[fisher]
MASTERY
by kishmet
He is the son and the grandson and the great-grandson of farmers, going back and back and back, a long line of farmers that stretches back into forever, as far as Hikaru knows or cares. He knows that they have always been rich enough to eat good meals, and never rich or influential enough to afford to be anything but farmers.
"But farming is a good, solid profession," says Hikaru, puffing out his chest in a brilliant impersonation of his grandfather.
"Speaking of farming... aren't you supposed to be helping with the harvest?" asks Akari, clearly unimpressed.
Hikaru deflates and shrugs his shoulders, glancing quickly out at the fields, tall and russet in the last few days before autumn will begin. "They'll do fine without me."
"But you should be working." Akari takes his hand and tugs. "Come on, Hikaru!"
"Akari," he protests, digging in his heels. Then he spies Waya coming down the path. "Oh, look." Hikaru breaks away from her and bolts off in Waya's direction. Waya always has something good to eat, pastries or meat pies or biscuits. His family can afford a woman to cook for them, and she spoils Waya rotten. Hikaru won't complain, though, not unless Waya stops sharing.
"Hikaru, you get back here right now!" Akari's not fast enough to catch him, though, and he calls back to her, "I'll help later! See you!"
+
"But your mother wants you to learn about farming, right?" Waya asks, watching Hikaru devour an entire loaf of homemade bread with an expression of appalled wonder. Hikaru ignores him; the bread is still warm from the oven, and he's not going to let that go to waste.
"Wulyus." Hikaru swallows his mouthful of food. "Well, yes."
"So?" Waya prods him. "You never do anything in the fields. Do you even know what your parents are growing?"
"Of course I do!" says Hikaru indignantly, and then stops to think for a moment. "Wheat."
"You do know that, at least," Waya admits.
"See," says Hikaru, a little smugly. He leans back against the trunk of the tree, tilting his head back so that he can look at the little patches of blue sky through the branches and leaves. "So, is school any better than farming?"
"What, my school?" Waya sounds dubious. "I don't know. It's... school."
"But what's it like?" Hikaru asks.
"School." When Hikaru looks down at him, Waya gestures vaguely. "We have to memorize names, dates, battles. And read and write about them." Waya grins then. "Weapons practice is the best. Swords and bows and arrows and things. I beat Isumi so badly the other day, knocked him flat on his ass."
"But he always beats you with the bow," Hikaru comments.
Waya scowls. "Shut up."
+
Hikaru expects the telling-off he gets from his mother, you're the man of the house, you should learn the trade from the field hands, the men they give a percentage of the crop to in lieu of money, all this will be yours someday, can't you please appreciate it, just a little? And Hikaru listens, to a certain extent, and even feels a pang of guilt for disappointing her again. Still, he reasons, it doesn't seem to matter whether he learns the trade now or not; he will inherit it regardless, and then he'll have an entire lifetime to learn how wheat fields are cleared and sown and watered and harvested.
He doesn't expect his grandfather to wake up, for once, and pull him aside.
"I know that farming doesn't interest you much, Hikaru," his grandfather says, leading the way to his bedroom, which is smaller than Hikaru's but has a real door, not just a cheap screen.
Hikaru shrugs uncomfortably. His grandfather glances back at him, and he does it again for good measure.
"Let me show you something." Hikaru's grandfather's room is a mystery, the ultimate in the forbidden; no one is allowed to set foot inside without permission, and Hikaru's never heard his grandfather give permission ever before. Of course, he's been into the room five or six times, and he hasn't noticed anything worth hiding, just some old armor and a few board games, chess, backgammon, and a board crisscrossed with lines; Hikaru doesn't recognize the game.
His grandfather walks to the far side of the room and sorts through a pile of things. They are all old things, clothing and tools and bits and pieces of some long-broken, now-obsolete invention. He comes up, surprisingly, with a sword. Its hilt is decorated with patterns of blue and gold, and so it its sheath.
"A very long time ago," his grandfather intones solemnly, "your many-times great-grandfather went to war for our country."
"Oh," says Hikaru, perking up. This sounds mildly interesting. "That was his sword?"
"Patience!" his grandfather reprimands. "No. This was not his sword. He did not, in fact, serve as a warrior, but as an aide to one of the commanders."
At this, Hikaru's attention wanders. He looks at the sword itself, paying little heed to what his grandfather's saying. There's a dark spot near the tip of the blade, for some reason. He frowns, and leans forward to see better. Surely it's just a trick of the light, or lack thereof.
His grandfather goes on, oblivious to whatever Hikaru sees. "Shusaku Honinbou," he says, shaking his head. "Not a commander. The commander. Any man would have fought your many-times great-grandfather for the privilege of serving under him. He was the greatest ever to live, some say. He was a great strategist, oh yes, but he was an even greater swordsman. His name itself was an honorary title, given to him by his lord when he had won a dozen battles. This," he says, touching the blade reverently, "was his sword."
"Can I see it for a minute?" Hikaru asks suddenly. There are more dark stains on the steel, he's noticed now, as though its last owner had never cleaned it properly. As though it's still covered in-
-blood. His grandfather hands the sword over, pleased that Hikaru is actually showing some fascination this time. Hikaru takes it, and his stomach gives a strange, sickening lurch. It is blood, and not dried blood, either; it's bright and red and wet and fresh. Hikaru opens his mouth to shout, or, more likely, to make a weak and terrifying joke about whoever his grandfather has been stabbing lately, but someone else speaks instead, stealing the very breath from his lungs.
At last. At last! The voice rises in triumph and exultation. Hikaru hears his grandfather's exclamation as though it's coming from very far away, or perhaps from underwater. He can't speak. He can't move.
A man stands in front of him, the only thing he can see with blurring vision. The man has long, dark hair, pulled back and tied in the warrior's way; he's wearing armor that looks old and surprisingly light. His gaze is the most intense thing Hikaru has ever encountered, and he wants to turn away, but he can't. So, the man speaks, sounding more startled than disdainful. You are the one.
Hikaru knows that fainting is a woman's job, but he can't help himself. He collapses onto the floor, feels a moment of pain when his head hits the wood and packed earth, and then knows nothing but blessed, blissful sleep.
+
He hears brief snatches of conversation while he's out, though he can't tell for certain whether he's dreaming them or not.
His mother's voice: "-happened?"
His grandfather: "-just went pale all of a-"
"Who went pale?" Hikaru tries to mumble, and then suspects he knows the answer, because he still can't force his mouth to form the words.
Then he wakes up all the way, in his own bed with his head resting comfortably on the goose-down pillow, and there's no one else in the room anymore, if they'd been in the first place. No one, that is, but a long-haired man by the window, studying him gravely. Hikaru closes his eyes again, willing the vision, the demon, the ghost, whatever it is, to leave him alone.
I am not here to harm you. The voice is the same as the one from before, sweet and high and pure, almost like a woman's. It's not spoken out loud, though; it's in his head, but he can still hear it, somehow. I am here because your soul called to mine, Hikaru Shindou.
"What?" Hikaru opens his eyes and narrows them suspiciously. "How do you know my name?"
His mother bustles into the room when she hears his voice, and Hikaru can't listen to the man anymore; he's too busy being fussed over.
+
Later, Hikaru goes out walking, trying to convince himself that he's not going insane. This is very difficult when a ghost begins talking in his head.
Hikaru, my name is Sai Fujiwara, says the ghost. I fought for this country a long time ago. You may have heard my name.
Hikaru can't remember ever hearing it before, and he's ignoring Sai anyway. He'll ask Waya later, maybe, if he can think of a way to bring it up that won't make him sound crazy. Or Isumi. Isumi won't ask so many idiotic questions, though he will fix Hikaru with a thoughtful look, as though he's trying to figure out on his own why Hikaru wants to know.
I have come to you the same way I came to Shusaku Honinbou. Now there was a mind, and Sai sounds wistful. His talent equalled my own. We each knew strategies the other didn't, parries, defenses. Together, we were greater than the best. If only... he trails off.
"Could you stop talking?" Hikaru asks, politely enough. Now he thinks he knows why he's suffering this delusion: his grandfather's story had really gotten to him, more than he'd thought. The name 'Shusaku Honinbou' confirms this theory. This is all a waking dream, or possibly he's still unconscious, or possibly he's been unconscious all along, and he'd never seen the sword to begin with. Why would his grandfather keep a sword in his room? It makes no sense, and the thought makes Hikaru relax a bit.
Hikaru.
Just one word, his name, and Hikaru tenses again, and looks at Sai even though he's vowed not to. His breath quickens, and the idea that this is a nightmare, a delusion, is immediately dispelled. He would never be able to imagine the expression on Sai's face on his own. If I am here, Hikaru, says Sai, it means there is something in you, just as there was in Shusaku.
"There's nothing in me," says Hikaru, in quick denial. "I've never touched a sword before in my life!"
Except Shusaku's.
"Well." Hikaru hunches his shoulders, looking down at the ground. "I probably shouldn't have touched that either."
But you did, Sai observes, accurately enough. And now we will wield that blade together, you and I.
"No!" Hikaru nearly shouts it, whirling to face Sai. "No! After that, no. No. I'm never touching a sword again!"
He's hit by a wash of pain that starts in his head and rips through the rest of him, and he cries out, falling to his knees, doubled over on himself. He can't decide whether to throw up or pass out again, or both. It doesn't stop, it never stops, and Sai is raging at him, angry and somehow desperate. "Stop it," Hikaru pleads, his voice thin and ragged. "Stop it, Sai, stop it, stop it!"
For a wonder, Sai does.
"Don't," Hikaru says. His breath comes in short, sharp pants, the absence of pain just as stunning as the sudden onset of it. "Don't do that again, please." He looks up at Sai, pathetic and unhappy.
Sai actually looks contrite. I am sorry, he says, holding out his hands and staring at them. They're not quite transparent, but almost, enough that the woods behind him tinge his skin green and brown. I did not mean to- I am sorry. I have never had a host so averse to learning-
Hikaru feels a touch of the pain again and scrambles to his feet. "I'll learn, I'll learn!" he says, the words tumbling out over themselves in their haste to make it off of his tongue. "I'll learn anything you want me to, just please, calm down. Please?" he adds.
All right. Sai closes his eyes, and when he opens them, they're filled with sorrow. I am sorry, he says.
"It's all right," says Hikaru, as nonchalant as he can manage. "If my great-something-grandfather was a commander's aide, I can be a swordsman." The idea tickles some sense of adventure he'd never known he had, in fact. It's new, and peculiar, and he pokes at it as though it's some new type of beetle.
Well then! Sai seems able to feel his sincerity this time, and looks far happier. You will be a swordsman, Hikaru. I am never wrong in my choice of host.
+
Perhaps Sai is never wrong in his choice of host, but there's always an exception to every rule. Hikaru thinks miserably that he's probably it.
The next day, it's simple enough to slip into his grandfather's room as he's done before, when his grandfather is outside drinking ale at the front of the house. Hikaru picks up the sword gingerly, afraid that it's going to do the same thing and cause him to faint again. Nothing happens, though, except a faint tingle that's likely in his own head. Sai turns dreamy and nostalgic over the blade as Hikaru slips out the back, in the direction of the woods.
He evades Akari, who's on the path searching for him, and heads deeper into the forest to find a clearing Sai deems suitable. "No, not this one," Hikaru says, the first time Sai urges him to stop. "This is the one me and Akari used to play in. She'll come looking for me here next."
Then, this one? says Sai, when they come to another ten minutes farther in.
"This looks good," says Hikaru, nodding slowly. "Sure."
Here, Sai tells him, when Hikaru unsheathes the blade. He has to put the sheath on the ground, because he doesn't have a sword belt, and there's no way he can carry both. Let me show you-
Hikaru feels his arms twitching, then his feet, as though he's a puppet on strings. "No!" he yelps, wresting control of his own body back.
No? Sai sounds confused, as though he can't understand why Hikaru has a problem with this. But it's the easiest way for me to teach you how it's done.
"It's my body," said Hikaru through gritted teeth. Even he's not sure why he's so averse to this, except that it makes him feel like he's a toy, a plaything, only here for Sai to use in order to hold a sword again. "Teach me without taking over, or don't teach me at all." On that point, he holds firm, and Sai acquieces with a sigh.
This is when Hikaru finds out that wielding a sword isn't as easy as it should be. For one thing, the blade is long, the hilt waist-high on him because he hasn't yet achieved his full growth, or so he hopes. It's also heavy, and he can barely lift it off the ground without stumbling backwards and falling over himself. For such an intense sort of person, Sai is too amused, putting a hand over his mouth to cover his chuckling.
"Would you stop that!" Hikaru swings the sword at him, not a bad swing, or the best he's done so far, anyway. The momentum of it carries him in a circle and he sways and falls promptly on his backside, nearly decapitating himself in the process.
Careful, Sai chides him, laughing behind his hands again when it becomes clear that Hikaru is unhurt.
"It would be easier to be careful if you'd be quiet," Hikaru mutters, and rolls his eyes. He climbs to his feet, using the sword as a crutch, digging the point into the ground and grasping the handle in order to pull himself up.
Sai gasps, and Hikaru feels a short burst of nausea. No, Hikaru! You can't treat a sword that way!
"What? Why not?"
It is disrespectful! Sai lays a ghostly hand on the hilt of the blade, letting his fingers rest in the air just above it. Probably they'd go right through if he actually grasped the hilt, or attempted it. You must treat a weapon with respect. Think of this sword as your friend, your partner in battle. No matter which of your companions betray you, or hurt you, your sword will remain true forever.
"Do I need another partner?" Hikaru grumbles. "It's crowded enough, with you and me here."
Even if I were someday to vanish, says Sai solemnly, if you learn how to wield this sword properly, it will be your companion until the day you die.
That day will probably come a lot sooner than it might have, now, Hikaru thinks morosely, as Sai shows him how to plant his feet a shoulder's width apart and to center himself over them, and then to use the weight of the blade to offset his own.
+
"Sai Fujiwara?" Waya looks at him askance. "Of course I know who Sai Fujiwara is."
"Oh." Hikaru scratches his head, trying to pretend Waya isn't making him feel like a moron. "That's right, I thought I'd heard the name before. So..." he prompts, when Waya doesn't say anything else. "Who is he?"
You could have asked me, Hikaru, says Sai, offended.
"Only the greatest war hero ever born," says Waya. "And the greatest traitor, in the end."
I was not! says Sai indignantly. Hikaru opens his mouth to reply, and then snaps it shut when he remembers that Waya will think he's lost his mind if he starts talking to himself.
"Oh," says Hikaru carefully, making sure it doesn't sound as though he believes or disbelieves Waya's story. "What did he do?"
"He was one of the high generals," says Waya, wrinkling his forehead the way he does when he's trying to think of something from his schoolbooks. "They said he was a demon, sometimes, or an avenging angel, because he was so good with a sword. He could take out an entire company of horsemen on his own, and he held off the enemy during the Great War." He eyes Hikaru. "You've heard of that, haven't you?"
"Of course!" Hikaru says, not even lying this time. Everyone's heard of the Great War, the one that had shattered their country into many small territories, each controlled by one of the lesser lords. "So why was he a traitor?"
I wasn't, Sai protests.
Hikaru thinks hard at him, I know you're not, I just want to hear this, and it seems to work, because Sai subsides.
"Well, the king was going to split the land between his generals," says Waya. "But two of them wanted the same territory. One of those was Sai Fujiwara. The other one was. Well." Waya wrinkles his forehead even more. "I don't remember his name. Sai Fujiwara was the famous one. Anyway, when it seemed like he was going to lose that territory, Fujiwara kidnapped the king's son, meaning to hold him for ransom."
"He did?" Hikaru asks curiously, and sneaks a glance at Sai, who is still quiet. This doesn't fit what he knows of Sai, which isn't much, granted, but it doesn't even fit with the touch of Sai's mind, gentle but sharp, like the edge of a sword. "What happened?"
"Well, the child ended up dead," says Waya. "Fujiwara felt so guilty that he brought the body back to the palace, and killed himself on his own sword before he could be executed. He would have been, for that."
Later, when Sai is still lost in whatever memories that have been dredged up by this story, Hikaru asks timidly, "Sai? Did- did you really kidnap the king's son?"
No, says Sai, sinking into a melancholy that gives Hikaru the almost uncontrollable urge to cry. I did not do that.
Hikaru doesn't press the issue.
+
Hikaru fancies he's improving at this swordsmanship thing. They've been practicing every night for several weeks now. So far, his grandfather has never noticed that the sword is gone. He can balance fairly reliably with the sword now, and he's learned how to sidestep, frontstep, backstep, lunge, parry, swing. It's still difficult to perform these moves fast, in sequence, but he's learning, and Sai seems pleased with his progress.
Tonight, though, they're working on the low counter, the one move Hikaru can't manage without coming close to slicing off his own feet.
No, Hikaru, says Sai patiently. Your opponent's blade is here. You see?
"I've seen all along, I just can't do it," Hikaru complains.
He feels Sai hesitate. Hikaru, he begins. It would be easier if you could feel it correctly, once. Sai waits expectantly, and Hikaru understands what he wants.
"That's-" Hikaru stops. The idea still makes him uneasy, but if he can't master this on his own, then he can't. "All right then," he says reluctantly. "Show me?"
Sai slips into his body easily, gracefully, the way he always moves. Hikaru has the sudden, shocking feeling that he's a passenger, here to watch only from behind his own eyes, and he has to fight the urge to snatch back his control. Sai lifts the sword with an air of long practice, and performs a few warmup moves before seguing into the parry, flawless and smooth. Hikaru forgets his fear in favor of fascination. He's getting better with the blade, but not like this, not this perfection. Even with his relatively untrained limbs and muscles, Hikaru can tell how good Sai is. Wait, he says quickly, when he feels Sai releasing him. The knowledge that Sai will release him is another comfort, one that lets him say what comes next. Show me the sequences now.
You are certain? Sai asks him, without opening his/their mouth. Wise of him, because hearing his own voice coming from someone else would probably be too strange.
Yes, says Hikaru, plucking up his courage. He knows now that he'll be able to perform the counter next time Sai calls on him to do it. Will everything be so easy, once Sai lets him feel the way it's done?
Hikaru feels a welling of joy and liberation that's not his own, but might as well be. Very well, then! Sai falls into the drills like a man coming home after years spent away, as though it is his place, his purpose, his very nature to hold this sword, to use it as though it's an extension of his own body. And Hikaru feels this, too, because it's his body Sai is using. The moves are etched into his muscle memory now, and Hikaru discovers, with a jolt, that even with all his improvements so far, they are nothing to compare with what Sai can do.
That jolt causes Sai to pause. Hikaru, he says. Are you all right?
I'm fine, says Hikaru, a little dazed, feeling somehow insignificant, inadequate. He wants-
Hikaru! Sai whirls, and he/they see the intruder in their clearing, no more than a shadow beneath the trees from here. Sai raises the sword, ready to fend off an attack.
No, wait, it's someone young. Hikaru takes enough control that he can crane forward, trying to make out the person's features. "Waya?" he calls uncertainly, and then, when he gets no response, "Akari?"
"Who are you?" It's a boy's voice, young, probably around Hikaru's age, and the words are breathed with a sort of reverence. The boy moves forward, into the light, and Hikaru has a clear view of him for the first time. He has to search his mind to think where he's seen him, who he is, and when Hikaru realizes, his eyes widen.
"You're Akira Touya," says Hikaru, idiotically, given that they both know that. "Lord Touya's son."
"Yes." Akira nods. "Who are you? And where-" he pauses. "Where did you learn to hold a sword that way?"
Hikaru can't possibly tell him the truth. "Oh," he says vaguely. "From Waya."
Akira looks momentarily startled, and then puzzled. "I don't know any weaponsmasters with that name."
"Oh, no, no." Hikaru shakes his head. "Waya's not a master or anything. He's still learning, although he said he knocked Isumi on his ass the other-" Hikaru stops, abruptly aware that cursing in front of the lord's son probably breaks about ten different rules of etiquette. "From Waya," he finishes lamely.
"That can't be," says Akira, with an expression of shock. "There's no one who-" He steps closer again, studying Hikaru, his gaze piercing and intense. Hikaru resists the urge to back up. "Is it my father?" Akira asks, more a demand than a question. "Have you learned from my father?"
"No, no!" Hikaru raises his hands in self-defense. "I've never spoken to Lord Touya in my life, I've only ever seen him at the Festival of Swords, and you, too, I think I saw you there with him last year." Hikaru's babbling, but he can't think of anything better to do. Sai is quiet, at least, so he doesn't have to follow two conversations, one in his head and one outside of it.
"Well. It matters little who trained you." It's Akira's turn to sound uncertain. Then that look in his eye returns, and his resolve seems to strengthen. "Your name?"
"Hikaru Shindou," Hikaru replies, unable to lie in the face of Akira's strength of personality, all too apparent, even though they've just met.
"The farmers?" Akira blinks.
"Yes," says Hikaru.
"Ah." Hikaru can see the questions that Akira wants to ask, somewhere behind Akira's eyes, but in the end, the lord's son does not say any of them. He says, instead, "Hikaru Shindou. Will you do me the honor of answering my challenge?" Akira's hand strays to the hilt of the sword straps to his side, as though he can't imagine that Hikaru will refuse.
Hikaru gapes at him for a long minute.
You must reply, Hikaru, Sai encourages him gently, after a little while.
"Um. Oh! I'm sorry," says Hikaru, truly apologetic. "No, I- I can't."
"What?" Akira stares at him as though he's grown a second head. Hikaru actually looks around to make sure Sai's head isn't sticking out of his shoulder, or something.
"I... no, I can't answer your challenge." Hikaru hastily puts the sword back into its sheath, an awkward operation at the best of times. "I should be getting home, farmers wake up early, you know, and I ought-" He flees, for lack of a better word, leaving Akira standing and staring after him.
He would have been a fine opponent, Sai reprimands, when they've made it back to the house and the safety of Hikaru's bed.
For you, says Hikaru gloomily. Not for me.
He thinks he hears Sai murmur, Not yet, but he falls asleep so soon afterwards, he can't be sure whether he's dreaming this or not.
+
Hikaru stays far from the forest the next day, in case Akira's still standing there, looking stunned. He knows it's ridiculous to imagine such a thing, but he can't help it. He's so busy avoiding Akira or any place Akira might be, however, that he runs directly into Waya, Isumi, and Akari. "Hikaru!" Akari exclaims.
"Oh, hi," Hikaru says, lifting his hand in a half-hearted wave.
"What are you doing standing around for?" Waya demands.
"Waya," says Isumi warningly, and Waya listens about as well as he usually does; that is to say, not at all.
"Come on already!" Waya grabs Hikaru's wrist and pulls him along the path with them. "Lord Touya is riding through the village! Do you want to miss seeing that?"
Actually, Hikaru would like nothing better than to miss Lord Touya, and probably his son, riding through the village. But Waya quashes all his protests and drags him along. They take up a position in front of the bakery, which always emanates the sweet smells of biscuits, bread, and pastries, all freshly laid out in the window to entice customers into entering and buying more than they need. There are people all around, chattering excitedly to each other. Hikaru does his best to shrink in on himself, looking as small as he possibly can. What on earth will Akira say, if he sees Hikaru in the square? Waya pokes him, telling him to straighten up, and Hikaru does, only to hunch even more when Waya looks away.
You have to stand up, Hikaru! I want to see! Sai goads him from within, and Hikaru reluctantly peers over the crowd in front of them.
As it turns out, all his worries are for nothing, because Akira's not riding with his father. The rest of the lord's retinue seems to be, however, and the people cheer as Lord Touya rides past. He is a fair lord, they say, just-minded with his taxes, and whenever anyone comes to him with a decision to be made, when a goat has been stolen or a property line is contested.
Lord Touya looks their way, and Hikaru freezes in place. His gaze is the same as his son's, but it's been tempered by age and experience, a controlled fire where Akira lets his flare up. Isumi and Akari bow their heads respectfully, and even Waya says, "Oh," sounding surprised.
He is a warrior, says Sai wonderingly, watching after the lord and his retinue.
Of course he is, says Hikaru.
Yes, Sai says, and Hikaru wonders why he'd inquired in the first place if he sounds so sure already. He would take a challenge, if one was set forth? It's more of a statement, but Hikaru answers anyway.
I don't- Hikaru has no idea why Sai is asking these questions. They obviously mean a lot to him by the feeling of them in Hikaru's head, like daggers plunged into him, one by one. Well. Anyone is allowed to challenge him, during the Festival of Swords. That's in... two weeks? Anyone is allowed to challenge anyone then, as long as they both have blades.
Then, Hikaru, says Sai, and his voice his colder, sharper, more distant than any steel, as though in his mind he's already following after the caravan. Let me challenge that man.
Hikaru blinks. Are you insane? That's Lord Touya. They say he can beat anyone- anyone! with both hands tied behind his back! Actually, it's only Waya who says that, but why quibble over semantics? Waya is as good a 'they' as anyone else, even if he's never returned the pocket money he's borrowed from Hikaru on several occasions.
Yes, Sai replies, still far away and longing. That is why I must challenge him.
+
Hikaru tries to argue Sai out of it in every way he can think of, to no avail. At the mention of Lord Touya's name, Sai turns contemplative again, and impervious to reason. He works Hikaru hard in the evenings, pushing him until the sequences become second nature, and starting him on more complicated steps and thrusts.
"Even with all this," Hikaru pants, collapsing onto the grass. It's wet with late summer rain, and the nights have turned chilly. "There's no way I can take on Lord Touya, Sai."
We must both be ready, is all Sai will say. Hikaru lets him take over between sequences these days, so that Sai can practice long mock-fights with tree branches and shadows and invisible opponents. Before, Hikaru's stamina would give out a few minutes into Sai's routines, but now Sai can keep his/their body going for twenty minutes at a time.
The two weeks pass in a flurry of hard nights and exhausted days, when Hikaru dodges farm work just so that he can take some time to rest. When the Festival of Swords finally arrives, Hikaru nearly fails to wake up for it. Sai, impatient with calling in his ear, sends a surge of adrenaline through him. Hikaru screeches and sits up.
"Hikaru?" His mother pokes her head around the screen that hides his bed from the rest of the house. "Are you all right?"
"Yes," Hikaru mumbles sheepishly. He devours his breakfast, porridge, cheese, and milk, with Sai pacing behind him the entire time. If I throw up or something, it'll be your fault, Hikaru tells Sai.
My apologies. Sai stops for about half a minute before resuming. Hikaru groans under his breath.
The sword is well-hidden, near the path down to the square. Hikaru is about to leave the house and fetch it, when his grandfather stops him at the door. "Hikaru," he says quietly.
"Yes?" Hikaru tries to look innocent.
"I know what you have been doing, these past weeks," says his grandfather. "The sword," he says, when Hikaru puts on a purposely blank expression. "You have been taking the sword."
"Oh," says Hikaru, frantically thinking of some way to deny it.
Do not lie to him, Sai says firmly. Not about this.
Hikaru hangs his head. "Yes, grandfather," he says to his feet. "I have."
"Good."
At that, Hikaru looks up, startled. His grandfather is nodding his approval. "Good. I can tell that you will not be content simply to live a farmer's life. I do not know who has been instructing you, or where, or how, but give them my thanks. And Hikaru, today-" his grandfather smiles knowingly. "Defeat whoever it is you challenge."
"All... all right," Hikaru stammers. He rushes out of the house before his grandfather can say anything else to shock him, perhaps that he knows Hikaru's been carrying a centuries-old ghost with him all this time, and wouldn't he like to invite said ghost to lunch?
He cannot see me, says Sai. No one but you can see me.
"It'd be easier if they could." The path they take isn't the main one, so that Hikaru's friends won't catch them. They stop to pick up the sword, and Hikaru fastens it to his belt with a length of twine. It's not pretty, but it does the trick. And then, trying to keep himself composed by taking the deep, calming breaths Sai has taught him, Hikaru heads down to the square.
It seems that everyone is there, residents and all the visitors who have been trickling into town in the days before the festival. The shops have stalls set up in front of them, selling their wares for special prices, lower for the village natives, higher for the guests, when they can get away with it. The baked goods and the candies smell delicious, but Hikaru's stomach is churning already, clenching in nervous anticipation.
There's a cleared space in the middle of the square, where all the challenged and the challengers can face off with each other. And on one side of this space there is a tent, larger than the stalls, set up for the lord and other high-ranking guests to sit within. Hikaru walks in that general direction, meandering a little despite Sai's urging him to make a beeline for the tent. Hikaru likes the Festival of Swords, usually, when he can sit and watch the men shouting and fighting and clashing their blades. There are merchants in town, too, hawking exotic foreign goods to villagers and visitors alike.
Hikaru, says Sai, tugging him toward Lord Touya.
"Sai-" Hikaru starts to say aloud.
"Hikaru!" Waya comes bounding up to him. "You've missed some of the-" Then his jaw drops, as he takes in the sight of the belt, and the twine, and the sword hanging from it. "Hikaru, what... that's..." Waya is awed, staring at the blade. "Is that Shusaku Honinbou's sword?"
Oh, thinks Hikaru distantly. Right, that. "Yes," he says absently. "Can you wait a minute, Waya? I have to go and challenge Lord Touya."
This affects Waya like a slap in the face, and Hikaru takes another few steps before Waya snaps out of his daze enough to jog and catch up. "Are you insane?" Waya asks, grabbing his shoulder. "At best, you'll be humiliated! At worst, he'll, he'll kill you! Hikaru!"
"Hey," says Hikaru, mildly indignant. "Don't you have any faith in me?"
"Against Lord Touya?" Waya shakes his head emphatically. "No. Isumi!" He hails Isumi, who's coming toward them from one of the sword-sellers' stalls. "Isumi, tell Hikaru not to go and get himself killed!"
"What?" Isumi looks between the two of them, from Waya's horrified expression to Hikaru's determinedly neutral one. "What's going on here?"
"He wants to challenge Lord Touya," Waya moans. "Talk him out of it, please."
Isumi turns to Hikaru, both thoughtful and bewildered. "Hikaru, have you ever used a sword before?"
"Plenty of times." Sai is still pushing at him from the inside, and Hikaru sidesteps, standing on tiptoes so that he can see Lord Touya again, which only drives Sai to push him even more. "I'll talk to you two later, all right?" Hikaru pushes through the crowd until he reaches the clear space. There are only two duels going on at the moment, one that seems about to be finished, and one whose outcome is impossible to judge, yet, or so Hikaru thinks at first. As he watches, though, naming the steps and the parries and the counters and the strikes, he can tell that the shorter, stockier man will emerge the victor. That one is holding some of his strength back, and he'll probably let it loose soon.
Good, Hikaru, says Sai, coming out of his single-minded pursuit of Lord Touya to offer his approval.
Tell me that after we win, all right? Hikaru moves into the lord's line of vision, sees Lord Touya's face register his presence. He draws a deep breath, but before he can say a thing, another voice, high and clear, rings out. "Hikaru Shindou!"
A hush falls over the crowd as Akira Touya steps forward. He's not dressed so casually any longer; he wears full armor, and a long blade strapped to his hip. "Hikaru Shindou," he repeats. "I call challenge against you." Behind them, the taller man's blade clatters to the cobbles. Hikaru glances back and sees the shorter man standing over him triumphantly.
Lord Touya looks between Akira and Hikaru, contemplative. Akira raises his chin, fierce and determined. Hikaru fidgets. "You know this boy, Akira?" Lord Touya asks, finally.
"Yes, father," says Akira, with a brief nod. He never takes his eyes off of Hikaru. "I have seen him wield a blade. He will be a worthy opponent."
"No, I-" But Hikaru is trapped. It's possible to refuse a challenge at the Festival of Swords, but he's never seen anyone do it before.
Hikaru, accept, Sai commands him.
"I... accept your challenge," says Hikaru. Akira's eyes glint, and five minutes later they are facing off. Hikaru draws his sword, thinking, He's good, isn't he, Sai.
Yes, Hikaru, says Sai. He is.
Even Hikaru can tell as much, by Akira's posture and his confident grip on the sword, not to mention the knowledge of who his father is. Sai, I can't, Hikaru thinks, desperate and frustrated. You'll have to fight him.
And Sai gladly, effortlessly seizes control, and then Akira lunges, and the crowd gives a roar. Hikaru can't see any individual faces he recognizes among the spectators, though he knows they're present; he doesn't dare break Sai's concentration. As the fight proceeds, Hikaru is hit by the growing realization that Sai is toying with Akira. Sai lets Akira attack, time and time again, and blocks him or, more often, dodges out of the way long before they're in any danger. Akira's eyes blaze, and Sai meets them calmly, and Hikaru knows the second Akira understands what Sai is doing. Now Akira grows more cautious, holding back instead of rushing in to close quarters every few moments. Good, Hikaru hears Sai think, but it's not aimed at him. Hikaru wonders if Akira can hear it, or not, and whether it matters either way.
Akira waits, and waits, and Sai baits him, more and more subtly each time to see when he will attack. When he finally does, Hikaru doesn't see Akira move right away, but Sai does. He catches Akira's blade with his own, and twists the hilt from his hand. There is the loud sound of steel on stone, louder, it seems, than it's ever been before. Akira falls, and it's over. Not a drop of blood has been spilled.
Sai lowers the sword, and Hikaru wrenches control back from him in this moment. A real fight is nothing like their practice bouts in the woods. He is here and Akira is there and it's his body that's responsible for this, for all of this. There are a few hesitant cheers, but they quiet in the all-pervasive silence.
"Kill me!" Akira cries abruptly, his eyes full of fire. "Do not leave me here in disgrace!" Then, when Hikaru takes another trembling step backward, Akira screams, "Shindou!" He's angry, not afraid, and this terrifies Hikaru even more.
Sai is angry too, raging inside him. Hikaru!
Sai, stop, it hurts! Hikaru clutches his head, feeling a wave of nausea sweep over him.
He asks me for death! You cannot dishonor him in this way!
We can't just kill him! Hikaru says, even his inner voice high and panicked. We can't, Sai! It's not you they see, it's me, I can't just kill him!
He's vaguely aware that Lord Touya has come out of his tent and is approaching them. Sai is eager, like a wild horse tugging at the bit, eager to fight the father instead of the son, eager enough that he leaves off pressing Hikaru to do as Akira requests. But Hikaru can't do it. He lets out a strangled sound when Lord Touya starts to speak, and then he runs. The crowd parts for him, probably because he's carrying a long, sharp sword, and he's not holding it very carefully.
Close to home, he stops and loses his lunch in a bush, stomach convulsing. Sai lurks somewhere in his subconscious, his enthusiasm lost in favor of concern, and Hikaru is glad. He stumbles into the house and into bed without saying a word to anyone. His mother and grandfather, wisely, leave him alone.
+
When Hikaru wakes, it is evening. Night has fallen, and the Festival of Swords is officially over. By tomorrow, there will be no sign that it ever took place. The square will be quiet, and calm, as usual.
"I'm sorry, Hikaru," Sai murmurs. Hikaru opens one eye, and Sai is a silver-and-dark silhouette in the moonlight coming through the window. It's almost full, that moon, but Hikaru can only see a narrow sliver of it; the rest is blocked by the wall.
"S'fine," Hikaru mumbles, turning over so he can't see Sai anymore.
+
His grandfather does not ask him what's happened the next day, but he doesn't have to. Hikaru is the talk of the town, and probably of all those anywhere near this one. So many visitors had been in the square, so many had seen him and what he'd done. The field hands, bringing in the last wheat of the season, tell him what the general sentiment is toward him, just by their attitudes and what they say when they think he can't hear.
"The boy who defeated Lord Touya's son," or "the boy who wields the sword of Shusaku" (he has Waya to thank for that one, he's sure), or, simply, "the boy," spoken in hushed tones.
Akari tries to speak to him, meekly, "Hikaru...?"
"Leave me alone," he says curtly, and looks away from the shocked expression on her face. "I'm sorry, Akari. Can you please, just..."
She nods, and lets him slip past her, out to the woods, which are his only refuge. But Waya's waiting there for him. At first Waya says nothing, more conscientious than Hikaru would have given him credit for. Hikaru sinks down into the shade of a tree, and Waya offers him a biscuit. Hikaru accepts, and chews listlessly at it. "So," says Waya eventually. "You beat Lord Touya's son."
"That's right," says Hikaru. Obviously.
"When did you get so good?" Waya persists.
Hikaru shrugs. "Recently."
"It's not fair!" Waya explodes suddenly, and Hikaru jerks around to look at him, startled. "I've been taking lessons for eight years and you learn in a few weeks? It's not fair! Stop laughing!"
Because the absurdity of Waya's statement has tickled Hikaru's funny bone, and he's rolling around on the ground, laughing and gasping for breath while Waya pokes and kicks at him, reiterating the unfairness of it all. Something in Hikaru mellows, and accepts the situation, and he feels Sai's satisfaction, and he's grateful now that Waya's such an idiot.
+
He doesn't remain outcast for long. His mother and grandfather don't change toward him at all, though they're careful in that first day or so, aware that something's changed. His friends treat him as they have all his life, and the field hands gradually follow suit. If they treat him with a little more wary respect than before, that's fine. When Hikaru inherits the farm, he'll have charge of them, and now they know he's not just a child.
Except that he is, and he and Sai are the only ones who know it.
"Sai." Hikaru lifts a hand above his head, and watches the shadows of his fingers on the ceiling. He uses the other to make a shadow opponent, and the two engage in a silent duel.
Sai has been quiet ever since the festival. Sometimes Hikaru has forgotten he's there. Yes? Sai asks now.
"I want-" Hikaru closes one fist around the other, and brings his hands down to rest on his abdomen. "I want to keep learning, Sai. I want to learn until I can do what you do... on my own."
Oh? Sai is interested, but cautiously. He doesn't want to push Hikaru, not now, not after Hikaru's reaction to the fight.
"So." Hikaru glances over at him, and grins a little. "Can we go out and practice?"
Of course, Hikaru, and this time, Sai's happiness is deep and personal and restrained. Hikaru resists the urge to laugh, and he pulls the sword from under his bed, where he's been keeping it all along, and slips out of the house. The old drills feel wonderful and familiar, and Hikaru thinks giddily that if only he keeps them up, one day he'll be able to defeat Akira on his own terms.
One day.
"This one here," says Hikaru to himself. His forehead is beading with sweat as he follows the sequence, a new one, but one his body has been through before.
Hikaru? Sai asks, startled. What are you doing?
Your fight- Hikaru sidesteps quickly to the left, avoiding an invisible blade. Your fight with Akira. Now this way- Backward, downward parry, upward parry, sweep of the sword, left.
Hikaru, you remember all this? Sai sounds as though Hikaru's caught him off-guard somehow. Well, that's new. Not many things can catch Sai off-guard.
Of course. Hikaru lunges. I remember everything you do in my body. Obviously.
Oh. But Sai sounds pleased, for reasons unknown. Now I know...
"What?" Hikaru asks aloud, finishing the pattern with the final sweep that had stolen Akira's sword from his hand. "Now you know what?"
Nothing, Sai assures him, and then teaches him four new sequences.
+
Hikaru dares to accompany Waya and Akari down to the square the next day, the first time he's done so since the day of the festival, and the fight. The baker's wife seems surprised that he's the same Hikaru she's known since he was a baby. In fact, everyone seems surprised that he's still joking with Waya and being smacked in the arm by Akari and stuffing his face with bread rolls when they're offered to him. They all glance at the sword, which he's brought because he feels more comfortable with it at his side, oddly enough, and a few are bold enough to ask him about it.
"Shusaku Honinbou's sword," he says proudly. "That's right."
See, Hikaru tells Sai. Everything's going to be all right. Isn't it?
Of course it is, Sai replies, sounding like nothing more than a fond parent with a favorite child.
And that is when Hikaru hears his name spoken, as he's heard it spoken before. "Hikaru Shindou."
Akari draws in a breath, and Waya says softly, "Oh, no."
Hikaru turns around slowly, and finds himself face-to-face with Akira Touya. Akira doesn't shout his name this time, but says it coldly, keeping his temper in check so that it freezes instead of burning. "Hikaru Shindou," he repeats. "You've come."
"That's, well." Hikaru wonders what Akira wants from him. "Yes."
Sai seems alarmed, for some reason. Hikaru, he-
"You left me in disgrace, when I begged you for death," says Akira, his voice icy cold. "Now I have the right to demand recompense."
"To demand... what?" Hikaru asks.
Recompense, says Sai, grave and serious. The right to-
"Another fight," Akira finishes the same explanation out loud. "Draw your sword, Hikaru Shindou." He draws out his own, with a hiss of steel, and stands ready. They're gathering an audience here, people waiting to watch what will happen this time.
We cannot refuse, says Sai. It is his right.
"Oh," says Hikaru, in a small voice. He takes the sword from its sheath, although his hands are shaking a little. He doesn't feel nauseous this time, just numb.
Hikaru, Sai adds. It... recompense generally means a fight to the death.
Oh... Hikaru assumes a ready stance without thinking about it. Oh, he says again.
You have to let me- Sai begins, but Hikaru's stance has already indicated to Akira that he's ready. Akira lunges and thrusts, and Hikaru parries instinctively. He defends, too unsure of himself as yet to attempt an attack. Akira tries a sideways swipe, and Hikaru avoids it, and catches Akira's sword with his own. The steel sings when it clashes together, and Akira growls, low and feral. The minutes tick by, feeling like mere seconds, and Hikaru grows ever more sure. These are just like the patterns Sai's taught him, nothing too difficult.
Akira, meanwhile, grows more and more fierce, the light in his eyes building and building and brightening.
Hikaru! Sai cries in his mind.
I can do this, Sai!
But Hikaru understands too late what Sai means by the warning, and Akira descends upon him like an avenging fury. He's been holding back all along, playing with Hikaru as Sai had played with him, and now Hikaru can see the true gap between them. "Fight, damn you!" Akira shouts, smashing his sword down on Hikaru's, leaving Hikaru's arm buzzing with pain in his nerves. He almost loses his grip on the sword's hilt. "Fight!" Akira yells again, enraged by what he sees as Hikaru, not giving the fight his all or anywhere near it. He doesn't know yet that this is all Hikaru has.
Hikaru, let me fight him!
Hikaru runs through his options in his head, and there are only two. Akira will not let him run away, and so he can either let Sai take over, or. He swallows hard. Or he can let Akira kill him. He has no doubt that's what will happen, if he doesn't allow Sai to intervene. Akira's let up for the moment, but he's still breathing hard, almost a growl, his eyes fixed on Hikaru like the eyes of a lion intent on its prey.
He makes his decision then, and for a moment, just a moment, something flashes in his eyes, something that makes Akira step back, startled, when he sees it. "Touya," Hikaru says, just that.
And then he lets go.
by kishmet
He is the son and the grandson and the great-grandson of farmers, going back and back and back, a long line of farmers that stretches back into forever, as far as Hikaru knows or cares. He knows that they have always been rich enough to eat good meals, and never rich or influential enough to afford to be anything but farmers.
"But farming is a good, solid profession," says Hikaru, puffing out his chest in a brilliant impersonation of his grandfather.
"Speaking of farming... aren't you supposed to be helping with the harvest?" asks Akari, clearly unimpressed.
Hikaru deflates and shrugs his shoulders, glancing quickly out at the fields, tall and russet in the last few days before autumn will begin. "They'll do fine without me."
"But you should be working." Akari takes his hand and tugs. "Come on, Hikaru!"
"Akari," he protests, digging in his heels. Then he spies Waya coming down the path. "Oh, look." Hikaru breaks away from her and bolts off in Waya's direction. Waya always has something good to eat, pastries or meat pies or biscuits. His family can afford a woman to cook for them, and she spoils Waya rotten. Hikaru won't complain, though, not unless Waya stops sharing.
"Hikaru, you get back here right now!" Akari's not fast enough to catch him, though, and he calls back to her, "I'll help later! See you!"
+
"But your mother wants you to learn about farming, right?" Waya asks, watching Hikaru devour an entire loaf of homemade bread with an expression of appalled wonder. Hikaru ignores him; the bread is still warm from the oven, and he's not going to let that go to waste.
"Wulyus." Hikaru swallows his mouthful of food. "Well, yes."
"So?" Waya prods him. "You never do anything in the fields. Do you even know what your parents are growing?"
"Of course I do!" says Hikaru indignantly, and then stops to think for a moment. "Wheat."
"You do know that, at least," Waya admits.
"See," says Hikaru, a little smugly. He leans back against the trunk of the tree, tilting his head back so that he can look at the little patches of blue sky through the branches and leaves. "So, is school any better than farming?"
"What, my school?" Waya sounds dubious. "I don't know. It's... school."
"But what's it like?" Hikaru asks.
"School." When Hikaru looks down at him, Waya gestures vaguely. "We have to memorize names, dates, battles. And read and write about them." Waya grins then. "Weapons practice is the best. Swords and bows and arrows and things. I beat Isumi so badly the other day, knocked him flat on his ass."
"But he always beats you with the bow," Hikaru comments.
Waya scowls. "Shut up."
+
Hikaru expects the telling-off he gets from his mother, you're the man of the house, you should learn the trade from the field hands, the men they give a percentage of the crop to in lieu of money, all this will be yours someday, can't you please appreciate it, just a little? And Hikaru listens, to a certain extent, and even feels a pang of guilt for disappointing her again. Still, he reasons, it doesn't seem to matter whether he learns the trade now or not; he will inherit it regardless, and then he'll have an entire lifetime to learn how wheat fields are cleared and sown and watered and harvested.
He doesn't expect his grandfather to wake up, for once, and pull him aside.
"I know that farming doesn't interest you much, Hikaru," his grandfather says, leading the way to his bedroom, which is smaller than Hikaru's but has a real door, not just a cheap screen.
Hikaru shrugs uncomfortably. His grandfather glances back at him, and he does it again for good measure.
"Let me show you something." Hikaru's grandfather's room is a mystery, the ultimate in the forbidden; no one is allowed to set foot inside without permission, and Hikaru's never heard his grandfather give permission ever before. Of course, he's been into the room five or six times, and he hasn't noticed anything worth hiding, just some old armor and a few board games, chess, backgammon, and a board crisscrossed with lines; Hikaru doesn't recognize the game.
His grandfather walks to the far side of the room and sorts through a pile of things. They are all old things, clothing and tools and bits and pieces of some long-broken, now-obsolete invention. He comes up, surprisingly, with a sword. Its hilt is decorated with patterns of blue and gold, and so it its sheath.
"A very long time ago," his grandfather intones solemnly, "your many-times great-grandfather went to war for our country."
"Oh," says Hikaru, perking up. This sounds mildly interesting. "That was his sword?"
"Patience!" his grandfather reprimands. "No. This was not his sword. He did not, in fact, serve as a warrior, but as an aide to one of the commanders."
At this, Hikaru's attention wanders. He looks at the sword itself, paying little heed to what his grandfather's saying. There's a dark spot near the tip of the blade, for some reason. He frowns, and leans forward to see better. Surely it's just a trick of the light, or lack thereof.
His grandfather goes on, oblivious to whatever Hikaru sees. "Shusaku Honinbou," he says, shaking his head. "Not a commander. The commander. Any man would have fought your many-times great-grandfather for the privilege of serving under him. He was the greatest ever to live, some say. He was a great strategist, oh yes, but he was an even greater swordsman. His name itself was an honorary title, given to him by his lord when he had won a dozen battles. This," he says, touching the blade reverently, "was his sword."
"Can I see it for a minute?" Hikaru asks suddenly. There are more dark stains on the steel, he's noticed now, as though its last owner had never cleaned it properly. As though it's still covered in-
-blood. His grandfather hands the sword over, pleased that Hikaru is actually showing some fascination this time. Hikaru takes it, and his stomach gives a strange, sickening lurch. It is blood, and not dried blood, either; it's bright and red and wet and fresh. Hikaru opens his mouth to shout, or, more likely, to make a weak and terrifying joke about whoever his grandfather has been stabbing lately, but someone else speaks instead, stealing the very breath from his lungs.
At last. At last! The voice rises in triumph and exultation. Hikaru hears his grandfather's exclamation as though it's coming from very far away, or perhaps from underwater. He can't speak. He can't move.
A man stands in front of him, the only thing he can see with blurring vision. The man has long, dark hair, pulled back and tied in the warrior's way; he's wearing armor that looks old and surprisingly light. His gaze is the most intense thing Hikaru has ever encountered, and he wants to turn away, but he can't. So, the man speaks, sounding more startled than disdainful. You are the one.
Hikaru knows that fainting is a woman's job, but he can't help himself. He collapses onto the floor, feels a moment of pain when his head hits the wood and packed earth, and then knows nothing but blessed, blissful sleep.
+
He hears brief snatches of conversation while he's out, though he can't tell for certain whether he's dreaming them or not.
His mother's voice: "-happened?"
His grandfather: "-just went pale all of a-"
"Who went pale?" Hikaru tries to mumble, and then suspects he knows the answer, because he still can't force his mouth to form the words.
Then he wakes up all the way, in his own bed with his head resting comfortably on the goose-down pillow, and there's no one else in the room anymore, if they'd been in the first place. No one, that is, but a long-haired man by the window, studying him gravely. Hikaru closes his eyes again, willing the vision, the demon, the ghost, whatever it is, to leave him alone.
I am not here to harm you. The voice is the same as the one from before, sweet and high and pure, almost like a woman's. It's not spoken out loud, though; it's in his head, but he can still hear it, somehow. I am here because your soul called to mine, Hikaru Shindou.
"What?" Hikaru opens his eyes and narrows them suspiciously. "How do you know my name?"
His mother bustles into the room when she hears his voice, and Hikaru can't listen to the man anymore; he's too busy being fussed over.
+
Later, Hikaru goes out walking, trying to convince himself that he's not going insane. This is very difficult when a ghost begins talking in his head.
Hikaru, my name is Sai Fujiwara, says the ghost. I fought for this country a long time ago. You may have heard my name.
Hikaru can't remember ever hearing it before, and he's ignoring Sai anyway. He'll ask Waya later, maybe, if he can think of a way to bring it up that won't make him sound crazy. Or Isumi. Isumi won't ask so many idiotic questions, though he will fix Hikaru with a thoughtful look, as though he's trying to figure out on his own why Hikaru wants to know.
I have come to you the same way I came to Shusaku Honinbou. Now there was a mind, and Sai sounds wistful. His talent equalled my own. We each knew strategies the other didn't, parries, defenses. Together, we were greater than the best. If only... he trails off.
"Could you stop talking?" Hikaru asks, politely enough. Now he thinks he knows why he's suffering this delusion: his grandfather's story had really gotten to him, more than he'd thought. The name 'Shusaku Honinbou' confirms this theory. This is all a waking dream, or possibly he's still unconscious, or possibly he's been unconscious all along, and he'd never seen the sword to begin with. Why would his grandfather keep a sword in his room? It makes no sense, and the thought makes Hikaru relax a bit.
Hikaru.
Just one word, his name, and Hikaru tenses again, and looks at Sai even though he's vowed not to. His breath quickens, and the idea that this is a nightmare, a delusion, is immediately dispelled. He would never be able to imagine the expression on Sai's face on his own. If I am here, Hikaru, says Sai, it means there is something in you, just as there was in Shusaku.
"There's nothing in me," says Hikaru, in quick denial. "I've never touched a sword before in my life!"
Except Shusaku's.
"Well." Hikaru hunches his shoulders, looking down at the ground. "I probably shouldn't have touched that either."
But you did, Sai observes, accurately enough. And now we will wield that blade together, you and I.
"No!" Hikaru nearly shouts it, whirling to face Sai. "No! After that, no. No. I'm never touching a sword again!"
He's hit by a wash of pain that starts in his head and rips through the rest of him, and he cries out, falling to his knees, doubled over on himself. He can't decide whether to throw up or pass out again, or both. It doesn't stop, it never stops, and Sai is raging at him, angry and somehow desperate. "Stop it," Hikaru pleads, his voice thin and ragged. "Stop it, Sai, stop it, stop it!"
For a wonder, Sai does.
"Don't," Hikaru says. His breath comes in short, sharp pants, the absence of pain just as stunning as the sudden onset of it. "Don't do that again, please." He looks up at Sai, pathetic and unhappy.
Sai actually looks contrite. I am sorry, he says, holding out his hands and staring at them. They're not quite transparent, but almost, enough that the woods behind him tinge his skin green and brown. I did not mean to- I am sorry. I have never had a host so averse to learning-
Hikaru feels a touch of the pain again and scrambles to his feet. "I'll learn, I'll learn!" he says, the words tumbling out over themselves in their haste to make it off of his tongue. "I'll learn anything you want me to, just please, calm down. Please?" he adds.
All right. Sai closes his eyes, and when he opens them, they're filled with sorrow. I am sorry, he says.
"It's all right," says Hikaru, as nonchalant as he can manage. "If my great-something-grandfather was a commander's aide, I can be a swordsman." The idea tickles some sense of adventure he'd never known he had, in fact. It's new, and peculiar, and he pokes at it as though it's some new type of beetle.
Well then! Sai seems able to feel his sincerity this time, and looks far happier. You will be a swordsman, Hikaru. I am never wrong in my choice of host.
+
Perhaps Sai is never wrong in his choice of host, but there's always an exception to every rule. Hikaru thinks miserably that he's probably it.
The next day, it's simple enough to slip into his grandfather's room as he's done before, when his grandfather is outside drinking ale at the front of the house. Hikaru picks up the sword gingerly, afraid that it's going to do the same thing and cause him to faint again. Nothing happens, though, except a faint tingle that's likely in his own head. Sai turns dreamy and nostalgic over the blade as Hikaru slips out the back, in the direction of the woods.
He evades Akari, who's on the path searching for him, and heads deeper into the forest to find a clearing Sai deems suitable. "No, not this one," Hikaru says, the first time Sai urges him to stop. "This is the one me and Akari used to play in. She'll come looking for me here next."
Then, this one? says Sai, when they come to another ten minutes farther in.
"This looks good," says Hikaru, nodding slowly. "Sure."
Here, Sai tells him, when Hikaru unsheathes the blade. He has to put the sheath on the ground, because he doesn't have a sword belt, and there's no way he can carry both. Let me show you-
Hikaru feels his arms twitching, then his feet, as though he's a puppet on strings. "No!" he yelps, wresting control of his own body back.
No? Sai sounds confused, as though he can't understand why Hikaru has a problem with this. But it's the easiest way for me to teach you how it's done.
"It's my body," said Hikaru through gritted teeth. Even he's not sure why he's so averse to this, except that it makes him feel like he's a toy, a plaything, only here for Sai to use in order to hold a sword again. "Teach me without taking over, or don't teach me at all." On that point, he holds firm, and Sai acquieces with a sigh.
This is when Hikaru finds out that wielding a sword isn't as easy as it should be. For one thing, the blade is long, the hilt waist-high on him because he hasn't yet achieved his full growth, or so he hopes. It's also heavy, and he can barely lift it off the ground without stumbling backwards and falling over himself. For such an intense sort of person, Sai is too amused, putting a hand over his mouth to cover his chuckling.
"Would you stop that!" Hikaru swings the sword at him, not a bad swing, or the best he's done so far, anyway. The momentum of it carries him in a circle and he sways and falls promptly on his backside, nearly decapitating himself in the process.
Careful, Sai chides him, laughing behind his hands again when it becomes clear that Hikaru is unhurt.
"It would be easier to be careful if you'd be quiet," Hikaru mutters, and rolls his eyes. He climbs to his feet, using the sword as a crutch, digging the point into the ground and grasping the handle in order to pull himself up.
Sai gasps, and Hikaru feels a short burst of nausea. No, Hikaru! You can't treat a sword that way!
"What? Why not?"
It is disrespectful! Sai lays a ghostly hand on the hilt of the blade, letting his fingers rest in the air just above it. Probably they'd go right through if he actually grasped the hilt, or attempted it. You must treat a weapon with respect. Think of this sword as your friend, your partner in battle. No matter which of your companions betray you, or hurt you, your sword will remain true forever.
"Do I need another partner?" Hikaru grumbles. "It's crowded enough, with you and me here."
Even if I were someday to vanish, says Sai solemnly, if you learn how to wield this sword properly, it will be your companion until the day you die.
That day will probably come a lot sooner than it might have, now, Hikaru thinks morosely, as Sai shows him how to plant his feet a shoulder's width apart and to center himself over them, and then to use the weight of the blade to offset his own.
+
"Sai Fujiwara?" Waya looks at him askance. "Of course I know who Sai Fujiwara is."
"Oh." Hikaru scratches his head, trying to pretend Waya isn't making him feel like a moron. "That's right, I thought I'd heard the name before. So..." he prompts, when Waya doesn't say anything else. "Who is he?"
You could have asked me, Hikaru, says Sai, offended.
"Only the greatest war hero ever born," says Waya. "And the greatest traitor, in the end."
I was not! says Sai indignantly. Hikaru opens his mouth to reply, and then snaps it shut when he remembers that Waya will think he's lost his mind if he starts talking to himself.
"Oh," says Hikaru carefully, making sure it doesn't sound as though he believes or disbelieves Waya's story. "What did he do?"
"He was one of the high generals," says Waya, wrinkling his forehead the way he does when he's trying to think of something from his schoolbooks. "They said he was a demon, sometimes, or an avenging angel, because he was so good with a sword. He could take out an entire company of horsemen on his own, and he held off the enemy during the Great War." He eyes Hikaru. "You've heard of that, haven't you?"
"Of course!" Hikaru says, not even lying this time. Everyone's heard of the Great War, the one that had shattered their country into many small territories, each controlled by one of the lesser lords. "So why was he a traitor?"
I wasn't, Sai protests.
Hikaru thinks hard at him, I know you're not, I just want to hear this, and it seems to work, because Sai subsides.
"Well, the king was going to split the land between his generals," says Waya. "But two of them wanted the same territory. One of those was Sai Fujiwara. The other one was. Well." Waya wrinkles his forehead even more. "I don't remember his name. Sai Fujiwara was the famous one. Anyway, when it seemed like he was going to lose that territory, Fujiwara kidnapped the king's son, meaning to hold him for ransom."
"He did?" Hikaru asks curiously, and sneaks a glance at Sai, who is still quiet. This doesn't fit what he knows of Sai, which isn't much, granted, but it doesn't even fit with the touch of Sai's mind, gentle but sharp, like the edge of a sword. "What happened?"
"Well, the child ended up dead," says Waya. "Fujiwara felt so guilty that he brought the body back to the palace, and killed himself on his own sword before he could be executed. He would have been, for that."
Later, when Sai is still lost in whatever memories that have been dredged up by this story, Hikaru asks timidly, "Sai? Did- did you really kidnap the king's son?"
No, says Sai, sinking into a melancholy that gives Hikaru the almost uncontrollable urge to cry. I did not do that.
Hikaru doesn't press the issue.
+
Hikaru fancies he's improving at this swordsmanship thing. They've been practicing every night for several weeks now. So far, his grandfather has never noticed that the sword is gone. He can balance fairly reliably with the sword now, and he's learned how to sidestep, frontstep, backstep, lunge, parry, swing. It's still difficult to perform these moves fast, in sequence, but he's learning, and Sai seems pleased with his progress.
Tonight, though, they're working on the low counter, the one move Hikaru can't manage without coming close to slicing off his own feet.
No, Hikaru, says Sai patiently. Your opponent's blade is here. You see?
"I've seen all along, I just can't do it," Hikaru complains.
He feels Sai hesitate. Hikaru, he begins. It would be easier if you could feel it correctly, once. Sai waits expectantly, and Hikaru understands what he wants.
"That's-" Hikaru stops. The idea still makes him uneasy, but if he can't master this on his own, then he can't. "All right then," he says reluctantly. "Show me?"
Sai slips into his body easily, gracefully, the way he always moves. Hikaru has the sudden, shocking feeling that he's a passenger, here to watch only from behind his own eyes, and he has to fight the urge to snatch back his control. Sai lifts the sword with an air of long practice, and performs a few warmup moves before seguing into the parry, flawless and smooth. Hikaru forgets his fear in favor of fascination. He's getting better with the blade, but not like this, not this perfection. Even with his relatively untrained limbs and muscles, Hikaru can tell how good Sai is. Wait, he says quickly, when he feels Sai releasing him. The knowledge that Sai will release him is another comfort, one that lets him say what comes next. Show me the sequences now.
You are certain? Sai asks him, without opening his/their mouth. Wise of him, because hearing his own voice coming from someone else would probably be too strange.
Yes, says Hikaru, plucking up his courage. He knows now that he'll be able to perform the counter next time Sai calls on him to do it. Will everything be so easy, once Sai lets him feel the way it's done?
Hikaru feels a welling of joy and liberation that's not his own, but might as well be. Very well, then! Sai falls into the drills like a man coming home after years spent away, as though it is his place, his purpose, his very nature to hold this sword, to use it as though it's an extension of his own body. And Hikaru feels this, too, because it's his body Sai is using. The moves are etched into his muscle memory now, and Hikaru discovers, with a jolt, that even with all his improvements so far, they are nothing to compare with what Sai can do.
That jolt causes Sai to pause. Hikaru, he says. Are you all right?
I'm fine, says Hikaru, a little dazed, feeling somehow insignificant, inadequate. He wants-
Hikaru! Sai whirls, and he/they see the intruder in their clearing, no more than a shadow beneath the trees from here. Sai raises the sword, ready to fend off an attack.
No, wait, it's someone young. Hikaru takes enough control that he can crane forward, trying to make out the person's features. "Waya?" he calls uncertainly, and then, when he gets no response, "Akari?"
"Who are you?" It's a boy's voice, young, probably around Hikaru's age, and the words are breathed with a sort of reverence. The boy moves forward, into the light, and Hikaru has a clear view of him for the first time. He has to search his mind to think where he's seen him, who he is, and when Hikaru realizes, his eyes widen.
"You're Akira Touya," says Hikaru, idiotically, given that they both know that. "Lord Touya's son."
"Yes." Akira nods. "Who are you? And where-" he pauses. "Where did you learn to hold a sword that way?"
Hikaru can't possibly tell him the truth. "Oh," he says vaguely. "From Waya."
Akira looks momentarily startled, and then puzzled. "I don't know any weaponsmasters with that name."
"Oh, no, no." Hikaru shakes his head. "Waya's not a master or anything. He's still learning, although he said he knocked Isumi on his ass the other-" Hikaru stops, abruptly aware that cursing in front of the lord's son probably breaks about ten different rules of etiquette. "From Waya," he finishes lamely.
"That can't be," says Akira, with an expression of shock. "There's no one who-" He steps closer again, studying Hikaru, his gaze piercing and intense. Hikaru resists the urge to back up. "Is it my father?" Akira asks, more a demand than a question. "Have you learned from my father?"
"No, no!" Hikaru raises his hands in self-defense. "I've never spoken to Lord Touya in my life, I've only ever seen him at the Festival of Swords, and you, too, I think I saw you there with him last year." Hikaru's babbling, but he can't think of anything better to do. Sai is quiet, at least, so he doesn't have to follow two conversations, one in his head and one outside of it.
"Well. It matters little who trained you." It's Akira's turn to sound uncertain. Then that look in his eye returns, and his resolve seems to strengthen. "Your name?"
"Hikaru Shindou," Hikaru replies, unable to lie in the face of Akira's strength of personality, all too apparent, even though they've just met.
"The farmers?" Akira blinks.
"Yes," says Hikaru.
"Ah." Hikaru can see the questions that Akira wants to ask, somewhere behind Akira's eyes, but in the end, the lord's son does not say any of them. He says, instead, "Hikaru Shindou. Will you do me the honor of answering my challenge?" Akira's hand strays to the hilt of the sword straps to his side, as though he can't imagine that Hikaru will refuse.
Hikaru gapes at him for a long minute.
You must reply, Hikaru, Sai encourages him gently, after a little while.
"Um. Oh! I'm sorry," says Hikaru, truly apologetic. "No, I- I can't."
"What?" Akira stares at him as though he's grown a second head. Hikaru actually looks around to make sure Sai's head isn't sticking out of his shoulder, or something.
"I... no, I can't answer your challenge." Hikaru hastily puts the sword back into its sheath, an awkward operation at the best of times. "I should be getting home, farmers wake up early, you know, and I ought-" He flees, for lack of a better word, leaving Akira standing and staring after him.
He would have been a fine opponent, Sai reprimands, when they've made it back to the house and the safety of Hikaru's bed.
For you, says Hikaru gloomily. Not for me.
He thinks he hears Sai murmur, Not yet, but he falls asleep so soon afterwards, he can't be sure whether he's dreaming this or not.
+
Hikaru stays far from the forest the next day, in case Akira's still standing there, looking stunned. He knows it's ridiculous to imagine such a thing, but he can't help it. He's so busy avoiding Akira or any place Akira might be, however, that he runs directly into Waya, Isumi, and Akari. "Hikaru!" Akari exclaims.
"Oh, hi," Hikaru says, lifting his hand in a half-hearted wave.
"What are you doing standing around for?" Waya demands.
"Waya," says Isumi warningly, and Waya listens about as well as he usually does; that is to say, not at all.
"Come on already!" Waya grabs Hikaru's wrist and pulls him along the path with them. "Lord Touya is riding through the village! Do you want to miss seeing that?"
Actually, Hikaru would like nothing better than to miss Lord Touya, and probably his son, riding through the village. But Waya quashes all his protests and drags him along. They take up a position in front of the bakery, which always emanates the sweet smells of biscuits, bread, and pastries, all freshly laid out in the window to entice customers into entering and buying more than they need. There are people all around, chattering excitedly to each other. Hikaru does his best to shrink in on himself, looking as small as he possibly can. What on earth will Akira say, if he sees Hikaru in the square? Waya pokes him, telling him to straighten up, and Hikaru does, only to hunch even more when Waya looks away.
You have to stand up, Hikaru! I want to see! Sai goads him from within, and Hikaru reluctantly peers over the crowd in front of them.
As it turns out, all his worries are for nothing, because Akira's not riding with his father. The rest of the lord's retinue seems to be, however, and the people cheer as Lord Touya rides past. He is a fair lord, they say, just-minded with his taxes, and whenever anyone comes to him with a decision to be made, when a goat has been stolen or a property line is contested.
Lord Touya looks their way, and Hikaru freezes in place. His gaze is the same as his son's, but it's been tempered by age and experience, a controlled fire where Akira lets his flare up. Isumi and Akari bow their heads respectfully, and even Waya says, "Oh," sounding surprised.
He is a warrior, says Sai wonderingly, watching after the lord and his retinue.
Of course he is, says Hikaru.
Yes, Sai says, and Hikaru wonders why he'd inquired in the first place if he sounds so sure already. He would take a challenge, if one was set forth? It's more of a statement, but Hikaru answers anyway.
I don't- Hikaru has no idea why Sai is asking these questions. They obviously mean a lot to him by the feeling of them in Hikaru's head, like daggers plunged into him, one by one. Well. Anyone is allowed to challenge him, during the Festival of Swords. That's in... two weeks? Anyone is allowed to challenge anyone then, as long as they both have blades.
Then, Hikaru, says Sai, and his voice his colder, sharper, more distant than any steel, as though in his mind he's already following after the caravan. Let me challenge that man.
Hikaru blinks. Are you insane? That's Lord Touya. They say he can beat anyone- anyone! with both hands tied behind his back! Actually, it's only Waya who says that, but why quibble over semantics? Waya is as good a 'they' as anyone else, even if he's never returned the pocket money he's borrowed from Hikaru on several occasions.
Yes, Sai replies, still far away and longing. That is why I must challenge him.
+
Hikaru tries to argue Sai out of it in every way he can think of, to no avail. At the mention of Lord Touya's name, Sai turns contemplative again, and impervious to reason. He works Hikaru hard in the evenings, pushing him until the sequences become second nature, and starting him on more complicated steps and thrusts.
"Even with all this," Hikaru pants, collapsing onto the grass. It's wet with late summer rain, and the nights have turned chilly. "There's no way I can take on Lord Touya, Sai."
We must both be ready, is all Sai will say. Hikaru lets him take over between sequences these days, so that Sai can practice long mock-fights with tree branches and shadows and invisible opponents. Before, Hikaru's stamina would give out a few minutes into Sai's routines, but now Sai can keep his/their body going for twenty minutes at a time.
The two weeks pass in a flurry of hard nights and exhausted days, when Hikaru dodges farm work just so that he can take some time to rest. When the Festival of Swords finally arrives, Hikaru nearly fails to wake up for it. Sai, impatient with calling in his ear, sends a surge of adrenaline through him. Hikaru screeches and sits up.
"Hikaru?" His mother pokes her head around the screen that hides his bed from the rest of the house. "Are you all right?"
"Yes," Hikaru mumbles sheepishly. He devours his breakfast, porridge, cheese, and milk, with Sai pacing behind him the entire time. If I throw up or something, it'll be your fault, Hikaru tells Sai.
My apologies. Sai stops for about half a minute before resuming. Hikaru groans under his breath.
The sword is well-hidden, near the path down to the square. Hikaru is about to leave the house and fetch it, when his grandfather stops him at the door. "Hikaru," he says quietly.
"Yes?" Hikaru tries to look innocent.
"I know what you have been doing, these past weeks," says his grandfather. "The sword," he says, when Hikaru puts on a purposely blank expression. "You have been taking the sword."
"Oh," says Hikaru, frantically thinking of some way to deny it.
Do not lie to him, Sai says firmly. Not about this.
Hikaru hangs his head. "Yes, grandfather," he says to his feet. "I have."
"Good."
At that, Hikaru looks up, startled. His grandfather is nodding his approval. "Good. I can tell that you will not be content simply to live a farmer's life. I do not know who has been instructing you, or where, or how, but give them my thanks. And Hikaru, today-" his grandfather smiles knowingly. "Defeat whoever it is you challenge."
"All... all right," Hikaru stammers. He rushes out of the house before his grandfather can say anything else to shock him, perhaps that he knows Hikaru's been carrying a centuries-old ghost with him all this time, and wouldn't he like to invite said ghost to lunch?
He cannot see me, says Sai. No one but you can see me.
"It'd be easier if they could." The path they take isn't the main one, so that Hikaru's friends won't catch them. They stop to pick up the sword, and Hikaru fastens it to his belt with a length of twine. It's not pretty, but it does the trick. And then, trying to keep himself composed by taking the deep, calming breaths Sai has taught him, Hikaru heads down to the square.
It seems that everyone is there, residents and all the visitors who have been trickling into town in the days before the festival. The shops have stalls set up in front of them, selling their wares for special prices, lower for the village natives, higher for the guests, when they can get away with it. The baked goods and the candies smell delicious, but Hikaru's stomach is churning already, clenching in nervous anticipation.
There's a cleared space in the middle of the square, where all the challenged and the challengers can face off with each other. And on one side of this space there is a tent, larger than the stalls, set up for the lord and other high-ranking guests to sit within. Hikaru walks in that general direction, meandering a little despite Sai's urging him to make a beeline for the tent. Hikaru likes the Festival of Swords, usually, when he can sit and watch the men shouting and fighting and clashing their blades. There are merchants in town, too, hawking exotic foreign goods to villagers and visitors alike.
Hikaru, says Sai, tugging him toward Lord Touya.
"Sai-" Hikaru starts to say aloud.
"Hikaru!" Waya comes bounding up to him. "You've missed some of the-" Then his jaw drops, as he takes in the sight of the belt, and the twine, and the sword hanging from it. "Hikaru, what... that's..." Waya is awed, staring at the blade. "Is that Shusaku Honinbou's sword?"
Oh, thinks Hikaru distantly. Right, that. "Yes," he says absently. "Can you wait a minute, Waya? I have to go and challenge Lord Touya."
This affects Waya like a slap in the face, and Hikaru takes another few steps before Waya snaps out of his daze enough to jog and catch up. "Are you insane?" Waya asks, grabbing his shoulder. "At best, you'll be humiliated! At worst, he'll, he'll kill you! Hikaru!"
"Hey," says Hikaru, mildly indignant. "Don't you have any faith in me?"
"Against Lord Touya?" Waya shakes his head emphatically. "No. Isumi!" He hails Isumi, who's coming toward them from one of the sword-sellers' stalls. "Isumi, tell Hikaru not to go and get himself killed!"
"What?" Isumi looks between the two of them, from Waya's horrified expression to Hikaru's determinedly neutral one. "What's going on here?"
"He wants to challenge Lord Touya," Waya moans. "Talk him out of it, please."
Isumi turns to Hikaru, both thoughtful and bewildered. "Hikaru, have you ever used a sword before?"
"Plenty of times." Sai is still pushing at him from the inside, and Hikaru sidesteps, standing on tiptoes so that he can see Lord Touya again, which only drives Sai to push him even more. "I'll talk to you two later, all right?" Hikaru pushes through the crowd until he reaches the clear space. There are only two duels going on at the moment, one that seems about to be finished, and one whose outcome is impossible to judge, yet, or so Hikaru thinks at first. As he watches, though, naming the steps and the parries and the counters and the strikes, he can tell that the shorter, stockier man will emerge the victor. That one is holding some of his strength back, and he'll probably let it loose soon.
Good, Hikaru, says Sai, coming out of his single-minded pursuit of Lord Touya to offer his approval.
Tell me that after we win, all right? Hikaru moves into the lord's line of vision, sees Lord Touya's face register his presence. He draws a deep breath, but before he can say a thing, another voice, high and clear, rings out. "Hikaru Shindou!"
A hush falls over the crowd as Akira Touya steps forward. He's not dressed so casually any longer; he wears full armor, and a long blade strapped to his hip. "Hikaru Shindou," he repeats. "I call challenge against you." Behind them, the taller man's blade clatters to the cobbles. Hikaru glances back and sees the shorter man standing over him triumphantly.
Lord Touya looks between Akira and Hikaru, contemplative. Akira raises his chin, fierce and determined. Hikaru fidgets. "You know this boy, Akira?" Lord Touya asks, finally.
"Yes, father," says Akira, with a brief nod. He never takes his eyes off of Hikaru. "I have seen him wield a blade. He will be a worthy opponent."
"No, I-" But Hikaru is trapped. It's possible to refuse a challenge at the Festival of Swords, but he's never seen anyone do it before.
Hikaru, accept, Sai commands him.
"I... accept your challenge," says Hikaru. Akira's eyes glint, and five minutes later they are facing off. Hikaru draws his sword, thinking, He's good, isn't he, Sai.
Yes, Hikaru, says Sai. He is.
Even Hikaru can tell as much, by Akira's posture and his confident grip on the sword, not to mention the knowledge of who his father is. Sai, I can't, Hikaru thinks, desperate and frustrated. You'll have to fight him.
And Sai gladly, effortlessly seizes control, and then Akira lunges, and the crowd gives a roar. Hikaru can't see any individual faces he recognizes among the spectators, though he knows they're present; he doesn't dare break Sai's concentration. As the fight proceeds, Hikaru is hit by the growing realization that Sai is toying with Akira. Sai lets Akira attack, time and time again, and blocks him or, more often, dodges out of the way long before they're in any danger. Akira's eyes blaze, and Sai meets them calmly, and Hikaru knows the second Akira understands what Sai is doing. Now Akira grows more cautious, holding back instead of rushing in to close quarters every few moments. Good, Hikaru hears Sai think, but it's not aimed at him. Hikaru wonders if Akira can hear it, or not, and whether it matters either way.
Akira waits, and waits, and Sai baits him, more and more subtly each time to see when he will attack. When he finally does, Hikaru doesn't see Akira move right away, but Sai does. He catches Akira's blade with his own, and twists the hilt from his hand. There is the loud sound of steel on stone, louder, it seems, than it's ever been before. Akira falls, and it's over. Not a drop of blood has been spilled.
Sai lowers the sword, and Hikaru wrenches control back from him in this moment. A real fight is nothing like their practice bouts in the woods. He is here and Akira is there and it's his body that's responsible for this, for all of this. There are a few hesitant cheers, but they quiet in the all-pervasive silence.
"Kill me!" Akira cries abruptly, his eyes full of fire. "Do not leave me here in disgrace!" Then, when Hikaru takes another trembling step backward, Akira screams, "Shindou!" He's angry, not afraid, and this terrifies Hikaru even more.
Sai is angry too, raging inside him. Hikaru!
Sai, stop, it hurts! Hikaru clutches his head, feeling a wave of nausea sweep over him.
He asks me for death! You cannot dishonor him in this way!
We can't just kill him! Hikaru says, even his inner voice high and panicked. We can't, Sai! It's not you they see, it's me, I can't just kill him!
He's vaguely aware that Lord Touya has come out of his tent and is approaching them. Sai is eager, like a wild horse tugging at the bit, eager to fight the father instead of the son, eager enough that he leaves off pressing Hikaru to do as Akira requests. But Hikaru can't do it. He lets out a strangled sound when Lord Touya starts to speak, and then he runs. The crowd parts for him, probably because he's carrying a long, sharp sword, and he's not holding it very carefully.
Close to home, he stops and loses his lunch in a bush, stomach convulsing. Sai lurks somewhere in his subconscious, his enthusiasm lost in favor of concern, and Hikaru is glad. He stumbles into the house and into bed without saying a word to anyone. His mother and grandfather, wisely, leave him alone.
+
When Hikaru wakes, it is evening. Night has fallen, and the Festival of Swords is officially over. By tomorrow, there will be no sign that it ever took place. The square will be quiet, and calm, as usual.
"I'm sorry, Hikaru," Sai murmurs. Hikaru opens one eye, and Sai is a silver-and-dark silhouette in the moonlight coming through the window. It's almost full, that moon, but Hikaru can only see a narrow sliver of it; the rest is blocked by the wall.
"S'fine," Hikaru mumbles, turning over so he can't see Sai anymore.
+
His grandfather does not ask him what's happened the next day, but he doesn't have to. Hikaru is the talk of the town, and probably of all those anywhere near this one. So many visitors had been in the square, so many had seen him and what he'd done. The field hands, bringing in the last wheat of the season, tell him what the general sentiment is toward him, just by their attitudes and what they say when they think he can't hear.
"The boy who defeated Lord Touya's son," or "the boy who wields the sword of Shusaku" (he has Waya to thank for that one, he's sure), or, simply, "the boy," spoken in hushed tones.
Akari tries to speak to him, meekly, "Hikaru...?"
"Leave me alone," he says curtly, and looks away from the shocked expression on her face. "I'm sorry, Akari. Can you please, just..."
She nods, and lets him slip past her, out to the woods, which are his only refuge. But Waya's waiting there for him. At first Waya says nothing, more conscientious than Hikaru would have given him credit for. Hikaru sinks down into the shade of a tree, and Waya offers him a biscuit. Hikaru accepts, and chews listlessly at it. "So," says Waya eventually. "You beat Lord Touya's son."
"That's right," says Hikaru. Obviously.
"When did you get so good?" Waya persists.
Hikaru shrugs. "Recently."
"It's not fair!" Waya explodes suddenly, and Hikaru jerks around to look at him, startled. "I've been taking lessons for eight years and you learn in a few weeks? It's not fair! Stop laughing!"
Because the absurdity of Waya's statement has tickled Hikaru's funny bone, and he's rolling around on the ground, laughing and gasping for breath while Waya pokes and kicks at him, reiterating the unfairness of it all. Something in Hikaru mellows, and accepts the situation, and he feels Sai's satisfaction, and he's grateful now that Waya's such an idiot.
+
He doesn't remain outcast for long. His mother and grandfather don't change toward him at all, though they're careful in that first day or so, aware that something's changed. His friends treat him as they have all his life, and the field hands gradually follow suit. If they treat him with a little more wary respect than before, that's fine. When Hikaru inherits the farm, he'll have charge of them, and now they know he's not just a child.
Except that he is, and he and Sai are the only ones who know it.
"Sai." Hikaru lifts a hand above his head, and watches the shadows of his fingers on the ceiling. He uses the other to make a shadow opponent, and the two engage in a silent duel.
Sai has been quiet ever since the festival. Sometimes Hikaru has forgotten he's there. Yes? Sai asks now.
"I want-" Hikaru closes one fist around the other, and brings his hands down to rest on his abdomen. "I want to keep learning, Sai. I want to learn until I can do what you do... on my own."
Oh? Sai is interested, but cautiously. He doesn't want to push Hikaru, not now, not after Hikaru's reaction to the fight.
"So." Hikaru glances over at him, and grins a little. "Can we go out and practice?"
Of course, Hikaru, and this time, Sai's happiness is deep and personal and restrained. Hikaru resists the urge to laugh, and he pulls the sword from under his bed, where he's been keeping it all along, and slips out of the house. The old drills feel wonderful and familiar, and Hikaru thinks giddily that if only he keeps them up, one day he'll be able to defeat Akira on his own terms.
One day.
"This one here," says Hikaru to himself. His forehead is beading with sweat as he follows the sequence, a new one, but one his body has been through before.
Hikaru? Sai asks, startled. What are you doing?
Your fight- Hikaru sidesteps quickly to the left, avoiding an invisible blade. Your fight with Akira. Now this way- Backward, downward parry, upward parry, sweep of the sword, left.
Hikaru, you remember all this? Sai sounds as though Hikaru's caught him off-guard somehow. Well, that's new. Not many things can catch Sai off-guard.
Of course. Hikaru lunges. I remember everything you do in my body. Obviously.
Oh. But Sai sounds pleased, for reasons unknown. Now I know...
"What?" Hikaru asks aloud, finishing the pattern with the final sweep that had stolen Akira's sword from his hand. "Now you know what?"
Nothing, Sai assures him, and then teaches him four new sequences.
+
Hikaru dares to accompany Waya and Akari down to the square the next day, the first time he's done so since the day of the festival, and the fight. The baker's wife seems surprised that he's the same Hikaru she's known since he was a baby. In fact, everyone seems surprised that he's still joking with Waya and being smacked in the arm by Akari and stuffing his face with bread rolls when they're offered to him. They all glance at the sword, which he's brought because he feels more comfortable with it at his side, oddly enough, and a few are bold enough to ask him about it.
"Shusaku Honinbou's sword," he says proudly. "That's right."
See, Hikaru tells Sai. Everything's going to be all right. Isn't it?
Of course it is, Sai replies, sounding like nothing more than a fond parent with a favorite child.
And that is when Hikaru hears his name spoken, as he's heard it spoken before. "Hikaru Shindou."
Akari draws in a breath, and Waya says softly, "Oh, no."
Hikaru turns around slowly, and finds himself face-to-face with Akira Touya. Akira doesn't shout his name this time, but says it coldly, keeping his temper in check so that it freezes instead of burning. "Hikaru Shindou," he repeats. "You've come."
"That's, well." Hikaru wonders what Akira wants from him. "Yes."
Sai seems alarmed, for some reason. Hikaru, he-
"You left me in disgrace, when I begged you for death," says Akira, his voice icy cold. "Now I have the right to demand recompense."
"To demand... what?" Hikaru asks.
Recompense, says Sai, grave and serious. The right to-
"Another fight," Akira finishes the same explanation out loud. "Draw your sword, Hikaru Shindou." He draws out his own, with a hiss of steel, and stands ready. They're gathering an audience here, people waiting to watch what will happen this time.
We cannot refuse, says Sai. It is his right.
"Oh," says Hikaru, in a small voice. He takes the sword from its sheath, although his hands are shaking a little. He doesn't feel nauseous this time, just numb.
Hikaru, Sai adds. It... recompense generally means a fight to the death.
Oh... Hikaru assumes a ready stance without thinking about it. Oh, he says again.
You have to let me- Sai begins, but Hikaru's stance has already indicated to Akira that he's ready. Akira lunges and thrusts, and Hikaru parries instinctively. He defends, too unsure of himself as yet to attempt an attack. Akira tries a sideways swipe, and Hikaru avoids it, and catches Akira's sword with his own. The steel sings when it clashes together, and Akira growls, low and feral. The minutes tick by, feeling like mere seconds, and Hikaru grows ever more sure. These are just like the patterns Sai's taught him, nothing too difficult.
Akira, meanwhile, grows more and more fierce, the light in his eyes building and building and brightening.
Hikaru! Sai cries in his mind.
I can do this, Sai!
But Hikaru understands too late what Sai means by the warning, and Akira descends upon him like an avenging fury. He's been holding back all along, playing with Hikaru as Sai had played with him, and now Hikaru can see the true gap between them. "Fight, damn you!" Akira shouts, smashing his sword down on Hikaru's, leaving Hikaru's arm buzzing with pain in his nerves. He almost loses his grip on the sword's hilt. "Fight!" Akira yells again, enraged by what he sees as Hikaru, not giving the fight his all or anywhere near it. He doesn't know yet that this is all Hikaru has.
Hikaru, let me fight him!
Hikaru runs through his options in his head, and there are only two. Akira will not let him run away, and so he can either let Sai take over, or. He swallows hard. Or he can let Akira kill him. He has no doubt that's what will happen, if he doesn't allow Sai to intervene. Akira's let up for the moment, but he's still breathing hard, almost a growl, his eyes fixed on Hikaru like the eyes of a lion intent on its prey.
He makes his decision then, and for a moment, just a moment, something flashes in his eyes, something that makes Akira step back, startled, when he sees it. "Touya," Hikaru says, just that.
And then he lets go.