Standard disclaimers Apply. I do not own Kenshin, Wastuki does, yadda yadda yadda.
Ok, on with the story.
The Tolling Bell
Any man's death diminishes me, because I am involved in Mankind; And therefore never send to know for whom the bell
tolls; It tolls for thee. -John Donne, poet (1573-1631)
Southern Florida
"Grandpa!"
The delighted squeal of a seven-year-old girl rocked the small bungalow by the beach. A graying old man raised a bushy eyebrow as a small storm consisting of dark brown hair in pigtails and a skirt ran into the room like a juggernaut. Stopping momentarily at the doorway, the little girl scanned the room for her grandfather. She spotted him sitting near the window, staring out to sea. He turned to her, his grey hair glistening in the morning sun.
"Angela, a good morning to you. And what do I owe this unexpected visit to?"
Angela giggled. Walking to her grandfather, she put a finger to her rosy lips. A secretive smile spread across her face. Looking around, she brought her mouth to the old man's ear, as if she were about to divulge a great secret.
"I came to hear a story. Momma said I could come and visit."
She giggled again. Sweeping the little girl into his lap, the old man chuckled at her glee.
"So, you want to hear a story, eh? Well, stories aren't just thrown away to whoever comes a-calling to my door. Now, what is the payment then, little one?"
Angela gave her grandfather a quick peck on the cheek and then sat back to listen. The man chuckled and launched into the story.
"It all began a very, very long time ago..."
1430, The Land of the Rising Sun
Shinta wandered aimlessly through the wilderness of northern Japan. He was hungry. The last time he had eaten was over five days ago. He clutched his stomach and groaned softly as the hunger pangs slammed into him with enormous intensity. Tearing a bit of leather from his shoe, he shoved it into his mouth and chewed, hoping to relieve his hunger to a lower degree. Sometimes, the life of a wanderer was horrible, almost as often as it was exhilarating. The road had always called to him, to travel and explore. To him, the road was freedom; it would always mean the same to him.
But at that particular moment, it was a questionable lifestyle. Sitting down next to a gurgling stream in a small clearing, he took a small wooden dipper and helped himself to nature's liquid gift. After slurping it greedily, he leaned against a tree and thought of nothing in particular. Shinta was now twenty-eight, and after nearly twelve years of meandering without a cause on the land of his birth, he still felt as if there was more to see. Leaving home at the age of sixteen, he took more with him than provisions. The ancient bloodline of swordsmen coursed through his veins. Countless years ago, an ancestor had developed a sword style, which was unmatchable by any other style. However, it remained nameless. And so it would remain, as a reminder of the ancient genius of old.
The late afternoon sun found its way to the redheaded man lying underneath the foliage of the ancient trees that made up the forest. Shinta stirred and sat up, blinking in the sunlight. He yawned and stretched. Suddenly, he tensed, his hand going to his sword hilt.
"No, no, young man. Do not worry, I mean no one any harm."
Shinta looked down at the smaller and younger boy at his side. The boy had dark black hair coupled with intense black eyes shining with cheerfulness. A broad scimitar sat securely strapped to his back. He did not look of Japanese origin. He relaxed. Bending down to the boy's eyelevel, he chuckled. He couldn't be more than thirteen years of age and he was calling Shinta a "young man".
"Young man? And exactly how old are you? My name is Himura Shinta." He paused to look at the boy. "I am flattered that you think I am young, though."
The boy just smiled and patted Shinta's head.
"If you knew how old I was, then you would surely agree that you should be called a young man, Sir Shinta."
"And how old are you, young sir", asked Shinta, starting to weary of the "young man" business.
The young boy shook his head, smiling ruefully, his hair swinging back and forth on his head.
"You would not believe me if I told you."
Shinta laughed, which quickly turned into a wince as another hunger pang struck. Clutching his stomach, he smiled sheepishly at the boy.
"I'm sorry to ask, but would you have any spare food that you would be willing to share with a poor and hungry traveler."
The boy smiled brightly. "Of course. Oh, forgive me for I failed to introduce myself. I am called Ushcahar. I come from the distant sands of the Sahara desert. I have settled here in a temporary living area. Please, follow me."
The Sahara? Shinta had no idea what the Sahara was, but it was probably a desert, judging from the boy's heavily tanned skin and his mentioning of sand. Shinta had never bothered learning of much of the other lands beyond his country. After all, Japan was closed off to them. It was not any of his business. Suddenly, the boy's voice rent across his thoughts.
"So, you are skilled in the ways of the sword. I did not fail to notice the swordsmen's fluid motions, quick reactions, and reading eyes. I also am quite skilled as a swordsman."
Shinta nodded. "Yes, very perceptive."
"Ah, there is my house. Come, you shall rest within my company tonight. It is impolite to refuse where I come from."
The house was of simple, but sturdy construction. In a small clearing, the house sat in the center of a cleared patch of ground. Wooden poles were driven deep into the ground and a platform was built three feet above the ground, using the poles as support. The walls were thick sticks running vertically from the ceiling to the platform. Animal skins were stitched together and stretched over the walls, creating a sort of water repellant for when it rained.
"Your house is of unusual structure. Tell me, do they build these houses where you come from?"
"Nay good sir, it is of India in origin. The raised design kept the floors dry in case of flooding. But now it is the time to eat. I left some food preparing over the fire."
With that, he hurried inside. Shinta quickly followed after him, the smell of miso soup and some other food he could not identify by smell wafted around him like a seductive invisible hand. Shinta grinned. Tonight he would eat like a king. Walking into the one room house, he took stock of his surroundings. There was a futon rolled up in a corner, a small rustic cabinet, and a kettle in the middle of the room, the warm glow of fire emanating out of it top. A small pot sat boiling above the fire. There was precious little else, however.
"Do you live alone, my friend?"
Ushcahar simply nodded, his eyes flickering for a moment before turning his attention to the fire-bearing kettle.
"I travel far too much to even build a permanent dwelling. So how then am I to marry or bring a friend? Also, friends and spouse alike die all too quickly, like flowers that bloom for a short while and then wither away. No, I best travel alone. My only companion is my faithful sword."
Shinta gave the boy a quizzical look. How could such a youth speak of death and companionship as he did? He decided to wait and see. The food was a simple affair. Miso soup and some strange pulled and dried meat made the meal, but it was incredibly satisfying to the half-starved wanderer. Finishing the meal, the two travelers relaxed and shared stories. Shinta told his and waited eagerly for the young man to divulge to him his past. The young man sighed and leaned back, as if trying to remember.
"Sir Shinta, I realize that some of the story that I will narrate will sound as credible as a plum seed growing to be an apple tree. But tis' all true, I swear upon it with my honor. A very long time ago, an ancestor of mine was standing in the doorway of his house, watching the nighttime sky. Suddenly, a burst of blue light ignited the sky. It seemed that a star was falling from the very heavens. He felt a tremor as the star impacted the sands and it goes without saying that he very quickly set out to find the star. He searched for a day and a night, and finally found it in a large hole. The star was in actuality a bright gem, an unearthly blue light glowing from within. My ancestor was no fool. The village was suffering from a great famine caused by drought and he knew he could buy food for his family. He retrieved it from the hole and held it up to look at it. As if by some magic, it started to sink into his skin. He found that no matter what he did, he could not stop his skin from absorbing it. He walked into the village the next day downcast, as now he could not sell the gem." Ushcahar took a sip of tea, while Shinta fought back a sigh of impatience. Ushcahar cleared his throat and continued
"The afternoon of his return, an enormous storm swept through the area, wetting the withered farmlands. Every day afterward, it drizzled slightly, contributing to the growth of the produce. His fortune had changed immediately after he had found the gem and he continued to receive blessings that could be accounted as coincidences. He became a very rich man. After many years, however, he found that he had not aged a single day. His wife had long since become old and feeble. Even his sons and daughters seemed to grow older than he. After his wife and offspring had died, he realized that he had become weary of life. No sooner had he come to that conclusion, then the gem leaked out of him and solidified on the ground as a whole gem. He picked it up and he knew he did not want it any more. He gave it one of his grandsons, my father, but my father had seen what had happened and wisely denied. However, he offered the choice to us, his children. I, being foolish and inexperienced, quickly took the gem, the thought of immortality appealing to me immensely. My ancestor died within the week." Ushcahar's face fell. "He had aged in a week as much as a normal man would age in eight decades. We lay him to his much deserved rest, after which I left to find my own fortune in the world."
"My friend, that is quite a story," Shinta said slowly. "But I find it hard to believe. What if your great grandfather had lived an unusually long life? It is a possibility. What proof is there that the gem offers eternal life?"
Ushcahar looked at him gravely.
"I am positive it does. This story took place nigh two millennia ago."
Shinta shook his head at the unbelievable story. The boy either spoke the truth, or he was perhaps the greatest liar ever to walk the earth. He had dictated the story with the utmost gravity. However, there was no way to tell without proof.
Ushcahar smiled. "I see that you still have trouble in believing me. It is understandable, my friend. But for now, we shall rest. I was hoping to wake up early for a training session."
Shinta laid back on the floor and immediately fell asleep.
Ushcahar sat down and watched as a blue glow overtook his body. A small tendril of light stretched away from him, drifting over the sleeping man on the far side of the room. It wrapped around his body and then suddenly disappeared. Ushcahar noted this in dull satisfaction.
"Good night to thee, my friend. May you be wise and reject my offer."
With that, he settled down and fell asleep.
Hmm, what do you think? I wrote this a while ago. A looongg while ago.
Well, please review. Be brutally honest. I want my work to stand out. As for the rest of the story, I'll probably write it anyway. It's that much fun.
-Razvanor