Chapter Twelve Rui #2
“Get off me!” she shouted. “Get off!”
Hakaru shoved at her, sending her in a wide rolling arc until the rope jerked to a stop and she spun around.
“Leave her,” commanded the crow monk, Jobo, from under the awning. Hakaru cursed silently, but turned away, and they left Rui to dangle above the ground alone. At the end of it, she saw Sen at the edge of the courtyard, lingering until his teacher brought a hand upon his elbow.
“Sen,” he said. “Let her be.”
She slept; she shivered. She slept and woke again. In the pale predawn, she heard a voice, something moved, a candle flickered, and finally, he came through the garden doors, a plate in one hand and a bamboo flask in the other.
“Rui,” he whispered, quiet as an echo. She barely stirred. She knew she looked awful, face swollen and bruised, dirt and ice still stinging in her eyes, nose red and dripping. Her breath steamed; the ground lay crystalline with frost. “Rui,” Sen said again. “Did they give you anything to eat?”
Rui shook her head.
“Here.” Sen offered a small millet cake from the plate. She opened her mouth weakly, craned her neck, but couldn’t reach. He had to step up to his toes to meet her mouth, but she was so weak she couldn’t even bite. Finally he tore a piece and offered it to her with his hand.
“Water,” Rui croaked.
He lifted the flask, did his best to angle the spout over Rui’s lips, but she was too high up, and most of it only spilled across her tunic. Sen cursed. “Sorry.”
“It’s okay,” she said, voice raw. “Won’t make much difference anyway…”
“You’ll freeze.”
She coughed, a rough, scraping sound. Her throat felt stiff and cracked. “Sen… why are you here?”
“I couldn’t just leave you.”
“They’re gonna kill me,” Rui muttered. “What’s the difference.” She shook her head, tears glimmering in the faint torchlight.
“It’s okay,” Sen began.
“He’s dead,” Rui gasped. “How is it okay?”
Sen didn’t have an answer. He gave her another sip of water. Somewhere far off, the sun was rising, and with it came the sounds of a new day. Birds began to call. A door slid open: Hakaru emerged. At a word, Sen paused, and stepped away.
“I’m sorry, Rui,” he said. He started to say more, but couldn’t find the words before the guards cut Rui down and dragged her from the yard.
Hakaru was shouting. “That kusa’s a fucking dead woman! We will have her head!”
“Noisy,” his brother admonished. “Calm yourself.”
“She struck me in the face! She stole a—”
“I didn’t!”
Rui’s voice sounded so small among the uproar of the clamoring lords in the Ogami’in’s hall. Kijin everywhere, all shapes and sizes, all towering over her below the high ceilings and polished wood. They shouted, arguing, shoving back and forth, and she could see nothing but rage in their eyes.
Somewhere by the columns, a few monks looked on.
Hakaru demanded her head again. “She insulted me,” he grated.
“And you are still angry about it,” Lady Iyo said, from her place at the center. “You should spend more time with the monks and learn a thing or two.”
Rui caught her eyes, then flashed away, trembling. Lady Iyo was the lord. And you do not look a kijin in the eyes.
“Forgive her,” Sen said, his voice so thin among them.
Hakaru scoffed. “She murdered a guard. You cannot just forgive her!”
“My son is right,” Iyo said. “There are consequences.”
The lords burst into argument again. Rui caught only fragments, all marked with the same disdain, the same disregard and judgment. “Whip her.” “Take her head.” “Hang the girl.” It grew louder and louder until the roar of it was all she could think of. Killer. Killer.
“Let the parents decide!”
The voice made a resounding drumbeat above the rest. The bear-warrior Azamaro had been silent, but now, when he spoke, the others fell away.
“The boy who died. If we are to spare her life, let them decide. She must make amends, but to the boy she killed, not us.”
There was a murmur of agreement.
The boy, Rui learned, was named Idachi Honnen. Only two years older than her, he lived with his family outside the castle walls, and after years had saved enough money to buy his way into the guards. He’d just finished training.
“She’s a criminal,” Hakaru huffed. “We gave her everything and still the kusa killed one of your—”
“I understand, Hakaru. A guard has been murdered.” Iyo turned to Rui. “Do you deny it?”
“No.” Rui was crying again “I’m sorry…”
But what good does that do?
“You admit to killing this guard.”
“I…”
“You will accept any punishment I choose?”
“I…”
Was this her heart, breaking?
“Speak.”
“I don’t want to fight anymore.” She had begun to shake. Her entire body, her entire world. “I’m too tired… I don’t want to fight…”
“Then maybe you are ready,” Iyo said. “To change.”
Rui glanced up.
The lady of Kitano had not altered her expression. She seemed a mountain, untameable, solid. Her face remained still, and calm, and saw everything. Rui felt as if Iyo could see right through her, into her spirit, into her souls.
“It’s so very dangerous,” Iyo said, “to allow yourself to feel. But I, for one, think it’s better than the opposite.
I know my son’s temper. I know you didn’t intend to kill this guard – yet kill him you did.
What is the value of his life compared to yours?
Some would say it’s more: I say, you were trying to find your way.
And the thing is, we all want to find a way, Rui Misosazai. That’s why we do it together.”
She leaned in. “You cannot undo what you’ve done. No matter your intentions. Months ago, when the monks of the Middle Path were here, you assaulted them.”
“That wasn’t my fault!” Rui burst, but the guards held her back.
“Regardless, they came to me,” Iyo said, stern and cold as mountain water.
“You have no idea what trouble you’ve caused.
You attacked emissaries of the sovereign, and the retired-emperor of the Autumn Throne, on my lands.
Now, you’ve killed an innocent. I understand that you meant none of it, but you cannot deny your actions. You cannot deny what you have done.”
She paused. “But, as the crow monk has reminded me, we also cannot change without intent. So perhaps this is the first step. Real action must follow, Rui no’in. You will do better.”
Rui blinked, unsure.
“I’m remanding you to Jobo’s care. For good, this time. We wish for you to live. You will go with him. You will do whatever he says – become an acolyte, perhaps. But you will live. Now go. He is waiting for you.”
Jobo untied her binds himself. Wrists aching, she rolled her hands as the blood rushed back and he led her down the path. Sen, as his student, trailed behind, unusually quiet.
“The boy you killed,” Jobo said at length, “he had a family. The gods remember what’s been done. And so will they. You’ll make amends to them. Your forgiveness is in their hands.”
He spoke of a small house above the brewery, where the boy’s family lived.
“You will go there tomorrow, after I have spoken to them and offered prayers. They will be taken care of, but that does not get you off the hook. I will talk to them, then you will. And you will be at their mercy the rest of your life, however long that may be.”
“I’ll work for them,” she said. “I’ll do anything they want, I’ll be their servant, I’ll…”
“You will do no such thing. There are limits to your freedom now. You’re alive because I agreed to take you into the temple, but after tomorrow, you are never to enter the castle grounds – or the city – ever again.”
As he marched her from the castle gates, someone threw something at her – rotten food.
“Ignore them,” Jobo said.
But she couldn’t. They hated her. They would always hate her. She felt the energy drain from her. She wanted to lie down, to sleep and never wake again. This was her life. It would never go away.
Yet as they walked, she found that somehow, the sun had come, casting everything around her in the pale white light of a morning.
The air still held a chill. Fields and rice paddies stretched to one side, steep mountains to the other, and the path to Kannagara.
Soon they passed an old house near the outer gate, with an oak sign of a brewer hanging over the door.
Rui stopped, frozen in shock and fear. The family of the young guard, Idachi Honnen, had come to see her go.
“Oh gods.”
She threw herself to the dirt before them, crying freely, trying to think of what to say. That she owed them for ever, that she would always be in their service, would do anything to make up for what she’d done. Let me, let me in. Let this be made good. Will you ever forgive me?
The woman’s scream was like the sound of hell.
No, she shouted. No, no, no.
It seemed that they might kill her on the spot, and Rui resolved to let them. “If you wish to punish me, I will accept the cost of what I’ve done…”
The wife, lean and wiry, came at her with a rake, and stood above her, gasping, weapon raised.
But in the end, she stopped. She couldn’t do it, fell back with a sob.
The husband, a short, square man with graying hair, stood motionless in a fit of rage.
“Death for death will not bring our son back,” he uttered.
“If I see you again, I’m afraid of what I’ll do. Get out of here.”
“I’m sorry,” she said again.
“Get out of here!”
He tore the rake from his wife’s hands and threw it at Rui, clipping her on the heels as she fled, sobbing, the rest of the way back to the street.
She found Jobo sitting on a low stone wall, watching the sky over the edges of the western gate. Sen lingered, eyes low, hands clasped.
“They told me to leave,” she gasped.
“Did you think they would forgive you?” Jobo hopped off the stone and gave a small last look toward the hill.
“Some things last for ever,” he said. “Come.”
Rui stumbled, suddenly exhausted. It would never go away.
“How do I make this better?” she asked.
“You can’t.”
“What?” She was on the verge of tears again.
“You can’t change what you’ve done,” he said. “But it should be obvious. You can only change what happens now.”
Rui sniffed, trying to calm her breath, but it was no use. She hated herself for this, for what had happened.
“Maybe one day,” he continued, “probably not tomorrow, but perhaps one day, you will be able to face that couple again. And maybe they will have learned something about you, too, about why it happened. Maybe they will have learned something about themselves. Maybe you’ll be able to make your amends to them then.
But only maybe. They may choose never to forgive you, and you must live with that fact. ”
“… What if I can’t?”
“Then it will curse you for ever. What they do is not something you get to decide. It is in their hands. Now, come. We go to the Godspath. You have no choice.”
“It’ll be all right,” Sen said, quietly.
“How can the gods accept a… murderer into their shrine?” Rui asked. “How can they accept that you would teach me… how could you teach me, if… if…”
Jobo stopped. “What the gods accept is life. And you, Rui, you are still alive. That means: don’t squander it. If you do, you will be lost, and that man will still be dead. Then you will have wasted both your lives. Keep walking.”
He didn’t wait. Just went back along the mountain road as it began to narrow and carve its way along the slope. Above them, great pines swayed.
Sen lingered. “Come,” he said.
Without thinking, Rui pulled herself to him, wrapped her arms around him in a hug. Her face pressed against his shoulder.
“You can do this,” he whispered.
So she did. It took a while at first, but Sen offered his hand, and after a time, the tears didn’t fall so heavily anymore. The hills surrounded them, the sky shone sharp and bright, and the birds still sang in the trees.
“Keep walking,” Jobo said again.
Rui took Sen’s hand and followed the crow monk down the trail.