The Art of War- Part 3
    by Elizabeth




        Kenshin didn't know how long he had been sitting in the snow, his arm locked in Hiko's relentless grip.  For a while he had been desperately cold but now that was subsiding, replaced by a feeling of deep lethargy.  He clung tightly to the tree, digging his fingers into its bark.  If he loosened his grip even for a moment, Hiko would take that opening and defeat him.  Glancing up at his master's implacable face Kenshin thought of speaking, but there was nothing to say.  He sighed, closing his eyes again.

        Screams brought him back to reality out of a cold, exhausted sleep.  He cringed away from the sound, burying his face in his arms.  It was no good.  He could never get used to cries of pain, could not ignore them as the others did.  Slowly he opened his eyes, wondering who was unlucky this time.

        Kurita and Shimizu were beating the old man.  Kenshin sat up, shivering in the cold wind.  The sun was still high in the sky.  He had not been resting long.

        "On your feet!  Now!"  The old man's cries were joined by his wife's as she tried to shield her husband's body with her own.  Shimizu stood over the frightened couple, his broad back turned to Kenshin.  "We're behind schedule!  Get up or die!"

        Kenshin put his hands over his ears, but the screams still filtered through.  He hummed tunelessly, rocking back and forth.  Get up, get up, old man.  The cries continued, increasing in intensity.  It had never lasted this long before.  Why don't they stop?  When will they stop?  He hummed louder.  When, when, when?

        "Please," the woman screamed.  "He can't work anymore today!  Please!  Have pity on us!"  She cast herself at the slavers' feet, groveling in the mud.

        Kurita kicked her aside.  "I don't waste pity on animals."

        Kenshin rocked harder, his eyes screwed tightly shut.  Hoarse screams.  Shimizu and Kurita yelling.  And the woman's frantic litany, "He can't get up!  He can't get up!"

        "Can't you see he can't get up!"  Abrupt silence.  Kenshin opened his eyes, surprised to find himself standing behind Shimizu, his fists clenched at his sides.  The slaver turned slowly and stared at him.  The old woman watched, wide-eyed and speechless.

        "How dare you raise your voice to me, you little piece of shit?" Shimizu roared.

        "I... I'm sorry, Shimizu-sama!  Please!"  He prostrated himself before the slaver.  "I didn't mean to!  I just... couldn't stand it anymore.  Forgive me!"

        Shimizu twisted his hand in Kenshin's hair, hauled him to his feet.  The slaver's face was inches from the boy's.  "So," he said, "you don't like his screams.  Maybe you prefer your own?"  He struck Kenshin on the side of the head, knocking him down.  Strands of red hair remained tangled between the slaver's fingers.  He brushed his hands together, and they drifted slowly to the ground.  Kenshin lay where he had fallen.

        Kurita laughed.  "You can't get off easy by playing dead, boy!"

        Shimizu yanked Kenshin to his feet again.  "I asked you a question: Who's going to get it, you or him?"

        "Why don't you be smart, brat, and stay out of things that don't concern you," Kurita suggested.

        "Well?"  Shimizu forced the boy's head up.  "I'm waiting for your answer."

        "Maybe he's too scared to speak," Kurita said.

        Shimizu studied Kenshin's face.  "You know, I think you're right."  He laughed, releasing the boy's hair.  Kenshin fell to his knees.  "Well, let's get the old man up.  Your turn, Kurita!"

        "Me."  The boy's voice was barely audible.  The slavers looked back, amazed.  Kenshin trembled as their eyes fell on him.

        "What did you say?"

        "You asked who it would be, Shimizu-sama.  He's old and sick..."  Kenshin's voice faltered.

        "That may be," Shimizu said grimly, "but you'll be jealous of his health by the time I'm finished with you."  Twisting Kenshin's arm behind his back, he forced the boy's face into the mud.  "Don't you know you're nobody?  You'd be eating shit if we didn't feed you. You should thank me for letting you live this long!"  Shimizu applied more pressure, forcing the boy's arm farther up.  Kenshin screamed as bones grated together.  He flailed desperately, the fingers of his free hand clawing deep furrows in the mud.

        "Our little hero," Shimizu said with satisfaction.  He dug his knee into Kenshin's back and gave the boy's arm another ferocious twist.

        "Please stop," he begged.  "Please..."

        "Don't whine to me.  You brought this on yourself."

        "Oro?"  Kenshin opened his eyes.  The icy breeze cut him like a blade, but Hiko's gaze was even colder.  "I... I'm sorry, Master!  I must have drifted for a moment..."  He shook his head, trying to clear it.

        "When you are ready to admit defeat, at least do it like a man."  Hiko gave his pupil's arm a tug, and was surprised to see real anger spring into Kenshin's eyes.

        "I'm not going to admit defeat," he snapped.  "I just drifted for a moment, that's all.  Do whatever you want.  I won't say anything again!"  He lapsed into sullen silence.

        Hiko sighed.  "You're really stubborn today.  But have it your way."  He tightened his grip, pulling his pupil's arm taut.  Kenshin glared at him.  "Scary expression," Hiko observed.  "Don't you think you're taking this a bit too seriously?  We're only fighting over a sword, you know."

        "You're fighting over a sword.  I don't know what I'm fighting about anymore."  In spite of the pain in his arm, Kenshin felt his anger receding.  He couldn't expect Hiko to understand.  "I'm sorry, Master," he said wearily.  "I just can't afford to lose this time."

        "Forgive me, Shimizu-sama."  The voice was low but firm.  "If you break his arm, you'll only fall further behind schedule.  He's a good worker."

        "Not another interfering brat," Kurita sighed.  "At this rate we'll never get them back into the field."

        Kenshin heard the words dimly, but the pain in his arm suddenly lessened as Shimizu released him.  He lay on his stomach, unable to comprehend this turn of events.  Tears of gratitude escaped from his closed eyes and slid silently down his cheeks.

        "Do you want to take his place, then?"

        Kenshin heard the soft voice again.  A boy's voice.  "No, Shimizu-sama.  But if you let him go, I'll do my work and the old man's, too."

        Shimizu started to reply angrily, but Kurita interrupted him.  "We're wasting too much time.  Listen, Shimizu!  A day's march from here there's a bridge that needs mending.  If we can finish digging the ditch tonight, we can beat Tanaka's group to it.  What do you say?"

        "I say I should kill both these little shits."  Kenshin's hands convulsed, forming fists, but he made no sound.  "The bridge job is worth having, though.  Let's work them until nightfall, then this boy can finish the ditch by himself."  Kenshin heard Shimizu moving towards his rescuer.  "Got that.  If dawn breaks and that ditch isn't finished, I'll kill you without a second thought.  But then, I guess you know what to expect from me."  He stalked away, the slaves scattering out of his path.

        "Everybody get back to work," Kurita shouted.  "Leave the old man!  We don't need him, after all.  Get going!"

        "Are you all right?"  Gentle hands tugged at Kenshin, turning him over.  Curiosity overcame his fear, and he opened his eyes.  An older boy knelt beside him, concern clearly written on his face.  "Don't cry."

        "I didn't know I was."  Kenshin hastily wiped his nose on the back of his hand and sat up.

        "Just get to work and don't cause any more trouble, okay?"  The boy clapped him on the shoulder and stood up.

        "Wait.."  Kenshin reached out to him, but he was already gone, lost in the line of slaves on their way back to the ditch.

        Dusk.  Shimizu and Kurita were rounding up the slaves for the night.  From where he lay hidden behind a mound of dirt, Kenshin could see the boy still at work, digging.  The others moved off, leaving him to toil alone.

        When they were gone, Kenshin slid back down into the ditch.  His bare feet made no sound, but the older boy seemed to sense his approach.  He started, then relaxed when he recognized Kenshin.  "What are you doing here?  You already had your punishment.  This is mine."

        "I want to help."  Kenshin studied his companion in the moonlight. He had imagined him to be tall and strong, but he wasn't.  Just a thin, pale, ordinary boy.  "I can work more.  I don't mind."

        "You should be resting with the others.  It's cold out here at night."  He regarded Kenshin appraisingly.  "Kurita might have built a fire.  You should go."

        "No.  I want to stay here with you."

        The older boy shrugged.  "What's your name?"

        "Shinta."

        "Well, Shinta, I'll dig and you can haul the dirt."  He turned back to his task, coughing a little at the exertion.

        "What's your name?"

        "What?  Oh... I'm Seiji."  He stared at the younger boy.  "What are you doing now?"

        Kenshin knelt before him in the mud, bowing so deeply his head touched the ground.  "Thank you for helping me."  After a moment he sat up, a puzzled expression crossing his face.  "But I don't understand why you did it."

        Seiji rubbed a hand through his dark hair.  "Why did you get involved with the old man?" he countered.  "I don't know why I did it, Shinta-kun.  It was pretty stupid, really."  He attacked the dirt with his shovel.  "I guess," he said at last, "because you reminded me of my brother.  He was a good kid until he lost his temper.  Then he turned into a little oni."  Seiji planted the shovel in the ground and leaned on it, his eyes distant.  "That's how he got killed.  When they came for us, I was willing to go, but Hideo defied them.  Shimizu cut his head off, right in front of me, before I could even move."  He frowned at the memory.  "So when you yelled at Shimizu today, I knew he would kill you, too.  I didn't really want to interfere, but I felt like I owed it to Hideo."  He shook his head, his voice weary.  "You should take my brother's fate to heart, Shinta-kun.  Watch out for that little oni inside you, or he'll get you in more trouble than this someday!"

        Kenshin bowed his head.  "I'm sorry..."

        "Me, too," Seiji sighed.  "But I'll be killed in the morning if we keep talking instead of working.  Hand me that bucket!"

        They toiled side by side at a frantic pace, rarely speaking.  As the night progressed, Kenshin watched Seiji's motions become slower and slower, but he never faltered.  Finally, just before dawn, Kenshin hauled the last dirt away.  He was too exhausted to feel anything beyond a profound sense of relief.  Seiji would not be killed because of him.

        As he returned to the ditch, he could see Seiji resting there, seemingly oblivious to the coldness of the morning.  Collapsing beside him, Kenshin took the older boy's hand in his.  It felt hot against his clammy skin.  "We made it, Seiji," he whispered.  "You finished in time.  You don't have to die!"

        Seiji laughed.

        "What's so funny?  We did a good job!  We..."  He was interrupted as Shimizu and Kurita suddenly appeared at the edge on the ditch and looked down at them.

        "I'll be damned," Kurita said.  "He did it!"

        "Get out," Shimizu ordered.  "Both of you.  We're leaving immediately."

        "Come on."  Kenshin pulled Seiji to his feet, surprised by how little the older boy weighed.  As the first rays of the sun spread over the hills they scrambled up the bank and began the day's march.

        A snowflake hit his cheek, burned into it like a glowing ember.  It was midday but the sky had turned gray, threatening a snowy afternoon.  Kenshin shivered as he walked, his bare feet numb on the frozen ground.  Slowly, he became aware Seiji was no longer beside him.  He stopped, waiting for him to catch up.

        Seiji nodded to Kenshin when he reached him, and let the younger boy slip his arm under his shoulder.  They stumbled on in silence for several minutes, concentrating only on putting one foot in front of the other.  Snow began to fall steadily, and Kenshin whimpered at every step.

        "Take my shoes, Shinta-kun," Seiji said.  "And my cloak.  I don't really feel cold."

        "No!  You need them."

        "When I am dead, then."  He coughed, and blood spattered on the snow.  Kenshin stared at it, horrified.

        "But...you knew!  When you saved me from Shimizu... last night in the ditch..."  Seiji nodded.  "How could you do those things, knowing what would happen?"

        "Don't be upset.  Yesterday I was angry, a little, but today I'm glad."

        Kenshin could only stare at him.  "Glad?"

        "Um.  Look around you, Shinta-kun.  Look at us.  Filthy, pathetic creatures without personality or dignity.  Shimizu's and Kurita's animals.  We work, we sleep, we eat.  Our lives are miserable and our deaths are miserable.  But," he squeezed Kenshin's hand, "we were ourselves again yesterday, if only for a little while.  For a moment, I could see the kind of person you really were..."

        "Foolish," Kenshin said bitterly.

        "Headstrong," Seiji corrected.  "And generous."  He smiled at Kenshin but his gaze seemed vague, distant.  "We didn't do what Shimizu told us to.  We made your own choices..."

        "All bad."

        "Maybe," Seiji said.  "But they were ours.  I don't regret them, so you..."  He stumbled, pulling Kenshin with him as he fell.

        "Seiji!"  Kenshin shook him, looking around frantically.  Kurita had noticed they had dropped out of line and was approaching.  "You've got to get up!  Kurita's coming!"

        "I can't.  I can't feel my legs anymore."

        "Get on my back!"  Seiji wrapped his arms around Kenshin's neck and the younger boy struggled to his feet.  He tried to rejoin the column of slaves, but Kurita blocked his path.

        "Just what do you think you two are doing?"

        "I'm going to carry him, Kurita-sama."  He tried to duck past the slaver, but Kurita stopped him.

        "No you're not."  He grabbed Seiji's long, dark hair and pulled his head back.  "He's dead already.  Don't waste your energy."

        "He's right," Seiji said faintly.  "Let it be, Shinta."

        "No."

        "Well, the old man's dead, and this one will be soon.  That makes us two short, already.  I'd rather not kill you, too.  The slaver scratched his head.  "Besides, for your size, you're the best worker I've ever seen."  He stepped aside.  "Carry him, then, if you're determined.  But you'd better not let Shimizu see you!"

        Kenshin rejoined the line of slaves, struggling to catch up.  "So the old man died, anyway," he said through gritted teeth.

        "Um.  I knew he would."  Seiji coughed, resting his forehead against Kenshin's shoulder.

        "I didn't.  I really thought if I helped, he would live.  Now he's gone, now you..." he broke off, unable to continue.

        "We're not responsible for the outcome of the roll, Shinta-kun, only for casting the die."

        Kenshin trudged along in silence for a few moments.  "Do you think they buried him?"

        "No."

        "When we are dead, do you think they will bury us?"

        "I don't know," Seiji sighed.  "It doesn't really matter."  He squeezed the younger boy's shoulder.  "Don't cry."

        "I didn't know I was."

        The snow fell around them, blanketing their hair and shoulders.  Kenshin couldn't feel his feet, or Seiji's weight on his back.  Finally, after what seemed like hours, Shimizu called a halt.

        Kenshin collapsed, rolling Seiji into the snow.  The boy fell limply, his long, dark hair pooling around his shoulders like blood.  Kenshin leaned over him.  "Seiji-kun!" he called softly.  There was no reply.  Slowly, he began to remove the dead boy's shoes and cloak.  He did not feel the icy wind that bit into him, or the snow that burned his skin.

        Searing pain in his arm jolted Kenshin back to consciousness.  He clung to the tree stubbornly, refusing to be moved.  "I thought you had passed out, but I guess you were 'just drifting' again!"  Hiko's voice betrayed his disappointment.

        The pain receded as quickly as it had come.  Kenshin opened his eyes, focusing with difficulty.  His master's face was only inches from his own.  "Aren't you ready to give up yet?" Hiko asked.

        "No."  He found that it was hard to raise his head.  "I'm not even cold anymore."

        "That's because you're freezing to death, you little fool!"  Hiko seemed genuinely angry.  "You'd really go this far?  You'd really die over a sword?"

        "I don't want to," Kenshin said quietly, "but I have to find my own strength.  Everything I have, you've given to me.  I imitate your moves, hoping someday I can be as good as you are.  I just want to know if there is anything... that is my own."  He closed his eyes, unable to keep them open any longer.  "I knew shame would be my fate if I misjudged myself; death, if I misjudged my opponent."

        For a long moment Hiko didn't reply.  Then he said, "You did not misjudge either yourself, or me.  You have broken my grip.  The katana is yours, to do with as you please."

        Surprise opened Kenshin's eyes and he gazed down in wonder at his arm, suddenly free.  Hiko knelt in front of the boy and shook him gently.  "Your will is a powerful weapon, Kenshin.  It doesn't depend on size or strength, and unlike a sword it can never be taken from you.  Try not to forget it!"

        "I can't believe it, Master.  I can't believe I really won!"  Relief made him lightheaded, and he slumped against the tree trunk.

        "You don't need to gloat."  Hiko slapped his pupil's leg.  "Come on!  Get up, now!  I don't intend to stand out in the snow all day."

        Kenshin tried to rise but sank back, a look of horror spreading over his face.  "I can't.  I can't feel my legs anymore."

        "You are really pathetic, sometimes,"  Hiko sighed.  "but there's no reason to panic.  Just get on my back.  I'll carry you."  Kenshin wrapped his aching arms around his master's neck and Hiko lifted him easily.  "Let's go back to my way of fighting from now on, Kenshin.  I'm afraid I find yours extremely tiresome."

        Kenshin laughed.  "You find it tiresome?"

        "Still," Hiko continued, as he started back towards the hut, "I suppose Hara will be proud of you when you show him that sword.  I assume he did put you up to this?"  He looked over his shoulder at his pupil.

        "Um.  You know, it's funny, Master," Kenshin murmured.

        "What's funny?"

        "The way people see each other.  Hara-sama told me I was a mountain, but the slavers always said I was a piece of shit."

        Hiko snorted.  "You're neither.  As far as I'm concerned, you're just my stubborn little baka deshi."

        Too tired to argue, Kenshin relaxed against the warm strength of Hiko's back.  Let his master believe what he wanted.  He knew who he really was.  His arms throbbed and he couldn't feel his legs, but he smiled.  "Seiji-kun," he whispered, "we won!"



        Therefore those who know martial arts do not wander when they move, and do not become exhausted when they rise up.  So it is said that when you know yourself and others, victory is not in danger; when you know sky and earth, victory is inexhaustible.

- Sun Tzu



END

oni= devil, demon
baka deshi= stupid student

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