Paper Folding
by Kakita Toshiki May 2000
Poet nightingale...
Will I hear your later verses
In the vale of death?
-- Anon.
This was written following the release of Fire and Shadow during the Race to Volturnum. It is Kakita Toshiki's (Kaori's more skilled twin) first story.
The old man's hands trembled. There were too many for one man to save. Too many for one man to mourn.
The fall of night had not brought rest. Samurai of all the clans fought and died, struggling to battle an opponent they could neither defeat nor understand. They died with courage. They died with honor.
They died with no hope of being remembered. So the old man in soiled blue robes continued his self appointed task.
He came upon a young samurai lying on the ground. His armor and mon declared him a bushi of the Hida. Red blood soaked the wrap around the boy's stomach. Although he did not cry out, the old Kakita knew he did not have long to live. So he knelt down beside the Crab, fingers darting into the sleeves of his kimono.
"Hida-san."
The samurai looked at the withered, blue clad figure above him. "Kakita." His voice was level and firm. "You have no place here."
"Hai, Hida-san. You are right in that." There was a flash of gold from his hands as he spoke. "But I wondered if you could answer one question for me?"
"What?" The Hida's young face suddenly twisted as a spasm of pain ripped though him.
"Did you ever feed birds as a boy?"
The Hida's face grew red with rage, then he shook as the darkness in his belly bit deep. With measured breath and level voice he croaked "Yes. My father and I. We fed sparrows on the Wall. At dawn. Sometimes."
From the old man's hands there was a flicker of brown, then a sparrow lighted on the samurai's shoulder. "You see," said the Kakita, "there is a sparrow now. I think he has come for you, to repay you for your kindness so long ago. I think that if you whisper a secret to him he will take it to your family."
Moment's later, watching the sparrow as it flew away, the old man hoped he was right. There were so many miles, and so many monsters, between this place and home. He pushed himself up to his feet, joints creaking with the strain.
"Kakita-sama." The voice was rough with pain.
He turned slowly. Standing close by were two bushi, one with a Daidoji mon, the other wearing the mon of the Doji. Both were covered with the grime and soot that bathed everything. The Doji spoke again, "Kakita-sama. My brother and I wish to know if we may help?"
The Daidoji's voice was harsh with exhaustion. "We are not fit to fight now, so Uji-sama ordered us to this duty. We can be your legs. Sit, Kakita-sama."
For hours they walked, kneeling to hear the words of the dying. From some they brought back haiku, from others phrases, from a few only a single word. The old man took each one and folded it into the heart of a bird.
Finally the Daidoji returned to find the Kakita lying on the ground, his hands clasped as if in prayer. He was not much longer for this world. The warrior stood numbly, watching his chest rising and falling ever so slowly.
When the Doji returned he raised his sword to offer the final peace. As he did so, he saw something fluttering in the old man's hand. The master smiled one last time and with a whisper sent a white song-bird up into the leaden sky. Its song thrilled across the still dawn battlefield and then it was gone.
Poet nightingale...
Will I hear your later verses
In the vale of death?
-- Anon.
This was written following the release of Fire and Shadow during the Race to Volturnum. It is Kakita Toshiki's (Kaori's more skilled twin) first story.
The old man's hands trembled. There were too many for one man to save. Too many for one man to mourn.
The fall of night had not brought rest. Samurai of all the clans fought and died, struggling to battle an opponent they could neither defeat nor understand. They died with courage. They died with honor.
They died with no hope of being remembered. So the old man in soiled blue robes continued his self appointed task.
He came upon a young samurai lying on the ground. His armor and mon declared him a bushi of the Hida. Red blood soaked the wrap around the boy's stomach. Although he did not cry out, the old Kakita knew he did not have long to live. So he knelt down beside the Crab, fingers darting into the sleeves of his kimono.
"Hida-san."
The samurai looked at the withered, blue clad figure above him. "Kakita." His voice was level and firm. "You have no place here."
"Hai, Hida-san. You are right in that." There was a flash of gold from his hands as he spoke. "But I wondered if you could answer one question for me?"
"What?" The Hida's young face suddenly twisted as a spasm of pain ripped though him.
"Did you ever feed birds as a boy?"
The Hida's face grew red with rage, then he shook as the darkness in his belly bit deep. With measured breath and level voice he croaked "Yes. My father and I. We fed sparrows on the Wall. At dawn. Sometimes."
From the old man's hands there was a flicker of brown, then a sparrow lighted on the samurai's shoulder. "You see," said the Kakita, "there is a sparrow now. I think he has come for you, to repay you for your kindness so long ago. I think that if you whisper a secret to him he will take it to your family."
Moment's later, watching the sparrow as it flew away, the old man hoped he was right. There were so many miles, and so many monsters, between this place and home. He pushed himself up to his feet, joints creaking with the strain.
"Kakita-sama." The voice was rough with pain.
He turned slowly. Standing close by were two bushi, one with a Daidoji mon, the other wearing the mon of the Doji. Both were covered with the grime and soot that bathed everything. The Doji spoke again, "Kakita-sama. My brother and I wish to know if we may help?"
The Daidoji's voice was harsh with exhaustion. "We are not fit to fight now, so Uji-sama ordered us to this duty. We can be your legs. Sit, Kakita-sama."
For hours they walked, kneeling to hear the words of the dying. From some they brought back haiku, from others phrases, from a few only a single word. The old man took each one and folded it into the heart of a bird.
Finally the Daidoji returned to find the Kakita lying on the ground, his hands clasped as if in prayer. He was not much longer for this world. The warrior stood numbly, watching his chest rising and falling ever so slowly.
When the Doji returned he raised his sword to offer the final peace. As he did so, he saw something fluttering in the old man's hand. The master smiled one last time and with a whisper sent a white song-bird up into the leaden sky. Its song thrilled across the still dawn battlefield and then it was gone.
