Chapter Ten Rui
CHAPTER TEN
Rui
Winter
By early winter, Rui had presented herself at the castle gates and begun her new work as assistant stablehand to the lady’s horses in Kitano. It was grueling work, and she could never get the smell of dry dirt and hay and horseshit out of her clothes, but she found she liked it.
The first day, the Betto, the head groom and horsemaster, had thrown a ragged broom into her arms and told her to sweep the stables.
“Y’know, my granfer was a no’in,” he said, strolling under the shadow of the eaves.
A short, round man, he had a kindly face encircled by a balding head and a beard at his chin.
He seemed reluctant to train Rui at first, but after she’d showed what she knew of horses, he softened, and soon took a liking to her.
“No disrespect. Just usually they send me some kinda snot-nosed kid, don’t know the heck they’re talking about.
So. Work, it won’t be different t’what you’re used to, only these’re war-breeds, got a little personality.
Meaning like, they’re mad as piss’n won’t take shit from anybody ain’t deserve to touch ’em.
Anyways. Tole me you’re a bit of a fighter, bet you’ll get along. ”
The work proved to be quite satisfying, even a little comforting.
These were fine stables, well provisioned, with a courtyard and some plum trees by the fence.
Her job was to look after the horses, check for colic, whisper in soft tones when something happened and the Betto had to give them passing to the other world.
She talked to the horses, trading secret words: they listened better.
Give them a gaze, a feather’s touch upon the ear; tell them how the world waited, vast, and beautiful.
“We’ll ride together, you and me,” she said.
“We’ll run the hills, into the sun. We’ll be free. ”
The Betto watched her with a smile. Squint-marked and ruddy, he too knew the simplicity of caring for another living thing, the feeling of using your toil for the health of another; this is how you do good in the world, she thought, this was what she liked.
And the horses were astounding. The Kitanohara had larger, more aggressive horses than Rui had ever seen.
She looked forward to getting to know them.
That afternoon, the Betto pointed to the last stable, where a beautiful gray-and-black stallion watched them. “That’s Kaminari, mountain thunder. The Hoshiakari’s horse. Fierce. Bit of temper in that one. So, we try’n take care of him.”
Rui went up to the stallion carefully, and gently reached out, once he let her.
“He’s wonderful,” she said. “Hey there, look at you. Aren’t you a beautiful thing.
” He came to meet her, ears relaxed. “I can tell they love you very much,” she whispered.
The horse, Kaminari, sighed happily and let her trace her finger along his side.
“Feels good, huh? Good boy.” Kaminari nickered.
“Give him a treat,” the Betto said. “Then I’ll take you back’n see the grounds.”
When she fell onto her pallet that night, sore and sweaty and feeling fully alive, she thought it might not be so bad here after all.
The sun changed its color, the long day waned.
Sky bloomed deep blue and black, an after-image of the sun came through the clouds, and the air felt fresh and clean.
Night descended on the valley. A hush fell.
Rui lay back with her medicine box on her lap, and inside it, the jade she’d brought with her few belongings.
She slipped it around her neck, feeling its comforting curve.
She lay in the quietness of it all, breathing in the crisp evening air, and for once, the world didn’t seem so bad anymore. For once, it felt like peace.
So the days turned into weeks. Rui continued waking up at dawn, and in the glimmering hours before the household stirred and the servants started on their tasks, she walked the misted courtyard, the ring-like wall around their vast estate, a fortress on the edges of the mountain; she watched the guards, patrolling in their damp armored suits, shivering, and huffing in the cold; she watched the house-people lighting fires, steaming rice before the sun was up.
There were other no’in in the compound, though all of them were older, and from the other village by the rivers, not the wide flatness where hers had fields below the ridges and the tors.
There were ge’in too, craftsmen, weavers, and the ones who made the bowls, cut timber; trappers who came and went, traders whose job it was to travel up and down the river, selling gold, and furs, down south.
They didn’t talk to her. The no’in lit the fires, collected the morning’s eggs; the guards watched from their high places, warily, and perhaps with envy, perhaps wishing for their turn to end, to come and find a warm pot by the cookhouse.
The days grew colder, dawn-time shimmering with frost, and soon the sight of Rui with her woven robe and hand-made sandals ceased to bother them.
She was just another person of the house, a servant, like the others, not abused but never given any thought.
As the weeks turned to months, the Betto trained her, showed her how to deal with the Lady Iyo’s horses, wild, ungelded and intended to be used for war.
One afternoon a mare gave birth, and Rui helped with the delivery, coming out an hour later dazed and sticky with the shroud of life, feeling slightly drunk with wonder.
She grew more confident; she took the great-horse, Kaminari, on his runs, led him on the fields, even brought him to the meadow to the north.
Soon she was the only person he let near, while his master, Sen, was gone away in training with the Shugenja and his crows.
Now Kaminari watched her, eyes black as coal, reflecting the world he saw unto itself.
Watched in silence as she came and said to him, good morning, and began her chores, sweeping, rearranging hay, cleaning pails, and hauling in fresh water.
It was a kind of home, she thought, this little compound near the keep; the thatched roof, the tiny pallet in the side-room for her bed, the lords and their horses, and the Betto and his aides; and now, herself.
Within an hour, the other hands had started to arrive, and the Betto came, wiped his face, and cracked his shoulders, saying: “Let’s begin. ”
The air turned. Another week passed, and she began to feel, if not happy, at least surprised.
Surprised to find herself in a kind of settled place, a place where she had work, responsibility, a sense of what the days would bring.
She didn’t know if it felt permanent. She was busy with the duties she now had.
Her days fell to a rhythm, marked with the patterns of stable-life, and the meals they gave her in the courtyard.
A wistful feeling came over her at night, a feeling that asked, Is this, after everything, your life?
It drifted through her, a sensation now like looking off a peak, a wide expanse below, a stretch of earth that felt like it was waiting. It said to her, Maybe this is where you start.
“Lord’s son returns,” the Betto said one morning, two months after she’d arrived.
He indicated the group of crow monks on the path toward Kitaiji temple.
The stable gate filled with bright wind and a rush of early-winter snow, and she was in the midst of raking hay when the Betto called, “They’re coming.
Hurry on.” She went to the barrel, tried to wipe the dirt off her face; he whispered, “It’s Hakaru, for inspection. Say not a thing.”
Then, the door opened.
What they never tell you, Granny Chie used to say, is gods are monsters, too.
What they never tell you is, when lords are born as stewards of the land, they take it as their right.
They take for granted everyone must love them.
So they act as those with power always do; each step they take, the ground belongs to them.
Each house they enter is their own. A glance, however fleeting, is either invitation or the threat of a rebuke.
Look at them, you’ll learn what power is, no’in said. Touch them, you might not see tomorrow.
The kijin strode into the stable, examining their horses and offering praise – or reprimand – as they deemed fit. “You’re not getting them out enough,” Hakaru scolded. “They’ll grow weak, they don’t get any exercise.”
“Lord,” the Betto bowed, “but with the weather… Lightning don’t suit the horses well…”
“And yet,” Hakaru mused, “my brother names his ‘Kaminari’. After the thunder. So?”
Rui tensed, her rake in hand. They were mere paces away; in a moment he would see her, would recognize the girl who’d stood against him at the ring. And then… What would he do? Punish her? His brother had invited her here to work; she’d done nothing wrong. But still. She gripped the handle.
“It’s you.”
His voice cut through the cool air. Kaminari snickered. She held him by the reins. “Easy, easy, boy…”
“You,” Hakaru said again, with half a laugh. “So my brother got you after all. Well done. I should’ve come here sooner.”
What could she say? She bowed her head. “Thank you, ame’in.”
“Ah. Don’t worry,” he said. “I’m not angry.” He walked a lazy circle, giving his brother’s horse a friendly pat. “You’re famous, here, you know. Everyone’s talking. The no’in who stood up to a general.”
“I didn’t know,” she said, “you were a general.”
“This makes a difference?”
She reddened.
“You know, we watch you,” he said, “my clan. We say, ‘Everyone deserves a chance.’ We take pride, here, in our work; so should you. But from what I see, there’s no worry as to that. You handle horses better than my stablehands.”
“I’ve been around horses my whole life, ame’in.”
“Then you should be proud to be here.”
“Yes, ame’in.”