He Who Fights Demons Ch 4
Good evening. Hope you had a good week and a restful weekend.
Unless you work weekends, in which case, I hope you had a good productive weekend and can rest soon.
Boof, this chapter fought me. Wednesday came about and I had barely managed two hundred words. Then I had a shower thought and belted out 1800 words before bed, The rest was written over Thursday, Friday, and today. And I've done enough passes with editing to hopefully catch any mistakes.
I would suggest however, you reread the previous chapters, get a refresher on what has happened so far.
Or don't, I'm not the boss of you. But this chapter is somewhat slow paced. An attempt to explain the world and situation as one who is not aware of the Company would see it. It was surprisingly fun to think about and write!
Hopefully you will also find it enjoyable. I'll post a writing update Soon(TM) and maybe a poll. For now, here is chapter. Lemme know in a comment if you liked, or didn't. I'm always open to get better, and can't do that without feedback.
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Kamado Tanjuro sat on his new rocking chair, enjoying the crisp morning air, and cradled his now youngest daughter, Sumiko, in his arms. Xolo, the strange family dog, sleeping curled up next to him, having found the one beam from the sun that broke through the clouds to sleep in.
The birth several days before had been quick and thankfully free of complications. Then again, after five strong healthy sons, and two, now three, beautiful daughters, one could say his wife was a veteran of such trials.
Little Sumiko mewled in her sleep and kicked her little feet, her small, pudgy hands batting at something that accosted her in her dream. Tanjuro held her more tightly to his chest and hummed a wordless lullaby and the baby settled.
Kie, Nezuko, Hanako, and Pyrrha were all sleeping, the ladies having spent all night pacifying little Sumiko whenever she cried. He’d tried to help, but Nezuko had informed him in no uncertain terms that dealing with the baby was a woman’s business and he should leave them to it. He’d protested, but while Nezuko never raised her voice, her will was as inviolate as her mother’s head.
He still remembered the day Kie head-butted a charging boar, killing it. Gods he loved that woman. And Nezuko was well on her way to being just as beautiful as her mother, if not more so.
The boys were in the nearby woods doing their chores under the stern eye of their eldest brother. Tanjuro smiled as he heard Morihito give little Rokuta gentle pointers on how to choose the best sticks for the evening fire. Before cracking the proverbial whip as Tanjiro did not perform to his expectations.
When Tanjiro complained that his older brother was being mean to him, Morihito’s responded in a tone that was all the more impactful for being softly spoken. “If something ever happens to me, Tanjiro, you will be the older brother. It will be up to you to protect, teach, and guide our siblings. How exactly do you expect to do that if you blow your back out because you lifted wood wrong? Now stop complaining, I’d say you complain like a girl, but Hanako never gave me this much lip. Back to it, and lift with your legs!”
His eldest’s words robbed Tanjuro of his smile.
Morihito had shown him the location of his battle against a demon. Nothing had remained beyond the damage to a few trees, a few splashes of blood, rotting clothes, and a money pouch with a small fortune that he’d handed to Tanjuro without care.
It was a sobering thing, to realize that he very well could have come home to find his entire family slaughtered. To see how close he had come to losing everything.
He was truly vindicated in his choice to pass on the earrings to his son.
Kamado Morihito, a man of many talents. Blacksmith, Architect, Woodworker, Demon Slayer.
Oracle.
Many times, Tanjuro had wondered as to the boy’s refusal to leave the house on nights when the snow fell thick. He had taken his son’s explanation, that nights of heavy snow were dangerous, at face value.
His son was blessed by the Sun. Tanjuro knew this. That was why he’d always accepted his son’s reason not to leave the house on snowy nights. Tanjuro had always thought it was due to caution, a snowy mountain at night is a treacherous thing indeed. Only now did he see the truth, Morihito insisted on staying home to protect his mother and siblings, because he knew that, at some point during a snowy night, a demon would come. And he’d decided that he would be there, he would meet it in battle, and he would kill it so his mother, brothers, and sisters could all sleep peacefully and safely.
Or die in the attempt.
The difference between a boy and a man, was that a man made the safety of others his responsibility. And his eldest son had grown into a fine man indeed.
Tanjuro had often wondered why it was that Amaterasu Ōmikami had burdened his eldest so cruelly. Robbing him of the childlike wonder that was his by right.
To those who much is given, from them much shall be expected. If so, Morihito had a truly cruel fate awaiting him. The most Kie and Tanjuro could do for the education of their children was teach them to read and write, and basic arithmetic. But Morihito…he simply knew things. Seemingly instinctively, his eldest son was more learned than the greatest scholars that Tanjuro met in the travels of his youth. While he’d been planning the new house, Tanjuro had seen the plank of wood where he’d planned the building. The symbols he’d seen written there in charcoal had seemed like a different language, but when he’d asked, his son had explained that it was mathematical formulae, before launching into an explanation about things called ‘force vectors,’ ‘statics’ and ‘material tolerances.’ An explanation that Tanjuro had understood one word in three of, at best.
Metalworking on par with a master smith. Architecture and woodwork on par with a master of his craft. Knowledge of arithmetic so advanced that Tanjuro, little as he knew, felt certain there were very few in the empire who could rival, let alone equal it.
Morihito had not only mastered the Hinokami Kagura, he had returned it to the proper fighting form that his ancestors had failed to fully grasp.
For one who was given so much, Tanjuro could only assume that what would be expected of his son would be monumental.
Internally, Tanjuro had raged at such injustice, for such a burden should have gone to him, to spare his child such cruelty. Many a night he’d spent sleepless, fearing that his sickness had caused him to be passed over for whatever terrible fate awaited his son. Attempting to think of ways to subvert the will of the Heavens and take on whatever sacrifice would be expected of Morihito onto himself.
But after his son pleaded with the Heavens for his father to be healed. After he confronted and defeated a demon. Tanjuro saw the truth of it. This burden was placed upon his son, because Morihito had the strength to thrive under it.
Still, he worried.
If the stories his father had told him were to be believed. Hinokami, the one who passed the Kagura onto Tanjuro’s ancestor, was a humble, tranquil, melancholic man. A man of immense strength, who was never happier than when he was holding a child in his arms.
Morihito was not like Hinokami. Tanjuro had tried to teach him. To show him the way that Tanjuro found his own strength. To embrace the teachings of the Hinokami Kagura and become Hinokami. To make use of the Transparent World and take life only for duty, with dispassion and tranquility.
But he had failed.
There was rage in his son. A rage which burned with all the fury of the sun at the height of summer. A rage he had never unleashed on his siblings, or his mother or father.
A rage that Tanjuro had seen the faintest glimpse of, like the sun stabbing a beam through a small tear in thick curtains, as his son described his encounter with and subsequent defeat of a demon.
Morihito had delighted in the battle, feeling nothing other than satisfaction at the ending of the life of a demon. He’d held no funeral, nor offered a prayer for the soul of the one he’d ushered onto the next life. To the point that he’d questioned Tanjuro’s decision to make a grave for the departed dead.
If Hinokami had embodied the tranquil, nurturing nature of the sun. Then Morihito embodied its burning rage. At times simmering, but ever-present.
Tanjuro worried for his boy. But, watching him lift Rokuta and place the exhausted toddler on his shoulders while pushing his younger brothers harder, Tanjuro reflected that while he may fear for his son, he would never fear his son.
After all, the only one to have ever received his son’s ire, was a literal man-eating demon.
Tanjuro resolved himself to increase the pace of training for his boys to learn the Hinokami Kagura. They could never know when the next demon might come along, and it would be best if all of his boys were capable of defending themselves as well as their mother and sisters.
Hopefully Morihito would find enough materials to forge enough demon slaying blades for the family.
He heard soft footsteps coming from inside, a few moments later, a woman’s voice spoke in halting Japanese. “Ah, erm…afternoon, good.”
Tanjuro turned and found Pyrrha closing the front door softly behind her. “Good afternoon to you too, Miss Pyrrha. Did you have a good nap?”
“Yes, thank you.” She said in halting, though ever improving Japanese. “The baby…loud.”
He chuckled. “They do tend to be that, yes. I will plead with Nezuko to let me attend Sumiko during the night. ‘Woman’s business’ or not, it does not change the fact that often as not, I changed that young lady’s diapers.”
Pyrrha blushed as he spoke and eventually sat on the rocking chair next to him. Gazing at his eldest with a neutral expression, but if her eyes were any indication, it may thankfully not be long before Tanjuro held his first grandchild. A most auspicious prospect.
“I worry.” The Heavenly Girl said suddenly. “The…”
“Demon.” Tanjuro supplied after she spent several seconds searching for the word.
She nodded. “The demon…there are more?”
Tanjuro nodded, and decided to tell her the story his own father had passed onto him. The same one he’d passed onto Morihito, when he earned the earrings.
“This story has been passed down my family since the Sengoku era: All demons spring from the One Demon. Long ago, when our family first settled into this home. My ancestor, Kamado Sumiyoshi, and his wife, Kamado Sumire, were attacked by a demon but a scant month before she was to give birth. He was powerless to stop it, he, like me, was but a humble charcoal maker, and not trained in the art of combat.
“When all seemed lost, however, Hinokami came, and slew the demon in an instant, with a single swing of his burning blade.” Sumiko stirred, batting her arms. Tanjuro smiled and continued. “He asked for nothing in return, but Sumire would not hear of it. As the story goes, she bullied Hinokami into accepting their hospitality. Moved by her stubbornness, Hinokami stayed with Sumiyoshi for several months, protecting the family from any other wandering demons and, eventually, shared his story.”
Tanjuro looked at his son, who had taken off his shirt and was doing his daily exercises, goading his little brothers into following his example. Little Rokuta went at them with admirable enthusiasm even if his form left much to be desired.
“Hinokami was incarnated with the express purpose of slaying the First Demon, a creature that had plagued mankind since the Heian Era. Sometime before saving Sumiyoshi, Hinokami met the Progenitor of all Demons, did battle, and bested it. But stayed his hand before he could deliver the final blow. For you see, he wanted to know if it saw human life as having any value, he demanded to know why it chose to act with cruelty and malevolence. The First Demon used that one instant to escape him, and never again allowed itself to be seen. His one chance to fulfill his destiny lost, he spent his life traveling the empire, slaying demons, trying futilely to fulfill his destiny.”
He turned to look at the young woman staring enraptured. He continued. “He left behind no descendants, no apprentices, no legacy but that of failure caused by his hubris. Sumiyoshi would not hear of it, and begged Hinokami to make him his apprentice, and was subsequently taught the Hinokami Kagura.” He nodded at his eldest, and once the otherworldly girl turned to look at him, he continued. “It has been my family’s duty to pass on the teachings of Hinokami, from father to son, down the eras. For Sumiyoshi knew that at some point in the future, Amaterasu Ōmikami would bless another and he hoped that his descendants would be able to pass onto the Blessed his birthright.”
Tanjuro sighed, and looking down, saw that little Sumiko was awake, staring enraptured at him as he told the story. “I never could have imagined that the Heavens would bless my family such, that the one who would have to take up the burden of the failed Hinokami would come from my blood.”
“You mean he…” Pyrrha began, but cut off, likely searching for the words. The only one with the gift of tongues who could serve as an interpreter was currently busy doing one-armed pull-ups on a tree branch, holding the laughing and squealing Rokuta in his legs, Tanjiro, Hideo and Takeo all hanging onto his legs and hips to add more weight. His shirtless torso covered in a light sheen of sweat.
Turning back to the Heavenly Girl, Tanjuro saw a small bit of drool trail down her chin from the corner of her mouth, her eyes following his son’s muscular form with fervent focus.
Oh yes, grandchildren were not far off at all. Kie would need to be informed, of course.
He answered the girl’s unasked question, drawing her attention back to him. “It is what I’ve managed to ascertain with my, admittedly limited, understanding. I know not the ways of the Heavens, but I am happy to play my own limited part in their plans.”
She frowned. “But…you are strong.”
Tanjuro smiled. “Modestly so, yes. Though I live only thanks to the Heavens holding my son in such high esteem.”
Pyrrha blinked. “The…Tuberculosis? The sickness?”
Tanjuro could only assume the foreign sounding word was the name of the sickness that had plagued him for so long. To think she’d so quickly be able to identify it having merely been told of its symptoms. Truly the Heavens were a font of great wisdom.
“Yes, I should have succumbed to it. That I am well is entirely due to Morihito being favored.”
Pyrrha scowled. “But…But it is not difficult for…treatment.”
His only response was a smile. Made happy by the knowledge that somewhere, there were people who could treat so deadly and debilitating a disease as a mere inconvenience.
Pyrrha’s jaw worked, she had a poor habit of chewing the inside of her cheek when she worried about something. Still, we all have our vices, and hers was so minor as to be inconsequential.
They shared a companiable silence before Pyrrha spoke again. “We should go…out there. Kill demons.”
He turned to look at her. “Morihito did mention that where you came from, you trained to slay monsters?”
Pyrrha nodded. “Huntress. Erm…Monster killer. Big beasts, many.”
He nodded. “This has to do with the ability you refuse to use when you spar against me, yes?”
Her eyes widened in surprise. “How?”
“It’s in your movements. You react and are surprised and hindered when your movements do not have the speed and power you expected. I could tell that you often expected a parry to have more force, or to have greater strength behind a block. Not to mention your breath is that of someone who is used to vigorous movement, but you do not know a special form of breathing to stop yourself becoming tired. Instead, you recover far faster than would be considered natural.” He smiled and rocked as Sumiko began to wiggle in his grip. “I could only assume there must have been some power or ability you were holding back out of consideration for those of us who do not have it.”
She nodded. “My Aura. I…I do not know the words.”
He returned her nod. “Ask my son to forge for you a blade like the one he forged for me.” He allowed his smile to take a sardonic edge. “I do not think he will deny you anything.”
She blushed and turned away, incidentally bringing her attention to Morihito, who had switched to doing his pull-ups with individual fingers. “He didn’t listen, when I told him we should go hunt monsters. Said it wasn’t time.”
Tanjuro nodded. “He is a dutiful man. I imagine he will not leave until he is certain his siblings can protect themselves and each other, even if he weren’t present. Your encounter several nights ago shows that I alone would not be enough. A few years, Miss Pyrrha. Long enough for Tanjiro and Takeo to learn the Hinokami Kagura, and for you to fully master the language and achieve a better grasp of the written word. After that, I am certain he will oblige your desire to travel and hunt demons.”
Pyrrha grimaced. “He was…very against it.”
As the baby fussed, he turned back to Sumiko, who held an expression of focus and effort. Tanjuro focused on his daughter and his sight shifted. In his vision, her blanket, clothes, skin and muscles all faded away so he could study the workings of her internal organs, revealing that yes, she was indeed in the process of soiling herself. She’d been sleeping for an hour, so she probably didn’t need to be fed for a while longer.
He turned to the young woman and smiled kindly. “You need only employ your feminine whiles, Miss Pyrrha, and he will string the moon into a necklace and tie it around your neck if you but ask.” He stood and walked to the door. “The men in my family have a history of being unable to go against the wishes of strong, beautiful women.”
Leaving the girl sputtering, he stepped inside, Xolo at his heels. He waited for Sumiko to finish, then cleaned and changed her. It was nearing the time that Morihito would ask him to spar, so he took the baby to her room (individual rooms for everyone in the family, never in his life would Tanjuro have thought he’d ever see such luxury), rocked her to sleep, and lay her down on her crib.
Xolo jumped past him, clearing the edge of the crib with ease, he landed softly and curled around the baby, falling promptly asleep once again. Sumiko turned to tuck herself more tightly to the dog’s side without waking.
He patted the dog’s head and settled the blanket over his daughter. Then he left quietly to sharpen his skill and the skill of his son. But he would allow himself to be selfish, and hope for the blessing of holding his first grandchild soon.
As he stepped outside and saw the fire-haired warrior woman blushing like a maiden and stealing furtive glances at his son, he truly did not think he’d have long to wait. Even less so if he unleashed Kie to fully meddle.
Tanjuro truly was blessed.
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