Chapter One - A Frosted Day

Snow comes to Disbakao, a city that is known for its hot weather. How will its citizens react...as well as the shinobi students who will be taking the wasuka ceremony the next day?

Two months later, in the month of the Dragon, all of Disbakao had found that their Marajin’s suspicion of the upcoming weather had proven true. It was indeed a very cold season. The Country of the Flame, as its name suggested, was not known for having snow.

It came to little surprise that the whole city was in a glorious uproar over the surprise visit of the frozen particles. Children were outside, in as few or many clothes as they had, throwing snowballs at each others. Many shops were closed, and adults were taking part in the celebration one way or another.

But there were those who did not have any part in it. It could be because in just a few days, those who were given graduation notices were to become hajin ranked shinobis, and they were getting ready for it. The notices were sent out a month prior, and the week following many clans and families were holding small parties for the graduates.

It could also be because tomorrow would be the day that the graduates would be given their ‘wasuka’. In the world of shinobi, nothing can be so well known, and yet, just as mysterious, as wasuka. The wasuka are items, usually weapons or accessories, which are spiritual in nature. As in, they are a spirit. They were the physical form of the spirit that was unique to each shinobi.

But the wasuka was much more than that. The wasuka was an extension of oneself; it reflected an individual’s philosophy, personalities and virtues. It was a physical representation of the secrets that are kept within a man’s heart.

It evolved with the shinobi; it grew with them. As the shinobi became stronger, the wasuka would gain the ability to activate three additional stages, beyond the bakhan, its passive stage.

The wasuka was the reason why Shinji Zukachi chose to, so typical of himself, stay in his apartment rather than enter the frosted realm.

The boy was scared of his wasuka…of what his would be. He was scared because he had no idea what it could be, and the orange haired graduate was petrified of the unknown. He hated not knowing things, to be weak in one retrospect. To not know what item would represent him made him fearful.

He wanted to know how people would view him when they first set their eyes on his wasuka. Would they think of him as the lover, the madman, the conqueror? Perhaps he could be the thief, the persuader, the warrior.

He could have a million roles predestined for him.

With a sigh, Shinji rolled over off of his bed, and fell softly onto the floor. He went to pick up his jacket, a grayish-green variant with a hood, crumpled on the floor, as well as a black shirt. He slipped both on, as well as a pair of black pants and blue-yellow shoes.

Shinji scratched the back of his neck before deciding to bring along a pack of the iconic shinobi knives, kunai. The blades of each kunai were shaped like a small arrow, with a rod extending from the blade, a ring merged at the end. It was a very versatile weapon; although commonly used for long distance strikes, they also served as a quick replacement for swords and other hand to hand weapons.

All prepared, he went off into the streets.

He knew what they would think of him. He was an outsider; he was not native born of Disbakao. The people of the city were self righteous, believing all others, even those that were their own countrymen, with the obvious exception of their Feudal Lord, was inferior to them. Shinji was no exception, even with him still being a soon to be shinobi.

Even worse was his heritage. Dozens of stories had been processed through the rumor mill concerning his younger days. Some said he was the offspring of a w***e and a dishonorable noble. Whenever he heard that, Shinji would emit a light chuckle; it wasn’t too far from the truth.

He never cared what they said of him; he didn’t care for their tales around the bars. Only he knew the complete truth, and that was enough for him. He had some solace in that.

Shinji walked at a steady pace, his hands tucked in the pockets of his jacket. His hood was protecting his face from the snow, despite the occasional one would find a way to land on him. As he walked, he heard the heated whispers. His pale skin was easily recognizable, even with his extra layers of clothing. Only the Hebi were as pale as Shinji, and none of them had Shinji’s iconic orange hair.

Shinji found his way to the Academy soon enough. Disbakao’s namesake, it was easily one of the largest Academies that could be found in the four corners of the world. It was the size of a small town.

Figuring they were unlocked, Shinji pushed the doors open. It was as empty, and silent, as a haunted mansion. That was to be expected, considering the arrival of the mythical snow. Shinji shook the goose bumps off of his arm before he walked through the familiar halls. Even if they were eerily silent, the Academy still felt like a second home.

It wouldn’t be long before he found himself in the recreational section of the complex. It was in the exact center of the Academy; the brown buildings surrounding a small park with a lake in the middle. Shinji followed the frozen pathway to a small oak tree. Usually full of green leaves, now it was frozen.

Biting his lip, Shinji created kounen around his fingertips. He kneeled on the ground, and moved his hands over the snow that was near the tree. The snow melted instantly. Satisfied, Shinji took his place on the now warm ground.

He sat there cross legged; his blue eyes looked into the reflection the frozen water offered him. He stared into his blue eyes; those always shaking, those eternally fearful, those cold eyes forevermore.

Ever since he had been brought to Disbakao, he had been a coward. Fearing pain, he isolated himself from others. He created a wall, and kept everyone on the other side. If anyone dared to scale that wall of isolation, he would shoot flaming arrows and curses and regret.

But in that pathetic state, he began to fear. He trembled knowing that he would be lost forever. The path he took would lead him to destruction. He would be dead on the inside; cold and heartless. Never would he feel the great warmth the summer springs offered him. Never would he feel the thrill of racing across the rainy streets, on his way to his home, to whoever was waiting for him.

He would live alone, struggle alone, cry alone, and he would die alone. He was scared of losing anyone he would love, so he would love no one, and would allow no one to love him. He feared of being alone all his life, of no one knowing his name or his deeds. His life was a corkscrew, ever twisting around him, and he didn’t know how to straighten it out. He couldn’t make any sense out of anything anymore.

Shinji cursed loudly. He slammed his fist into the snow. Kounen erupted from his fist. As his anger cooled, so did the fire.

His eyes turned from the grass back towards his reflection. He asked it a question:
“Why am I so afraid?”

Because you always take a step back, it told him.

It was then he decided that he would negate his fear of the wasuka. The wasuka was like a darkness clouding his vision; he didn’t know where it would lead him, but he didn’t care. He would step into the unknown.

He rose up, and went home.

*

When Orochi, with his long, raven hair and ghostly pale skin, woke up, it was already the afternoon. He had stayed up late, not doing or thinking much of anything. It would appear that he stayed long past his usual hours just for the sake of staying up late.

Orochi’s clothes lay folded up on the floor. It was a gray robe, with no decorative touches minus purple linen on the end, and black shirt and pants. The shirt itself did not cover most of the body; it was sliced down the middle until halfway. As a result, unless Orochi decided to wear something beneath that shirt, one would see most of his chest. Despite this aggravation, Orochi almost never wore a shirt to cover his chest; this somewhat irritated his fellow Clan members, especially females. The shirt had long sleeves though; long enough that you couldn’t even see his fingers unless he lifted his arm.

Orochi put on the clothes at a medium pace. He wasn’t one to rush at all, even if he was late. But he also was not one to move painfully slow. He would move at the pace that he felt was best, neither too slow nor too fast.

He began the day by visiting a grave. It was a typical grave, with it being a slab of rock rising from the ground, and a body length pile of dirt in front of it. The name of the person, as well as their birth date and the date they died, was inscribed on the grave. It was not a very fancy grave; it was modest, simple.

Orochi had done it this way on purpose.

He had cherished this person greatly; enough that he would actually talk to the grave not just stare at it and remember memories.

He said many things. The first was that he missed the person, and the last was that he’ll come back soon. When he was done, he clutched onto his gray kimono and returned to the clan quarter of the Hebi.

As he walked on the streets back to the Hebi Clan Hall, he noticed almost everyone staring at him. Shopkeepers, thieves, citizens, prostitutes, it didn’t matter: everyone was above a Hebi, especially one who did Orochi’s ‘crime’.

Even if they hid it behind longer than usual collars, walls, or conveniently placed shoulders, he knew they were all showing hate at him. He wasn’t surprised, really; after the scandal a year ago, he returned abruptly and suddenly. No one expected him to come back, his own Clan included! They had listed him as ‘lost son’.

A few of them were grumbling amongst themselves. Orochi didn’t care; he had heard all of the stories before. Rapist, pervert, thief, murderer and assassin, he was all of these things. He didn’t really care; they weren’t real. Only his Clan, the Marajin, and a few select Instructors knew the truth. The others could gossip amongst themselves to their heart’s content.

Once he returned to the Clan Hall, Orochi encountered some very distant relatives. They were so distant, in fact, that one could claim they were related only because they were all part of the Hebi. They talked briefly, with them usually asking about how he felt about the wasuka ceremony.

“I’ll get a wasuka one way or another. Me thinking, or talking, or worrying about it won’t make it come any faster. Being so worked up about it is rather stupid, don’t you think?” And like everything he said, he said those words with a small smile. So, they didn’t know if Orochi was criticizing them for bringing up the topic, or giving them some other meaning.

Orochi departed from the group, saying it was nice to see them again, even though he was not sure if he had ever met them before in the first place, and went back to his room. He didn’t have much planed for the day, so he decided to just watch the snow fall onto the ground from his bedroom. Simple things like that, or watching it rain, or just tapping randomly on wood, calmed him.

Once he thought about it, he remembered that his important person was always annoyed about that. It was stupid, that person thought, how Orochi could just watch the rain all day and be satisfied. To that person, it was the most obnoxious and idiotic thing they had ever heard.

When the person told him this, Orochi would just laugh it off, and tell the person to appreciate simplicity.

But not today. Instead, he decided to read a book.

It would have satisfied that person. Even though that person was long dead, Orochi knew it would of satisfied all the same.

Orochi was by no means depressed over the death. Death is a stage of life. It’s something that just happens. One can’t feel misery over something that is a natural development. To do so would be to already be dead on the inside.

You can mourn, you can miss the person. But to destroy your whole life because just a single person died…that was sheer stupidity.

So, Orochi read a book that day.

*

Izumi stood half naked on the streets. His hair was dark, long and untidy; his bangs covered half of his face. His lips were blue, frozen over from the cold. His body was slowly turning blue. People who passed by him did their best not to look at the thing.

He didn’t shiver.

Some would say that he wasn’t human.

A snow flake landed in the boy’s open hand. The boy watched as it melted.

Izumi Tensun closed his hand, crushing whatever water was caught in his palm.

He stayed there for another minute before shrugging the snow off of his back and returning back to his apartment.

He did not feel any pain.

He wasn’t sure if he was human.

He relished in that fact.

If he was a monster, then his heart would be satisfied. If people believed him to be a monster, then a monster he would become.

*

It was with long strides that Kaname went through the streets of Disbakao. It was late afternoon, and by now snow was cleared off of most of the streets. So, it was easy enough for Kaname, who was the foster daughter of the recognized shinobi Take Uzuki, to walk proudly. It was almost in the way that an arrogant monk would walk; it was the sort of ‘I am better because of my background’, sort of walk.

That didn’t exactly describe Kaname though. Did she feel that she had a sense of superiority because of the woman who raised her? Yes. But she didn’t feel like that alone made her better; it helped, but that wasn’t the only cause.

She knew she was a beautiful woman, with her smooth skin, and her long, silky hair. Her body was the type men lusted after constantly.

And she used that to her advantage. She loved to play with the feelings of teenage boys – the way her shirt went up to her breasts, and then curved around her side, and dipped behind the shoulder blades. The way the silky gray pants were long on one side, and cut short on the side where intricate tattoos went down the side of side of her leg.

And for some reason or another, they just couldn’t avoid notice how her long pant leg was cut at the ankle, so that it would flow behind her, along with her long sleeves.

When her geta sandals clanked on the semi smooth ground, a few woman turned to her. They grunted in disgust at her suggestive attire.

Kaname loved to piss of old people as well.

Now that she thought about it, she loved to drive people crazy. If she acted like a boy, with her tough attitude, honor attaining men and respecting women were driven half way to insanity by her rudeness. She frequently talked in a suggestive way to a boy, just to make them think she wanted him. And the boy, probably scared half way to hell by his attractions, would ask her if she would like to go somewhere.

Kaname loved the look on the boys’ faces when she would tell the boy to f**k off. When they discovered that she was playing them for fools, it was absolutely priceless.

Now, Kaname didn’t try to think of herself as a b***h. She would rather put it as a past time that people did not necessarily understand or agree with.

That, and she wanted to be different. Too many girls were so respectful these days. They would bend their a*s over if some Lord asked them to. Kaname didn’t want to be a girl who did whatever she was told. She was going to follow her own path, society be damned!

And today’s path involved her drinking lots of sake at her favorite bar, Gau. Gau was an old veteran shinobi who decided to retire earlier than the norm, and start a bar. It really wasn’t much of a surprise though: he would drink bottle after bottle, and he would never get drunk. It was quite a feat.

Gau’s bar was a nice little place. Not too big, but not too small, just like how he would drink. Bells were lined along the door, so that when somebody entered, Gau would know it. Of course, there wasn’t a need for no bells for Kaname: she would open it so fast and hard it would slam against the wall, scaring anyone half to death who was in a drunken stupor.

The way she entered Gau’s bar was no different today. She entered, the door slammed against the wall, and someone taking a snooze fell to the floor, his hairy hand clutching his chest.

“Now look who decided to show up. Its snowing little girl! Shouldn’t you be playing?”

“Oh, shut up with the pleasantries Gau. You know damn well I’m no little girl.”

“True that.” He leaned on the counter. “So, what can Old Gau get you today?”

“The usual stuff.”

“Of course.”

He took out a bottle and an ochoko cup, and poured some cheap sake. He passed it to her.

“You’re not going to ask me for pay?”

“I’m in a cheery mood today. Besides, I know you’ll pay me when you manage to get around to it.”

“Damn straight.” She gulped it down without a second thought.

“Bah, you chug it down too fast girl.”

“Just let ‘er drink Gau!”

“She never learned before, and she’ll never learn now!”

Gau sighed, obviously irritated.

“Kaname, tomorrow’s the wasuka ceremony, aye?”

Kaname shrugged.

“You’ve gots to be shivering in your sandals, I’m betting.”

“Not really.”

Gau raised his eyebrows. This was a first; all shinobis, past and present, had been downright petrified of the ceremony, some more so than others. But not to be scared at all? That just wasn’t human.

“Don’t you start lying now, Kaname. We’re practically family here! A storm of agreements erupted from all around the bar.

“I’m not lying. I don’t really care for it. I’m an Uzuki – me getting an amazing wasuka is guaranteed. There is nothing to worry about.”

The moment Kaname’s words entered his ears, Gau slammed his hand on the table. “Now you listen to me girl. I know you’re a proud one, and that’s a good thing. But don’t be so prideful that you don’t even know when to be afraid. Only that Demon from the Earth Country would be as fearless as you speak now, and he doesn’t have enough brain cells in his noggin. Don’t you dare be stupid on me girl.”

“I’m not afraid.”

“Then you can just leave now. I won’t be having this foolishness in my bar.”

“Fine, you old, good for nothing windbag.” She slammed her fist on the counter, creating a noticeable dent, and stormed out of there.

Gau scratched his neck. He looked down at the dent. “Not too fast, but not too slow. That’s all I can say, I bet.”

*

As day turned into night, many went to bed with a child’s sense. Something as simple as snow, for one reason or another, made people seem so in touch with the child within. Perhaps it was because snow was so simple, that people couldn’t help but have joy and gleefulness overwhelm their senses.

On the other hand, others saw the unexpected snow was some sort of message from the heavens. Before, they didn’t know the Marajin seemed so intent on thinking that those graduating this year were going to do amazing things. But, after the snow fall, they began to believe him. Maybe the soon to be hajin were blessed by the Gods, in a sense. Maybe something marvelous was to happen, some great historical event perhaps. And these hajin would be at the front of it.

Or maybe it was just people thinking too much.

Reviews

[Miseryb]

Hey Matt! I really enjoyed this chapter and cannot wait till I find time to read the rest. Are you looking for a full review of your work or just wanting to get an overall feel for the work?