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*a Rurouni Kenshin fanfic written for entertainment purposes only.  Rurouni Kenshin characters are the property of Nobohiro Watsuki.

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        "Only one jug of sake left?  Damn!"  Hiko turned away from the storage bin and lifted a small wooden box from the shelf.  He scowled at its contents.  "Not much," he muttered, "but it will have to do."  He took the coins out and replaced the box.  "Time to send the boy into town again."

        Jangling the yen in his hand, he paused in the doorway of the hut to take in the gratifying scene of his student practicing.  Kenshin leapt into the air, spun, and brought his sword down with lightning speed on the head of the wooden man erected at the edge of the clearing.  A faint smile
appeared on Hiko's lips.  Only twelve years old.  Not for the first time, he wondered at the strength which allowed the boy to wield a real sword and still achieve such height and force.

        His pupil landed gracefully, turned and looked over his shoulder, as if he could sense Hiko's eyes following him.  Hiko cleared his throat, the smile disappearing.  "Kenshin!  Come over here!"

        The boy obeyed, resheathing the sword with practiced ease.  He trotted over to where Hiko waited, his breath forming clouds in the winter air.  Sweat glistened on his skin, but he seemed not to feel the coldness of the morning.  "I think that was the highest I've ever jumped!  Did you see it?"

        "It wasn't too bad, but your swing is still clumsy.  I could have gutted you while you were performing your acrobatics.  Hiten Mitsurugi Ryuu isn't a circus act, you know."

        Kenshin wiped his forehead on his sleeve.  "I'll keep working on it, then."

        "Of course you will.  But right now there are other things I need you to do.  You've let us run out of supplies again."

        Kenshin arched an eyebrow.  "Oh?  I checked the rice yesterday and there was a lot left."

        "Baka!  I'm not talking about the rice.  I'm talking about the sake."

        "Oh."

        "I want you to go into town and get more.  Also some dried fish, but nothing else!"

        "Hai, hai."  Hiko dropped the money into Kenshin's outstretched hand and the boy bounded past him into the hut.  He rummaged around his belongings, slipping a folded piece of paper into his shirt.  Then he threw his heavy brown cloak around his shoulders and headed back for the door.

        Hiko blocked it.  "Leave the sword."

        "Oro?"  Wide, innocent eyes met his.

        "You're still wearing it, dummy."  Hiko folded his arms across his chest.  "That," he said, "is a very good sword.  I don't intend to lose it when some city-samurai pries it out of your little baby-fist!"

        Kenshin's eyes lit dangerously.  "What did you call my fist?"

        "Do I need to repeat it?"

        "This fist?"  Kenshin's punch was incredibly fast and landed squarely in Hiko's stomach.  Hiko laughed, grabbing Kenshin's wrist before he could pull it away.

        "Now what are you going to do?"

        Kenshin flexed his muscles experimentally, but Hiko's grip was like iron.  His fingers began to feel numb.  "I'm going to give you the sword."

        "Smart move."  Hiko released Kenshin and ruffled his hair. Grumbling, Kenshin tossed him the sword.

        "Master, when will you let me carry it?"

        "When will you break one of my holds?  Anyway, you won't need it. Believe me, you are in more danger with a sword than without one these days.  Everyone in Kyoto is looking for a fight, even with runts like you. Now get going and be back before dark!"

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        "Konnichiwa!"  Kenshin burst into the sake shop swinging the dried fish he had just purchased, his face red from the cold.  It had started snowing, and a few flakes followed him into the room, quickly melting on the shiny wooden floor.

        "Ken-chan!"  The proprietress rushed to close the door.  "What are you thinking, walking so far in this weather?  Doesn't that man have any sense?"  She put her hands on her plump hips and regarded him sternly, but her eyes were twinkling.

        Kenshin submitted happily to her scoldings as she fussed over him, brushing snow off his hair and cloak.  "I expect you're hungry, too.  That man starves you to death while he spends his money on sake.  Not that I'm complaining, you understand."

        Kenshin laughed.  "I am a little hungry, Chizu-san," he admitted, "but I'm not starving.  Look!"  He pulled away from her and stood absolutely straight, head up.  "Haven't I gotten taller this month?"

        "Well, yes," she conceded.  "But you're still too thin.  Put those old fish down and I'll get you something hot to eat.  Miso soup.  And some rice."  She dismissed his protests with a wave of her hand.  "It's on the house, of course.  You're one of my best customers, Ken-chan, and business is slow today anyway.  Besides," her voice lowered, "you do a lot of good here, whether you realize it or not.  Otosama takes such an interest in you.  He's been asking after you all week."

        Kenshin looked past her into the back room of the shop.  The door was drawn partly shut, but he could see the old man's futon.  A thin arm reached out, fumbled with the blanket.  "He's awake."

        "He probably heard your voice."  Chizu led Kenshin to the door. "Look who's here to see you, Otosama!  It's Ken-chan!"

        "Stop calling him that, woman," a testy voice answered.  "He's not a little boy anymore.  He doesn't need you mothering him and worrying over him.  Can't you understand that such behavior is repugnant to a samurai?" The dim light from the window cut across the futon, fell on the old man's
face.  It was a haughty countenance, deeply lined by a lifetime of unimaginable victories and  defeats.  The eyes that met Kenshin's were as bright and dark as wet stone.

        The old samurai turned his fierce gaze to the proprietress.  "I thought I heard you say you were going to prepare some food."

        Chizu laughed.  "I'll leave you men together, then."  She patted Kenshin on the shoulder and withdrew, sliding the door shut behind her.

        "Well, come in and sit down, Himura-san.  Shyness is only a virtue in women, you know."

        "Hai, Hara-sama."  Kenshin sat beside the futon and drew the sheet of paper out of his shirt.

        "How is your master?"

        "Well, that is..." Kenshin began worriedly.

        "I know.  You aren't supposed to talk about it.  No one is to know. But I've been acquainted with your master for a long, long time.  You don't really think he only sends you here for the sake, do you?"

        "Well..."

        "Never mind.  Read me your 'Art of War'."  Kenshin unfolded the paper, cleared his throat.  "Remember: speak clearly and with confidence. No mumbling!  Men who mumble should have their tongues cut out.  Don't you agree?"  He pierced Kenshin with his gaze.

        "Yes, sir.  I mean, no.  It only makes them harder to understand, sir."

        The old samurai laughed.  "Good answer.  Now read!"

        " 'Be extremely subtle, even to the point of formlessness.  Be extremely mysterious, even to the point of soundlessness.  Thereby you can be the director of the opponent's fate.' "  Kenshin paused, looking up for encouragement.

        "You're doing well.  Keep going!"

        "Yes, sir.  'Military conditions are based on speed - come like the wind, go like lightning, and opponents will be unable to overcome you.' " He put down the paper, frowning slightly.

        "What's wrong?"

        "The last part, the part about speed, makes sense to me.  I can do that.  But the first part only works is your opponent doesn't know you. How can you be subtle or mysterious if he knows your technique?"

        "Well," Hara said, "you have to make sure no one really knows your innermost thoughts.  You must never give everything about yourself away- not to your superiors, not to your most trusted friends."  The old man struck his fist against his chest.  "Always keep something here that is yours alone.  This is what separates a samurai from a common fighter."

        "But I can't hide anything from my master.  He always sees right through me, knows my move before I make it."

        Hara sighed.  "And if he didn't, would he admit it?"

        "No."

        The old man waved his hand dismissively.  "That is a part of his strength.  Now show me the paper!  I want to see how your handwriting is progressing."

        Kenshin surrendered the paper to Hara wordlessly.  The samurai held it close to his face for a few moments, studying it carefully.  Then he lowered it, smiling faintly.  "Your characters are very neat and well-formed.  And no ink smudges- that is a miracle in a boy!"

        "Arigato, Hara-sama."  Kenshin bowed slightly.

        "Do you know why this is so important?"

        "Well..."

        "What makes a good soldier, do you think, Himura-san?"

        "Being a strong fighter, I suppose."

        "And what makes a strong fighter into a leader of men?"

        Kenshin fidgeted with the edge of the blanket.  "Being an even better fighter," he ventured hopefully.

        "Dispatches!"  The old man snatched the blanket out of Kenshin's hands.

        "Oro?"

        "Which man would you promote: the one who writes slovenly, ill-considered dispatches, or the one who writes crisply, cleanly, with authority?  Fighting skills can only get you so far in life, Himura-san. Real advancement always boils down to dispatches!"  Hara glared at Kenshin, as if his eyes could drill his points into the boy's head.

        Kenshin only stared back, completely nonplussed.

        The old samurai finally laughed and looked away.  "I'm not crazy. Everything you do here has a purpose, whether you can see it now or not. But you know, good handwriting doesn't make up for a good sword at your side."  He looked meaningfully at Kenshin's empty sash.  "I was carrying a
sword by the time I was six.  I was killing men by the time I was seven! Grown men would challenge me and then... heads would roll!"  He waved his arm in the air to illustrate these grisly decapitations.  "Say, Himura-san, have you killed anybody yet?"

        "No!  Of course not."

        "Well," Hara sighed, "I don't know why young men today waste so much time. You should carry a sword, though, if only for the image.  It would keep people from mistaking you for a girl."

        Kenshin blushed furiously, his eyes fixed on his hands in his lap. "Master won't let me carry a sword until..."  His voice was soft, but the tension in it was unmistakable.

        "Ahh, until what?"

        "Until I can break one of his holds and prove I'm strong enough to keep anyone from taking it from me.  But, Hara-sama, it's unreasonable. It's not fair!"

        "It seems both fair and reasonable to me," the old man said. "Young men should be stronger than their elders."

        "But Hiko is a much better fighter than anyone I'm likely to meet in Kyoto.  And I'll never be able to break his grip, not if I try for ten years!"  Kenshin broke off, fuming.

        Hara regarded him with some amusement.  "Why are you so sure?"

        "Because he is much, much stronger than I am," Kenshin answered wearily.  "You know that.  The muscles in his arms are gigantic.  He can close his whole hand around my wrist without even stretching his fingers."

        "So you think strength lies in an arm, then?  You really believe that?"

        Kenshin was about to argue again, but Hara's question brought him up short.  He shut his mouth quickly and stared at the old samurai.  Hara sighed.  "Listen to me, Himura-san.  Your master is a storm, sweeping everything before him.  His attack is like the lightning that strikes the
mountain tops on hot, summer nights.  Everyone flees from the terror of the storm and they should, because its wrath is formidable.  But," Hara waggled his gnarled finger at Kenshin, "the mountain endures the storm because it must.  And when the storm passes, the mountain still remains."

        The old samurai looked sternly at Kenshin, but there was a cold smile in his eyes.  "I know you both, so I understand these things.  Maybe better than you do.  But go eat now, and when you come next time I want to see you wearing that sword!"

        Kenshin bowed and started to rise.  "Hai.  Demo..."

        Hara held up a warning hand.  "No arguments.  Consider the possibilities, Himura-san, then act boldly.  That is what your master expects of you.  And remember: no matter what happens, you are a mountain!"

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End of Part I

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