Inochi

By Linda

Chapter 6

The next morning, I vowed never again to drink sake.

Evidently, I had little tolerance for it; Haruna had been surprised I felt so ill. "Hung over," she called it, and truthfully, I did feel as if I had been hung over a fence and left there all night. Haruna laughed at me, then gave me bitter-tasting tea that made me gag. Although I didn't like it, I had to admit that it helped banish most of the sick feeling in my belly and head that made me feel so miserable. As a further kindness, she didn’t send me out into the bright sunlight to garden, but let me work inside, where it was darker, and the light didn’t hurt my eyes. I was grateful for her thoughtfulness and couldn't hold it against her that she had purposefully gotten me drunk to make me talk.

She didn’t mention anything about what had happened last night, and I appreciated it. I knew we’d talked, but I wasn’t certain about what, exactly—everything was rather blurry and indistinct. I vaguely remembered mentioning my mother, and the curse, but beyond that, I wasn’t certain. To talk of such private things made me squirm with a feeling of nakedness and vulnerability, made me even more trapped than I was. If everyone would keep quiet about the events of last night, perhaps, just perhaps, I wouldn't be sent to the pens. Even the thought of that made my belly clench tightly.

Kyo kept close by; once, when I sat still, rubbing my still-aching head, he gave me one of his meant-to-comfort chest thumps. Otherwise, he was quiet save for the little clacking noises of the abacus beads against one another. Haruna had given him one of her old ones, the colored lacquer of the beads chipped to show the wood beneath, to occupy his time. He could count, a little, and I had tried to teach him what little I knew of addition and subtraction, but he never remembered from one time to the next much of what I told him. Some things he remembered more easily than others but counting was not one of those things, and each time I tried to teach him was like beginning anew. Normally, I didn't mind the little clicking noise of the beads, but today, it made my head ache all the more, and I'd been hard-pressed to bite my tongue and not ask him to put it away.

Later in the afternoon, when I sat in the storeroom sorting out bandages by sizes, a simple, mindless chore, I heard the deep slow rumble of Kyo’s voice outside the doorway, and another, higher, lighter. I thought perhaps he talked to Haruna, or Natsumi, but then he rapped on the door facing, and called my name in a curiously subdued voice.

I put the bandage rolls back into their box, and scooted to the entryway, brushing my hair out of my eyes, expecting to see Haruna, with another task for me. I don’t think she was fooled by my docility, and kept me busy enough that I was always tired whenever I went to my pallet at night.

The person standing there was neither Haruna nor Natsumi, but instead a man, dressed in a fine silk robe of dark red. Dragons wrought in black thread trailed up over the sides; the work was so detailed, they almost looked alive, as if they would twine up over his narrow shoulders and breathe fire in my direction. The man himself, I’d never seen before; he was of middling years, though younger than Hamanari, tall and slim with long silky black hair caught in a loose braid that hung over his chest, tied with a black ribbon. His face was long and thin as well, with very precise features that looked as if an artist had carved them. His eyes were grey, dark grey like stormclouds bearing ice, and nearly as cold and threatening.

I remembered at last that it was very rude to look at strangers fully in the face, and immediately lowered my gaze before he noticed me staring. I ducked my head with a murmured apology, folding myself into a proper obeisance, kneeling with my forehead on folded hands. He walked closer, and from the corner of my eye, I saw he wore silk tabi, and I wondered at who he was that he could casually display such wealth.

“Dorei,” he said. His voice was soft and sweet, like a flute. I felt myself blush; even after the length of time I'd spent in captivity, it was still hard for me to hear myself called slave. “Dorei. Sit up.”

I did as I was bidden, sitting back on my heels, keeping my face down, as was expected. I could see Kyo sitting up as well; the command had not specified which one of us should obey, so we both did. The man in the dragon robe came closer still, the only sound a soft rustle of silken robes. I could scent him; he smelled of incense and expensive sweet oils, as had my uncles. In contrast, I smelled lightly of musk and sweat from working.

“You are the one called Inochi?” His accent was different than either mine or Hamanari’s, but it fell pleasantly on the ear, like a sweet song, or a bird’s lilting trill.

“Yes, Meijin,” I said. I wasn’t sure how to address him---he certainly looked the part of a master. Far better in fact; his clothing was certainly finer than any of the plain clothes I’d ever seen Hamanari wear.

He laughed, a soft ripple of sound. “I am not your Meijin, boy. Hamanari-san is your Meijin for the moment. You may address me as Soujuro-san.”

“Yes, Soujuro-san,” I replied immediately, respectfully.

“Stand up, and let me take a proper look at you.”

I unfolded myself and stood obediently, my eyes still on my feet. He circled around me as Hamanari had, and I could feel him studying me, feel his cold eyes assessing me, and it certainly felt as if he thought me lacking in some way. My heart began to pound very hard as I wondered if he was here to buy me. I sent a worried sidewise glance toward Kyo, but he still sat still, his head down. There was no support from him.

“You may look up, boy. I want to see your face.”

I lifted my face, my gaze not rising above the perfect folds of his robe and under robe lying neatly on his chest. His under robe was of white silk, embroidered along the edges in white. His throat was long and slim and pale. A flash caught my eye; he had long earrings crafted of gold wire and some sort of red stone, and they swung and sparkled with each movement of his head.

“Look up at me a moment.”

Slowly I looked up at him; he was taller than I by several inches, though not as tall as Kyo. His serious eyes studied me a moment; I couldn’t tell what he thought, as no expression crossed his smooth face. Tentatively, I opened my mind, just a fraction, almost afraid to do so, to let out that strange power, but it stayed buried within me, and I felt no different than before. I opened it yet further, and stretched out to touch his ki. Soujuro’s ki was dark red, like his robe, calm on the surface, but with pulsing black threads of evil things writhing beneath, like live snakes undulating just beneath the surface. The strength of that visual made my breath catch, and I slammed my mind shut to him, my stomach rolling queasily.

Soujuro's eyes narrowed, and I had a fleeting panic that my expression had betrayed my thoughts. “Well. I might be able to do something with you,” he said finally. “Come along with me, and we’ll start.”

I looked over at Kyo, who looked up at me, alarm crossing his broad plain face.

“Soujuro-san?” My voice sounded hesitant. I had no idea of who he was, or if I should obey him. He had the air of someone accustomed to giving commands, of having them obeyed instantly. I wished Haruna there to tell me who he was and what to do.

“Don’t dally.” He snapped, and turned and began moving off, his steps light and sure and silent on the polished wood, his voluminous robe billowing behind him.

Unsure of what to do, I followed, and Kyo trailed along behind me. We’d gotten to the main room when Haruna stepped out in front of us, effectively stopping Soujuro in his tracks. She drew herself up to her full height, face fixed in her most fierce frown, the one that caused even the guards to hesitate in spite of her tiny size.

“What the hells are ~you~ doing here? And what do you think you’re doing taking my servants?”

“Ah, Haruna Sensei. As always, such a pleasure to speak with you.” He sounded completely unruffled, his light voice as smooth as glass. Although the words sounded sincere, his tone made them an insult.

“You didn’t answer me,” Haruna snapped. “I’m not letting you go one step further until you start giving me some answers.”

Haruna broadened her stance, and folded her arms across her chest. Her chin came down and her eyes dared him to proceed; she looked as if she readied to fight him. Her ki flared in a bright red nimbus around her, and though I knew no one else could see it, I was vaguely surprised they didn't feel it; I could feel her anger wash against my skin. Though when she grew this angry most backed down from her, Soujuro was clearly unimpressed. If anything, I could sense amusement radiating from him.

“I have come to claim this dorei and take him to the main house for preparation. Why else should I come down...here?” His hesitation on the last word and his superior tone left no doubt of the disdain in which he held Haruna’s clinic, and by extension, Haruna herself. I blinked; I would never be so brave as to treat Haruna in such a flippant manner, and wondered just who he was that he could do so and not fear her wrath.

Then his words caught my attention. Preparation? Preparation for what? Wide-eyed, I glanced at Haruna, but her expression changed little save for a red flare of temper, certainly not enough to give me any clue as to what might lie ahead for me.

“I say he’s not ready. He was thin and ill when he was given to me, and he’s not fully recovered. He’s not ready to go.”

Soujuro made a “hn” noise; it sounded much more elegant coming from him than it ever had from Haruna. He extracted a small brocade-bound book from his voluminous sleeve, and opened it, flipping pages until he found the one he desired. I was close enough to him I could see writing flowing across the pages, as beautiful as birds in flight.

“According to my accounts, this dorei was brought here almost two months ago and given into your care. I would trust that two months would be sufficient time for you to take care of his ailments.” He paused, and flicked a look in my direction. “He certainly looks healthy enough to me.”

“And you are a healer that you can so readily know such things?” Haruna’s voice took on an acid tone.

“No. But I am also no fool. There is nothing visibly wrong with this dorei, and as Hamanari-san bade me to bring him to the main house, that is exactly what I shall do.” He closed his book and tucked it back into his elegant sleeve. “Step aside, Haruna Sensei. Do not make me force this issue. I do not seek a confrontation with you, but neither will I shy from it.”

“He is not ready.” Haruna’s mouth set into a firmer line.

Soujuro flicked an imaginary speck of lint from his sleeve, then sighed. “Really, Sensei, you grow most tiresome. I brought guards with me should the dorei give me trouble, but I shall not hesitate to use them to remove you from our path.”

I wasn’t entirely sure what was going on, save that these two obviously didn’t like one another, and they argued over me. But I knew for a certainty I didn’t want Haruna hurt, just as I knew Soujuro-san wouldn’t hesitate to call his guards if Haruna gave him trouble. I remembered well the size of the guards, of their rough handling of slaves. I’d seen the marks of their whips on slaves, the bruises and sometimes broken limbs from their clubs. I couldn’t bear the thoughts of them raising a hand in violence to her. She had been too kind to me in her own fashion, and I would not see her harmed for my sake.

“Haruna Sensei,” I began, softly. “Please, Sensei, don’t get yourself into trouble for me. I’ve seen too well what they do. I...I would not have you hurt.”

Haruna’s stance wilted a little. With a contemptuous glare at Soujuro, she stepped past him and up to me. “You’re too damn tall. Kneel down.”

I obeyed immediately. Though her face remained angry, her eyes were unexpectedly soft. She lifted a hand and smoothed the hair away from my face, her palm rough with calluses.

“I would have kept you longer with me, boy. It appears, though, that what I wish and think best has no influence on some pompous asses.” She leveled another glare at Soujuro; he merely inclined his head graciously. Her attention returned to me. “Be obedient. Persevere. Be strong. Live the best life you can regardless of your circumstances.” She patted my cheek unexpectedly, her big red eyes very bright. “Remember this above all else---you have value of your own---whatever happens to the body needn’t touch the spirit.”

Haruna spun on her heel, and with a bellowed, “Get the hell out of my clinic, you damned procurer!” she was gone.

“Well,” Soujuro said, with a little toss of his head. “Wasn’t that pleasant. What a temper that harridan has. Come along, now, dorei.”

Soujuro swept to the door, slipped into his thongs. I still knelt there, looking after Haruna, my throat feeling very tight, my eyes burning. Just when I finally felt I’d found an anchor, a place where I might fit in, I’d been cast adrift again, into unknown waters. Soujuro cleared his throat, then snapped his fingers impatiently. Slowly, I turned my attention back to him.

“Don’t tell me you’re stupid,” he snapped, his unexpectedly sweet voice acidic with disdain. “I’ll make it simple for you. Obey me, and your lot shall not be a difficult one. Disobey, and I have ways to make you truly regretful you even breathe. I don’t like to repeat myself. Come.”

I unfolded myself, and rose. Kyo followed closely behind me, and I drew comfort from his nearness, his simple, calm ki, though at the moment it felt stirred and unsettled by all the conflict. A glance back at him showed me his face, drawn with unhappiness. We slipped into our thongs and went out into the late afternoon sunlight. I squinted, the sun seeming to pound into my eyes.

“Just what are you doing?”

I stopped instantly, wondering what I’d done to displease him already, but it was not me his dark grey eyes focused upon, but Kyo. Kyo shifted a little behind me, and I could see Soujuro’s guards step up to either side of him, both almost as big as Kyo himself.

“Am doing as Meijin said,” Kyo said, fidgeting a little, looking apprehensively at both guards. Both men had whips and bamboo canes tucked into their sashes. “He said to stay with Inochi, to make him safe. Keep him from running away.”

I had to admire Kyo for standing his ground; I could feel his fear and apprehension fluttering over my skin, and his ki rippled with anxiety. It matched that roiling in my stomach.

“You think these two can’t keep him from running away?” Soujuro looked at him, his head tipped slightly to the side, then his dark grey eyes widened a little. “I recognize you now. Go away, back to the stables.”

“Meijin said to stay." Kyo's voice quavered a moment, then strengthened. "Cannot disobey Meijin. He will whip me.” One of the guards put his hand on Kyo’s shoulder to pull him away, and Kyo shrugged him off as he would a fly. “Please, Soujuro-san, let me obey Meijin.”

Soujuro frowned. “I’m not in the mood now to view a thrashing. Very well. Come along, and Hamanari-san himself can dismiss you. Gods know, I won’t need you any longer.”

Relief swept through me, and I could feel the tension in the air around us ease a bit. I really didn’t want to see Kyo beaten again, and the guards looked all too ready to jump atop him and start pummeling him. Just as I couldn't bear it if they'd hurt Haruna, I couldn't bear it if Kyo was hurt because of me.

I half-turned to give the clinic one last look; I’d been relatively happy there, had found friends in Haruna and Kyo---I'd never had friends before, and I was surprised how sharply it hurt to find myself dragged away from them. One of the guards grabbed me by the arm and roughly propelled me forward, and I almost lost my footing before continuing onward. I had a feeling that I’d never see the inside of the clinic, or Haruna, ever again, and even though she’d been foul-tempered, and foul-mouthed, I knew I’d miss her.

Our path led us through the pens, and the oppressive ki bore down on me, making my head throb hard, as if something were drumming atop my skull. I wrapped my arms around myself and ducked my head to keep from seeing any of the slaves there, witnessing their despair. I was well aware I’d been treated well in comparison to them; I’d been given purpose, and friendship. These poor souls had nothing.

I wondered what kind of duty Soujuro led me into now. I wondered what he meant by preparation. I stole a glance up at him; he moved with grace, seemingly floating above the ground, his robes rustling softly like leaves stirred by the wind. I’d never seen anyone like him before; he looked like what I imagined a prince or a king might look, cool and serene. I’d seen it was all surface tranquility; his ki had seethed with black thoughts, things I had no wish to know, or to experience.

He led us around the back of the main building, and stepped out of his thongs, and up onto the broad, polished wooden veranda encircling the house. I left my shoes beside his, as did Kyo and the guards. Inside the house, it was dark and cool, and I blinked to adjust my eyes to the difference in light. Everything was plain, though very neat and spotlessly clean. We passed servants dressed in the dark blue outer robes of Hamanari’s slaves; they stopped whatever they were doing and bowed respectfully as Soujuro swept by, but he paid them no heed. Again I wondered who Soujuro was that he could command such respect and fear.

We came to a halt at an open door that led into a bath. Soujuro went in before me, and beckoned me to follow him. When Kyo moved to trail along with us, Soujuro frowned, and slid the door closed in his face. “You stay outside, lout,” he said firmly. “I scarcely need you here.”

Within, it was very quiet, and I could hear very clearly the rapid pounding of my heart, the breath rushing in and out of my lungs. My stomach twisted alarmingly. Soujuro’s mouth quirked a little. “At least, I assume I shan’t need his muscle. You won’t give me any trouble, will you, dorei?”

I shook my head. To fight would only bring in the guards, who looked all too eager to hurt someone. I’d never considered myself a fool---this fight was one I could not win---best save up energy and strength for one I could. His assessing look made me feel cold, as if I was nothing more than an object instead of a person. To him, I suppose I wasn’t even a person, but a slave, a commodity. Hamanari had thought me such, but somehow it had felt less dehumanizing coming from him. I stood very still as Soujuro circled around me again, his expression critical. He lifted my long hair, looked at my ears. He had me hold out my hands, and made a disapproving sound.

“You have hands like a common peasant, though the shape is not displeasing,” he allowed. “I suppose that harridan worked you like a common field hand?”

“I worked in her garden, and in the clinic,” I replied. “I was always very busy, Soujuro-san.”

“No doubt. Yare, yare,” he sighed. “You need a haircut, you need your nails trimmed, you need to be taught how to move, how to speak. How are your manners, dorei?”

“I have very few, Soujuro-san,” I replied honestly. “I was not taught them as a boy. There was no need for me to have them, as I was seldom allowed in the house, or around others.”

“Hn. I despair of ever completely erasing that dreadful northern accent, but then, some might find it has a certain charm. We shall see. Can you sing? Can you play any instrument?”

“No, Soujuro-san. There was never time for such things.” Never time for anything, it seemed, save the scrambling for bare survival. The only thing I knew how to do was to tell stories; Mai and the other little ones had always loved to hear my stories, but I doubted Soujuro cared to know that I could entertain small children.

“Raw material. You’re nothing more than a crude lump of clay.” Soujuro tapped his finger on his chin, his mouth in an unhappy shape. I didn't like being insulted, but knew better than to let my face show it. “Well. You do at least have some potential; you have an exotic look that will carry you far.”

I had no idea what he meant, and so could only go on his disapproving look. I knew I was lacking, that I had no skills other than the strength of my back, no talents to offer, not even acceptable manners, though Haruna had polished my table manners somewhat. I tried not to shift on my feet, to remain still beneath that piercing grey regard, but it was very difficult.

Soujuro made a dismissive gesture. “Take off your robes, and let me see you entirely. Hamanari must have had a reason to buy you other than the kitsune color of your eyes, though that is certainly compelling enough.”

I could feel my cheeks flame. “Soujuro-san?”

Soujuro sighed. “With ears that size, you can’t possibly be hard of hearing. Take off your robe.”

“But I....” My fingers knotted in the front of my robes, and anxiety made my stomach clench.

“You’ve not been a dorei long, so I shall be lenient---this once. Understand this. You no longer have any rights to your body. You don’t own it anymore—it belongs to the Meijin. As his second, his Master of the House, I may, and shall, order you to disrobe at my discretion. If you do not obey me, I’ll have the guards come in and do it for you, which will be far worse for you, as they are rough and heavy-handed. I suggest you yield gracefully; it’s the easiest route. Because whether you will it, or do not, you shall obey.”

I swallowed hard, and thought of the guards standing ready outside. I thought of their big hands, and hard eyes, of the whips and canes hanging from their belts, ready for use. I looked up at Soujuro, at his still, perfect, uncompromising face, and slowly, my hands went to my sash. I untied and unwrapped it, and let it drop. I shrugged out of the two outer robes, but hesitated at the inner one.

Soujuro stood motionless, his arms folded into his sleeves. “You’re making me wait,” he observed. His voice dropped a little, became more threatening. “I don’t like to be kept waiting, dorei.”

I slid out of the inner robe and let it drop atop the others pooled around my legs. I stood naked save for the tabi on my feet. I flushed harder and fidgeted, unsure as to what to do with my hands. Finally, I covered myself with them, and stared at the floor, embarrassed.

“Virgins.” Soujuro made the word sound like something of which I should be ashamed. “Believe me, I’ve seen literally thousands of naked slaves in my time here. You’re less attractive than most---you have little to distinguish you from common field labor.” He sounded bored.

Soujuro then stepped closer, close enough that his robes brushed against me, cool and smooth against my skin. He pulled his hands from his sleeves, and shook back the heavy material. When he put his slim pale hands on my shoulders, I couldn’t help but jump; it took everything to not pull away from him.

“Soft skin, but I suppose that, along with most of your finer points, is from the same ancestor that gave you the eyes and the ears and the hair. Nothing you’ve done, certainly. I suppose we're fortunate that the sun hasn't yet browned your skin more than it has.” His cool hands moved over my shoulders, down my arms, over my chest, more defined now with all the work I’d done for Haruna. I shivered beneath his touch, but not from enjoyment. “Still thin---you must have been nothing but bones when Hamanari bought you.” His hand trailed down to my belly, then slid over to rest on my hip, and remembering Hamanari’s touch, his intimate examination, I shuddered and pulled away a half step, not wanting to be touched like that again.

I never saw Soujuro raise his hand, nor saw it come toward me until it connected with my cheek with a sharp ~crack~ sound in the quiet room. His slap was hard enough to stagger me, though it took a moment for the sharp burn to begin. I couldn’t believe he’d hit me; no one had raised a hand to me since I’d been sold. Shocked, I could only stare at him through the veil of my hair, not even daring to raise my hand to my cheek, now hot and hurting.

With a frown, Soujuro grasped my chin, his slim fingers surprisingly strong, and raised my face. His voice was dark and displeased. “Dorei. ~Never~ pull away from me."

Though bile rose bitter on the back of my tongue, and anger stirred hotly in my belly, I lowered my eyes respectfully. Soujuro was not a man to cross; his ki was too full of dark vile things. "I...am sorry, Sourjuro-san." I had to force the words past my teeth; my tongue did not wish to say them. "Please forgive me."

Evidently it was enough to pacify him; he released my chin. "You must become accustomed to touch, not shrink from it. You'll be touched, frequently; when you’re sold, you shall be touched all the time. Learn to enjoy it...it can be pleasurable. It can also be painful, as you now realize.”

Again, the casual reference to being sold. My mouth was very dry suddenly, and I could feel the lazy stretch of the curse within me as I grew more nervous, more anxious. I pushed it down firmly, and worked up the courage to ask a question. “Am I not going back to the clinic to work, Soujuro-san?”

“Hn. I rather think not.” The thought seemed to amuse him, somehow; his grey eyes glinted with malicious humor.

“Shall I be sold for field work?” I knew I was stepping beyond the limits of what he would consider acceptable behavior of a slave by asking so many questions, but I couldn’t help myself. I wondered if somehow he'd heard of what I'd done last night, and if he had, what he would do with me. I suspected though, if he had, I'd be in the pens by now, not standing naked before him.

“Now that would be a waste of material,” he said. “Not to mention a waste of good gold. Field hands can often be bought for copper. Hamanari-san paid gold for you, but in my opinion, far too much. Go bathe now, and stop asking questions before you annoy me. You stink of sweat.”

Soujuro turned away and his silk robes, smooth and cool, swept across my body. I stood there blinking a moment, then removed the tabi from my feet and went to the tiled area to scrub. The only thing I liked unreservedly about captivity was the opportunity to be clean, and scrubbed myself thoroughly, sluicing off with buckets of warm water.

I stole sidewise glances at Soujuro as I washed. He sat gracefully on the bench and wrote in his little book, his crimson robes pooled about him. Like blood, I thought, and shivered at the comparison. I suspected that whatever he wrote, it was about me. He looked up and saw me staring, and I flushed and turned away, back to bathing, not daring to look at him again. His little half-smile made me very uneasy for some reason.

When I finished, I wrapped a towel about myself, and began to dry my hair with another. My cheek still stung, and I was certain it was still red. Soujuro beckoned me closer, and I obeyed, though my heart thudded so hard beneath my ribs I was afraid it would burst free. When I stood before him, he reached out to trail his index finger over my chest, warm and still damp from washing. I quivered, but held my place. He reached down and pulled at the towel around my hips until it came away in his hand, and he dropped it to the floor. I shuddered harder, but stayed still, not wanting him to hit me again.

“You do have beautiful skin,” he said softly, and his hand moved slowly, leisurely down my belly again, as if daring me to pull away again. “It’s as soft and hairless as a child’s. I’d wager it would mark wonderfully well.” He leaned in closer, scented the skin beneath my ear. I could feel his warm moist breath on my neck, and twitched, fighting the urge to pull away from him. He then breathed softly into my ear. “I will make certain to find that out for myself some time before you’re sold away, dorei.” His fingers traced over my softness, over the tightness of my sac, and I bit my lower lip and clenched my hands into fists to keep from pushing him away.

Soujuro laughed, and pulled away, straightening his robes before turning and gliding from the room. I waited until the door slid closed behind him, remaining as still as a stone before snatching up the towel and wrapping it about me once more. The taste of bile was bitter on the back of my tongue. I had the urge to wash again; my skin crawled.

When next the door opened I looked up, and a woman with silvery-white hair in a single braid down her back, wearing the dark robe of a slave stood there with a small basket. She waited for me to finish, impatiently, if her expression was any indication. She carried clean folded robes in one arm, and set them on the bench where he’d sat. I wondered if they were for me. I reached for them, only to have the woman smack my hand sharply.

“First things first. Sit down, boy.”

I sat on the bench, and she pulled the towel from my hand, wrapping it around my shoulders, pulling my hair from beneath it to spread over the material. After she roughly combed out my hair, taking little heed of knots or tangles, she took a pair of snips from her basket and cut a thick fringe of hair just over my eyes and cut it to just above chin length in front of my ears. I felt oddly naked, as it left my ears clearly visible to everyone. She then cut off the ragged ends of my hair, making a straight line across the small of my back. A smaller pair of snips took care of my too-long nails. She rubbed sweet-smelling oil into the skin of my hands and feet, and made disapproving sounds at their roughness. I shifted a little, uncomfortable; no one had ever given me this much attention, and I wondered why I received it now.

Standing up again, she looked at me critically. “Much better,” she pronounced. She brushed my hair back from my ears, looked at their shape. “You’ll have your ears pierced, but not until later. It will look very nice.” Her fingers ran over the top curve of the left ear, almost to the pointed tip, and I wanted to shake my head, as it felt odd. “What’s this?”

I brought my fingers up to feel where her fingers were, and found the small notch there. “It is where one of my brothers tried to cut off the ends of my ears to make them normal and round,” I replied. “I kicked him and bit him and got away before he did it.”

“Brothers,” she announced with the air of one who’d suffered at the hands of one or more, “can be very stupid. Be grateful he didn’t get the job done. If he’d disfigured you, you’d not be sitting here.”

I was not certain if that was a good thing, or not. I was confused; for awhile, I’d thought possibly that my life lay with Haruna and her clinic, but Soujuro had said, in no uncertain terms, that it did not. Neither did field work. Perhaps he wished to sell me to a merchant. My mind turned over that possibility, considering it. Maybe, I thought with a tiny curl of excitement, I would learn to read and write, and that was what he meant by “preparation.” That in itself would be a good thing---I’d always wanted to know how to read and write.

I remembered Soujuro’s beautiful penmanship, and could almost imagine the same flowing from my own hand. It was a comforting thought that pleased me greatly. With such a skill as reading and writing, I could provide a much better life for Mai and myself after I escaped. It was not a common skill, I knew, and those who could do so were much in demand. If that was indeed what he planned for me, to teach me, then I would be obedient and docile; I’d bide my time until I could learn that valuable skill, and then make my escape.

The woman gave me a tooth stick, and I brushed my teeth with fresh water and a powder that tasted of wild mint. We’d always made our own by pounding the ends of green twigs until they frayed, and then used those, or bits of rags in the wintertime when green twigs were unavailable, but this was a different kind of tooth stick, more like a tiny brush. I cleaned my teeth, and then dressed in the robes she gave me. They were much the same as I’d been wearing; the white under robe and the darker over robe---this one was dark green---but of finer material, very soft. A pair of black tabi for my feet, with a button on the outer ankle to make them fit better. I’d never had such fine clothes in my whole life, and brushed my hands over the folds, wonderingly. I’d thought the slave robes pleasing; these were far richer.

Although I didn’t wish for her to do so, and kept shying away from her, she took some sort of smudgy black stick and outlined my upper and lower eyelashes, and rubbed some of the stuff on the lashes themselves. She reprimanded me sharply when I fussed, and I subsided, sullenly. Next out of her basket appeared a small pot of clear, shiny ointment, and she applied it with a finger to both upper and lower lips. I yelped when she pinched both cheeks, and then rubbed at them. “You needed some color in your cheeks, she said curtly, and I frowned, certain I had quite enough.

She frowned at me, turning her head first one way, then the other. “I suppose you’ll do,” she said finally. “How old are you, boy?”

“Sixteen winters, Ma’am,” I replied.

“Hn. You're a bit old for this---they like to get them much younger for training, but still, you’re very pretty, and I can see why they chose you.”

I could feel heat rise up my throat. She jested, surely; I knew for a certainty I was not. Would never be. Besides, pretty was a term applied to a girl, and I most definitely was not a girl. In the past year, I’d grown taller, my shoulders broader, my voice dropping substantially deeper after a period of embarrassing cracking which I could never control. Though I was beardless, and my chest still smooth as a boy’s, I was yet a man. I opened my mouth to protest, but she cut me off with a curt motion.

“Come along now, and we’ll go to Soujuro-san. Pay attention, obey promptly, and he’ll treat you fairly enough. He’ll teach you many useful things, if you’re bright enough to listen and apply yourself.”

I followed her out the door. The two hulking guards stood there, along with Kyo, who looked at me as if I’d sprouted another head and a third arm. It might have been amusing, if things weren’t so serious. He reached out to touch me, and one of the guards roughly slapped away his wrist. "No touching,” the man growled, and Kyo subsided, sullenly. With a guard on either side of me and Kyo trailing behind, any hope of escape was pointless. I tried to memorize the path we took, but there were too many turns, and I soon gave it up as pointless.

We found Soujuro in a large, spacious room that smelled of spice incense. He had a sliding screen open to catch the warm afternoon breeze, and I could see out over the greening countryside, and hear the soft pleasing tinkling of a wind chime on the veranda that ran along the outside of the house. Soujuro sat drinking tea, looking out the open screen, and barely acknowledged us, his eyes far away. One of the guards gave me a hard push down onto my knees. I folded myself as best I could, and bowed low, my head to the polished floor, which seemed to be his intention.

“It looks rather like a festival parade,” Soujuro said dryly. “So many guards for one insignificant dorei. You wouldn’t be thinking of escaping, would you, dorei?”

I wasn’t certain how to answer; one answer would be a lie, the other would earn me punishment. I knelt there a moment, debating, and Soujuro smiled.

“No matter,” he said casually. “I’ll have the guards break one of your legs. Then you’ll be certain to stay in one place.”

Horror swept over me, and I forgot myself and sat back on my heels, gazing up at him, eyes wide. I looked at him in surely much the same way a trapped rabbit looked at the approach of the hunter. I stuttered, words bouncing around uselessly inside my head, but then he laughed, a brittle sound.

“Don’t be ridiculous, boy. That would be damaging the Meijin’s property, and as he paid so much for you, he might be displeased to see you crippled. Though that wouldn’t affect your purpose all that much, it would still be aesthetically displeasing. So your legs are safe. For the moment, at any rate.”

He rose and swept toward me as I tried to still my pounding heart and calm my rapid breathing. To say such things had been cruel, and I could find no reason for him to do it other than the fact that he could. I had been obedient, had given him no trouble, had not attempted escape; I’d done nothing to warrant such casual callousness.

“I suppose you are passable now. Clean, at any rate,” he said, and tipped up my face. “I can see she thought a bit of paint wouldn’t hurt, but you’ve grown too many muscles working for that harridan to look proper painted---that is more for the willowy feminine type. Ah well. Besides, I think your country naivete is what might appeal to most, not another painted boy.” He tucked his hands into his sleeves and sighed. “I suppose you’re as ready as possible. Come along. It’s time to present you to the Meijin.”

There was nothing else to be done. I rose, and followed, knowing that the next few moments, and the Meijin's pleasure or displeasure with me, would decide my fate.

Chapter Seven

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