A Single Shot by Kakita Koshin
"No wall stands forever. Only duty stands forever."--Kaiu Hosaru, A Perfect Cut
* * *
A Single Shot
by Kakita Koshin/Brent Morgan
A young Tsuruchi archer fresh from gempukku meets an Isawa fire tensai and tries to win her heart.
The garden had been made as a place of beauty: no stark aesthetics, no philosophy of denial and self-sacrifice or enlightenment. Just simple beauty, delicate and finely crafted from a grouping of wide stone trails and delicate cherry trees. Today it was marred only by the presence of so many onlookers: the sound of fans and whispers disturbed the solace, and the brightness of festive kimono were as prisms, and broke the soft light in curious ways.
And then there was the girl.
She had the kind of beauty that he imagined Crane poets chatted about in idle moments: a soft, graceful beauty, accented by the swishing movements of long black hair. Yet there was also a strength, an admirable dedication that the archer could see in her, could see in how she raised her arms when she performed a kata, or in how her voice drew notice even in its softest tones. Draped in crimson and gold, she shone like the dawn before the archer.
"Tsuruchi Ryoma," someone intoned in a deep voice, breaking the boy's reverie. He started, then stepped forward, still so unaccustomed to his adult name. The Phoenix girl was looking at him, which did not add any grace to his movements as he moved. A few twitters came from the assembly of courtiers, but Ryoma ignored them; this was the closest that he had ever been to Isawa Kotomi, and he did not intend to miss his chance.
She stepped backwards a bit to give him room; Ryoma bowed in what he hoped was an acceptable manner for a Phoenix guest. "An excellent shot, Kotomi-san," he managed without stuttering; she just nodded, holding her yumi lightly in one hand as he drew.
Unlike most of his kinsmen, Ryoma never found emptiness in the moment of loosing; the people did not diminish, but instead seemed to come forward, to become somehow more present, more real. The young man almost reeled from the scent of light perfume so close to him, but his hand remained steady, and the bowstring held true, awaiting his tensed hand to command. His fingers ached, as if pierced by hot needles.
And then, for a moment, Ryoma was free from his wants, and focused on the target: Kotomi's red arrow lay near the center, perhaps one half-hand from the wooden core.
A snap, a pause, and then an impact followed: the green arrow struck the target, quivering soundly, making the red arrow dance to its tune. He looked over at Kotomi, and the Isawa girl just bowed to him and turned from the competition, signaling her defeat without so much as a single word.
omehow Ryoma knew that he had made a mistake in winning, but he did not have much time to reconsider the act. As the wall of courtiers advanced the bushi found himself hard pressed to remember his sensei's lessons--how long was someone expected to bow to an emissary of the Unicorn Clan?
*
"You certainly have become fond of discussing Isawa Kotomi lately, Ryoma-san," Daidoji Tsuriko said from her place on the first of the two walls that framed Yoritomo Sanji's seaside castle, where she could look west and spy at her homeland across the sea. As a representative of the Crane Clan, Tsuriko had a great deal of insight when it came to reading people's true intentions and emotions.
That Daidoji thought much like Tsuruchi also seemed to help.
"I must say that your archery contest may not have been the best way to go about courting her," the Crane continued, pausing only long enough to push an unruly piece of her short white hair back behind her ears. "The Mantis do enough to strain relations with the Phoenix already; an innocent comment could easily be misread as a slight. Admittedly I do not know much of Wasp customs, Ryoma, but no one appreciates being bested so easily."
"Easily?" he almost shouted, before realizing that the evening's court was still in session. Ryoma sighed, rubbing his gloved hands together as he continued. "That was a difficult shot by itself, even without the pressure of so many people watching me."
Tsuriko's blue eyes almost slid towards him, preceding the question. "Then why did you tell Lord Sanji that same shot was 'nothing at all'? You managed to gain his approval of your skill, I suppose, but I doubt that Kotomi left with such high opinions. You have trained beside her before: you know that she takes kyujutsu quite seriously."
Ryoma nodded, letting out a groan at his own foolishness. He did not care about the opinions of men like Yoritomo Sanji; he was a minor lord, and to be respected, but unless the Tsuruchi planned to branch out into smuggling, there was not one valid opinion to be gained. Perhaps someone such as Tsuriko could have turned Sanji's favor towards a better advantage.
Tsuriko must have sensed danger, or else she really did know how the Tsuruchi think.
*
Yoritomo Sanji really was nothing more than a petty smuggler: that was the reason that the Daidoji had sent a representative in the first place, to keep an eye on him and to let him know that they knew how he made his fortunes on the sea. But as a smuggler, he knew even more about the ocean than many of his kinsmen.
A demonstration of his finest ship was a request that the man simply refused to ignore.
Ryoma had never cared for the sea or for sailing: it fouled bowstrings in a matter of hours, and he never seemed to be able to read the turns and bends of the hull as he moved. But he had to admit, albeit grudgingly, that Tsuriko's observation had a grain of Shinsei's truth. If he could not find a moment to speak with the Isawa in the middle of the ocean, then the Fortunes were hinting that it was not meant to be.
As he watched the Daidoji girl joking with Kotomi, Ryoma demanded that the Fortunes do their worst.
When Ryoma approached Tsuriko appeared to be separating herself from the conversation with Kotomi; the Daidoji girl was clever when it came to courtly affairs and politics, and almost breezed into what seemed to be a well-planned wisp of surprise. "Ryoma-san, I had hoped to find you here. I was just complementing Kotomi-chan on her skillful performance during the kyujutsu games yesterday. Certainly you must have even greater appreciation for her skills."
Kotomi's large eyes tracked the Tsuruchi for the moment he paused before speaking; Tsuriko had suggested it, so that he would avoid the worst of the social mistakes he could make. From that glance, it was obvious that the Isawa was still temperamental about the end of the tournament; for a moment, Ryoma considered a swim back to shore.
"It was a splendid demonstration, Kotomi-chan," he said after another moment, trying not to make the friendly -chan catch in his throat. "I never knew a shugenja put such effort into honing skills such as kyujutsu. I am sure that it pales in comparison to the ability to command the kami."
Kotomi made a sound, almost like a sniff, before answering; Ryoma did not know what to make of it, but Tsuriko's expression changed briefly: she obviously did not think it good. &qutot;The ability to wield magic demands many of the same talents as your archery, Ryoma-san; it would not do well for you to underestimate me."
"Underestimate?" he stammered, but the Daidoji was already reining the conversation in.
Tsuriko's laughter was one of her best qualities; when the Daidoji laughed it attracted attention, and thus made both Mantis and Phoenix stop in the middle of their flaring argument. "The two of you certainly do have many opinions about kyujutsu," she told the two of them before turning to head over and speak with some of the Yoritomo delegates.
"I am sure that you will not mind having to continue this discussion on your own."
Then she was gone, leaving Ryoma staring at Isawa Kotomi, who in turn stared back at him with equal curiosity. Then she turned and leaned against the ship's wide railing, her long hair following the motion like a wave. Another sniff came as Ryoma leaned beside her; he suddenly wished that he were not dressed in the stiff court attire; stress alone was killing him, but to be trapped in these things...
"I apologize for that outburst, Ryoma-san," Kotomi said, surprising him. "It is just that this boat is not to my liking; I do not care much for the seas."
Ryoma laughed, though he had to force it: Tsuriko had told him that Kotomi was a tensai of fire, so he assumed it was merely habit that she disliked having so much water nearby. He rubbed his gloved hands together and nodded in agreement. "I do not like it much either; no firm footing, no even ground--we Tsuruchi are not made for a life on the waves."
Too much blue, was her only answer, and this time Ryoma laughed earnestly.
The two of them watched the waters for a few moments before speaking again, and Ryoma did not look her way before he spoke. "I really did not mean to belittle your skills earlier, Kotomi-sanI am no good at speaking, that is all it is."
"But you really did impress me," he added, hoping it was not too quickly. "I just thought that I might have insulted you at the end of the game--"
"Think nothing of it; I certainly have not."
She was lying, but doing it politely: Ryoma had been told that was proper and honorable, but it made his heart sink just the same. She was still annoyed with him, for something that he had not even meant to do in the first place; Ryoma started wishing for some pirates, or at least a thunderstorm to sink them now. What could he say to ease the growing irritation of a fire shugenja?
Then she looked at him, almost smiling, and he found himself smiling back. All of the worries receded for a moment; they did not leave Ryoma completely, but it was just enough to free him for a brief time. "But I do appreciate your apology, Ryoma-san; I--acted childish, I suppose. Thank you for not holding it against me."
Kotomi returned to watching the ocean. "I should learn to gain more from a defeat."
The Tsuruchi just nodded and glanced away for a moment, though he had no real reason to be looking down at the waves. "I know how it feels to be beaten; back among my sensei's students I gained quite a talent for it--"
She glanced over at him, but he was too flustered to read the expression those beautiful eyes. So he plunged on, "Yes, I was never one of my sensei's best, Kotomi-chan; he even used me as an example of how not to hold a yumi once." She was still listening to him, with that same curious expression; Tsuriko waved from her place a little farther down the railing from the two of them, which Ryoma took to be another good sign.
If there was one thing that every samurai could relate to, it was a sensei's ability to destroy one's self-esteem.
*
There was another part of Tsuriko's laughter that few appreciated: she said that it came naturally to soldiers, and that it had taken many years of schooling for her sensei to curb her destructive tones. This evening, her mirth was full of that very loud, irritating happiness as if it had never left her; the Daidoji courtier nearly choked for a moment, and then she found her voice again.
"At what point did you think that Kotomi would appreciate being beaten by one of the least gifted of your class, Ryoma? Did you think that was a good way to mend her wounded pride?"
"You seemed to think I was doing well," he told her, fussing with his court clothes as the two of them dangled near the edge of one of Sanji's evening feasts. He hated the tightness of the high-collared kimono his father had given him. "You waved me on!"
Tsuriko's eyes became mere slits of annoyance. "By Hayaku, have you never been in a battle before? That was panic on my face!"
"You were smiling!"
The Daidoji covered her face in disgust, which quickly spread to Ryoma. The Tsuruchi ran a hand through his hair, wanting to kick himself; why was it so hard to speak to Kotomi? He had spoken to her before, admittedly only in passing, but before the archery contest it had never seemed so very hard. But now he was resorting to ambushes and planned conversations just to get her notice--
Ryoma lifted his head, as if he had caught the scent of something distant, or perhaps heard something the Crane could not perceive. He started back towards the castle courtyards without saying anything, and when Tsuriko called to him, he said only, "I am going to train."
Had Tsuriko not been a Daidoji, and keen to the minds of Tsuruchi, she might have believed that to be true.
*
It was not a simple shot.
Kotomi looked up from her archery, startled by Ryoma's statement; the Mantis stood just inside the ring of trees that cradled the tensai's targets, his own bow resting lightly in his hands. He walked forward, his face strangely calm compared to his usual pallor: she remembered seeing such an expression only when the Tsuruchi practiced his kyujutsu, in the moment as he aimed. Today, he was dressed in a manner that suited him: green on gold, with a plain black hakama. The cut accented his arms and shoulders, making him seem taller and more slender, though the heavy gloves he still wore over his hands muted the effect somewhat.
"It was not a simple shot?" she repeated, and Ryoma nodded, notching an arrow and setting it free. One target shattered, shattered by the power of his shot. The tree's branches shook and danced, as if they too applauded the Tsuruchi; Kotomi felt a twinge of jealously flare up as he came closer, but found herself more curious than angry as he removed one of the black kurokote that guarded his slender hands.
"I was telling the truth, when I told you that I was one of my class's weakest, Kotomi. If my father had been wealthier, I would have been a diplomat or even an artist; the Way of the Bow was never easy for me." Ryoma's hand slipped from the glove, and he raised it so she could see it better.
"But that does not mean that you should be ashamed of losing to me."
His hand was scarred, pale and nicked in the sunlight like an old stone some child might have crudely chiseled, its fingertips overrun with long scratches that the Phoenix recognized immediately. As he moved, Kotomi recognized for the first time the twinge of pain that Ryoma felt when he moved his fingers even slightly: a lifetime of toil and damage that had been etched into those pale, torn hands. Had they really once held the deftness and grace worthy of a diplomat or an artist? Was it even possible that a man would bring himself to ruin willingly?
Then she remembered the final shot of the tournamenthow easy, how perfect he had made the moment seem. Only now Kotomi recognized what she should have seen, beneath that victory: he had worked and trained until his hands bled from the exertion. His path had not been something that Ryoma had chosen, but he had dedicated himself even so.
There was no shame in losing to a samurai such as this.
"I already told you that I am not very good with my words, but I like you and respect you, Kotomi-san," Ryoma said after a moment, replacing his hands, glad to hide them beneath his gauntlets once again. "It is obvious to me that you are dedicated, and have trained hard. II want to learn more about you, but I am tired of being driven to distraction in trying, or for pretending to be someone that I am not."
Then Ryoma bowed and turned away. "My apologies for interrupting."
He had made it perhaps two steps when Kotomi's hand stopped him; he jumped in surprise when she touched him, honestly surprised that she had moved at all. The Phoenix held his hand in her own, firm but softly, and suddenly Ryoma felt a warmth, deep yet soothing, sliding through the battered skin and strained muscles of his hand. For the first time in years his fingers moved freely; the shugenja smiled at him, and led the Tsuruchi back towards the garden range.
"So, you think that you can lay a challenge down before an Isawa and then walk away, Ryoma?" It was the first time that she smiled at him, he realized, and he allowed himself to smile back. "You should know better than to think I will accept that kind of answer now."
Tsuruchi Ryoma looked at her, once again freed of his wants for one moment. "Defeating me will not be simple, Kotomi-chan."
The Isawa just smiled. "It seems that nothing between us ever is."
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