he brought out the flint from his pack and rocked back on his heels with an audible squish!

The giggle bubbled up out of her before she could stop herself, then, as he looked over at her questioningly.

“I’m sorry, “ she said. “It’s just — well.” She pointed to the small puddle that had formed where he’d been kneeling, and his mouth curved up faintly.

He gathered together a few small pieces of driftwood to act as kindling. “How are you feeling?” he asked, before blowing on the precious tinder to dry it as much as possible.

Fuu wrinkled her face in distaste. “A little sick. The ocean’s really salty and I think I drank some of it. Actually, I think I drank a lot of it.” She shivered.
Frowning, he set the tinder down, careful to put it where it would keep drying, and knelt in front of her. “Hey.” He peered into her eyes.

Teeth chattering, she looked up at him as he started rubbing warmth into her arms. “Um, Jin —?“ Any other time, she would have been thrilled to have this much attention from him, she thought hazily, but this — “Jin!”

“Hn?” He noticed that the vigorous rubbing was causing her head to snap back and forth on her neck as if he’d been shaking her by the shoulders, and stopped. “Ah. I’m sorry.”

“No, it was nice, just — “ She relaxed, as he began rubbing her arms again, this time more gently. “This is good. I like this,” she offered. Her eyes began closing, despite her sodden clothes, as the friction warmed her skin.

“Better?” When she nodded, he let go. He sat back from her and began the long process of drying his swords, as he waited.

“What happened to the others?”

“Dead,” he told her, tipping water out of the scabbard for the katana.

“Even Kohza? You’re sure?”

The ronin nodded. “She should not have been there.” His voice was grim.

She looked up, as Mugen dumped an armload of wood on the ground. “We should dry out here, for a while,” he said. “Town might be a good idea tonight — it’s not that far. Think you can manage it, Fuu?”

“Yeah.” She watched, as his hands went about the business of building a fire. The tinder smouldered briefly, before it finally took the spark and the wood caught. The fire was warm; she took her hair out of its loosened knot — not difficult, with one of the sticks that held her hair in place gone, presumably at the bottom of the bay — and wrung some of the water out of it. She combed through it with her fingers as best she could, and spread the heavy mass over her shoulders to dry. “This probably sounds stupid, but I really, really want a bath,” she admitted.

The Ryukyuan grinned, as he scrubbed his hand through his hair. “Had mine already, thanks.”

Jin finished wiping his katana, grimacing at the thought of all that salt water on the smooth metal, before turning his attention to himself. The leather tie that held his hair back was starting to dry and tighten, as he tried working his fingers underneath it to take it out. He looked up as Fuu tapped him on the forehead, and she gestured for him to sit with his back to her. He gave in, as she began trying to untangle the damp black mess.

Her fingers tugged pleasantly on his hair, as she worked; the beach was quiet, except for the crackling of the fire, as they sat companionably together.

One of the unexpected joys of the time they’d spent recovering on the island, after the man had killed her father, and they’d come so close to death themselves, had been the nearly unlimited amount of access she’d had to Jin’s hair. The first day after, it had been a way of passing the time as she watched them; she’d managed to prop him up against her lap without waking him, and spent the next hour combing through the tangles of his hair until it was a gleaming dark river once more. It was comforting, to do it again the next day, and the days after that — the dead didn’t have hair that went all to knots as they slept.

She combed Mugen’s hair as well, but it wasn’t the same satisfying experience, since there wasn’t that much of it and no matter what she did it looked exactly the same, short of cutting it. And Jin’s — she would have bitten her tongue rather than admit it, but his hair was easily more beautiful than her own, once given the proper care.

He preferred not to, though. She’d known he was recovered, the day he’d taken the comb from her hands and done it himself before tying this hair back with the same leather tie.

Fuu managed finally to free the much-abused leather from his hair with a minimum of pulling, handing it to Jin. His clever fingers began to work at the water-swollen knot, untangling the puzzle it had become. “I thought you were both dead,” she found herself saying, then.

Mugen’s eyes flicked up from where he’d been staring into the fire, their movement the only indication of interest from the men sitting there. The Ryukyuan yawned, crossing his arms.

“When I was in the water, I mean. I saw you.” She let her eyes drop to the back of the ronin’s head, as she slowly fingercombed through the damp strands. “It was — “ She fell silent.

”Sometimes,” Jin said slowly, his voice rumbling comfortingly in his chest, “when a person cannot breathe, he will see things that aren’t there.”

“It was so real,” she whispered. “I could smell it — “

”It didn’t happen, Fuu,” he told her. “We won’t leave you.”

She nodded, her fingers trembling.

—

“They left us,” her companion said, leaning back against a step. “And it’s not like I’m seeing a ferry here, either.”

Yatsuha gave him a dirty look. “Thanks, Captain Obvious, I’d missed that entirely.”

“Ferry’s late getting in, though,” Hankichi told her. “It’ll be harder to find them, if we don’t make the crossing soon. You hear from your father yet?”

She rolled her head from side to side, hearing a satisfying crack. “Pigeon came this morning, when you were going through their hut. He said you were supposed to take my advice on everything, and — oh, yeah, you’re supposed to do whatever I say.”

The man in green snorted. “You saved this message? Because I’d like to see it. Uh, what with his calligraphy.”

She spread her hands in mock surrender. “You know, I didn’t — ? Really too bad. New instructions, though.”

“Oh?”

The pretty woman nodded.

“Hm.” He raised his eyebrows. “Well. Suppose we’ll have to entertain ourselves until the ferry comes, then. Hey, did I tell you the one where the horse walks up to the sake stand, and — “

”Yes. And you promised me — you promised! — never to tell it again.”

“Have you considered I might have been lying?”

“Have you considered I might kick you so hard your children will feel it?”

“But I don’t — oh. Right.”

She sat down next to him. “So he should be here, any moment now?”

“Mm.”

They turned their heads, as a running villager went past them, shouting excitedly to a crowd of men. “Hey! The ferry sank!”

Dismayed, Yatsuha and Hankichi exchanged looks. “Oh, shit,” she said.

“Yeah.”

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