Consequences

The head monk found him before he could make it back to the hall of remembrance. Thirty minutes later, Sawatari was bowing low in front of the temple, apologising from the depths of her soul for how one of her witch hunters had acted. Arata shifted from one foot, resisting the urge to cut open his stomach right there. For his senior to prostrate herself on his behalf like he was a child, there felt like no greater shame. He breathed in, held it deep in his abdomen, and let it out in a hiss. His tongue almost cut itself from the pressure it applied to his teeth.

“You’re unbelievable.” Sawatari turned to him as soon as the head monk disappeared back into the temple after almost an hour of apologies. “What were you thinking, trespassing on a temple.” She ran a finger through her hair in frustration. “When did I tell you not to do exactly this? Yesterday. And what did you do?”

Arata breathed out, controlled and slow. “Based on the evidence—”

“Based on my evidence, you’ve been ignoring direct instructions for far too long.” Her reprimand rose in intensity as it picked up momentum. “I had enough time to think about it whilst recovering from this.” She jabbed a finger at her face. “And you’ve been acting like rules don’t affect you just because you’re Shibagaki’s son. Everyone lost something in the Great Fire. That doesn’t give you the right to chase down your own vengeance, ignoring everything else.” She squared her shoulders facing Arata, the height difference irrelevant. “You’re released from duties for a week.”

“What?” Arata pushed forward but Sawatari stood her ground.

“Until you can see your job clearly for what it is again. Acting on the daimyo’s laws to protect its people.” She breathed in for what felt like the first time in too long. “I’ll call you back in when Koseki wakes up. Until then, look in a mirror for once. I know I have.”

She walked away, running a hand over her face as soon as she did so. Arata couldn’t tell if it was from exhaustion or something else. The message took a moment to settle in. When he was sure no one was watching, he kicked the cobblestone street and punched his own gut, desperate to not let his anger be vocal. Despite his frustration, he deserved it. That was the right thing for her to do.

***

The first day, Arata didn’t leave his house. He opened Shinutcha’s door, stared at her for a second, then locked it again. There was no chance he wouldn’t take his anger out on her, he wasn’t mature enough to keep one separate from the other, so it was better to just disengage. The worst part was occupying his time. He thought he could sleep—he hadn’t been doing nearly enough of that as of late—but he lay awake restless with visions of fires and ghosts of sword slashes playing on his nerves. Rising in a worse mood than before, he tried to busy himself with books, but all he saw in the writing was paper that could catch alight in only a moment.

By the end, he just watched the crawl of the clouds, taking Sawatari’s advice and reminding himself what his job was again. Amidst capturing Shinutcha, fighting Turushno, and tracking the witch colluder, he had lost it somewhere. The actions that led him to that point drifted through muddy water, each connected through cobwebs of cause-and-effect that transformed in the wind, matching any new conviction that came to mind.

The clouds accumulated into a sunset mired in purples and oranges. The following day, he pushed himself out into the street beside his house, stepping out of the way for carts and crowds. He couldn’t wear his witch hunter’s outfit, he became just another one of the many men disfigured by fire. The city smelled of mud and grass, smoke and cooking. He breathed it in as if for the first time. This was what he was meant to be protecting.

He kept asking Shinutcha questions but the answers were what he dreaded: ignorance. How Turushno met with the colluders, where the witches came from, what they even were, she always gave riddles as answers she had heard from others. A dark thought drifted to the surface of his mind as he fell asleep on the fifth day. If he had extracted all the information he could from the little witch, what reason was there not to execute her?

When he woke up, two things became apparent. One, he forgot to lock Shinutcha’s door last night. Two, during the night, she had redecorated the house. He left his room to see a dream of the place he once shared with his wife. Painting too painful to see shone through the house again to compensate for their absence. Flowers she must have picked from the garden blossomed in corners of the rooms. Cushions had been pulled out from cupboards and draped around tables. He slammed her door open, only then noticing how she had dragged in all of Chiyo’s old furniture.

“Why did you do this?” Arata intended the question to come through with an edge of answer but he only achieved melancholy instead.

“I but desired the house to look more fair.” Came the simple reply, a child’s logic beaming through. She just wanted a nicer place to live in.

A knock echoed through the house from the front door. Arata stiffened, Shinutcha forgotten, as that could only mean one thing. Koseki had woken up. He drew back the door to see someone he hadn’t expected to give him the news.

“You decided to redecorate during your time off? Looks nice,” Kurogane commented as she stepped in, a hamper brought along with her.

“I had to find something to do.” Arata replied, instinctively putting his body between the hallway to Shinutcha’s door and the intruder in his house.

“Well if you need any help with the garden, let me know, I love a good rock landscape.”

“Sorry, why are you here?” As the conversation continued, he became less convinced this was about Koseki.

“Oh right.” She held up her basket. “Since I wasn’t convinced you’d remember to feed yourself, I brought along some food.”

“You know in that case I would have starved between now and when you last saw me?”

“I was busy!” She stressed, “I wish I got to take a week long break just for misbehaving.”

Arata shrugged off her comment and looked in the basket. At least it was an attempt at cooking. He looked back to her again just as a creak reverberated from Shinutcha’s room.

“You’ve got rats?” The blacksmith rose onto her toes in an attempt to see past Arata’s shoulders. “You could have told me earlier, I'm the queen of catching rats.” The creak came again. It felt like Shinutcha had to be jumping up and down with the amount of noise she was making and Arata struggled to cover a twinge in his mouth. “Really big rats.” She said with a smirk, trying to move around him to see which courtesan he brought home this time.

“Thank you for the food, I’ll enjoy it tonight, but I don’t want to take up any more of your time.” Arata had to diffuse the situation.

“You’re right, I’m being nosy.” Kurogane turned towards the door, took two steps, and ducked back. She dashed around Arata’s left side where he would struggle to catch her, turning down the hallway just in front of his swiping hand. Already running, she reached Shinutcha’s door first, still ajar by a finger’s width. By the time Arata caught up, her entire face was pressed to the crack. She turned back to him, her face a collision of fear and heat.

“What is that?”