Inaki sat on the boat, watching as the people who he had wronged faded into the mists. Soon he would be landing at the port at Hayan. As he sat on the slowly rocking boat, he wondered what his life would have been like if Taral had killed Gonten.
I should’ve just let them kill me.
Time on the boat passed decently quickly, and by the time the sun had set, Inaki was at the port in Hayan. Inaki was extremely hungry when he landed, and reached into his wallet to get some money, and found his purse too light for comfort. He bought the cheapest meal at the dirtiest, dingiest tavern. On any other night he would have bought liquor as well, but Inaki had enough control over his addiction to not drown himself in ale when he needed the money.
Inaki did not stay in Hayan long. He decided that he would instantly make his way towards Gael. The walk to Gael seemed to take forever. Inaki’s feet were sore by the time he reached the gates of the walled Gael city, and he wanted to fall asleep on the first bed he saw.
The guard at the gate stopped him and said, “Your name, and reason for entry.”
“My name is In— Yotta-son-Yusuke Trina,” Inaki said, thinking that the name -son-Hassai would not be well heard in Gael. “I am here to meet a friend. Could you please tell me where the monastery is?”
“The monastery,” The guard said. “That’s on the other side of town, also all the monks will be sleeping, and definitely won’t entertain you.”
The guard wrote down Inaki’s fake name, and then allowed Inaki into the city. With no hope to get to the monastery that night, Inaki walked to the first inn he could see, and approached the owner. He looked in his purse, and realized that he had just enough money to buy himself food for the next few days. Inaki needed to make that money last as long as possible, because Inaki didn’t know what exactly he would do.
“What is the cheapest room you have?” Inaki said.
“It’s this room, and the ground floor,” the man said. Inaki put the coins on his table, and the man let Inaki in.
“Hey, are you a painter?” The owner of the inn asked, looking at the painting tools in his bag.
“Yes,” Inaki said. “A traveling one.”
“How about I give you free breakfast in return for a painting,” The owner said.
“What kind of painting do you want?” Inaki asked.
“Just a portrait of myself,” The man said.
“Tomorrow morning then?” Inaki asked.
“Yes,” Inaki said.
Inaki walked into his room and closed the door. The room was quaint, but at least it was bigger than his room back in Yaroka. It was a small cube room with a window on the wall. The room was so modest that there wasn’t even a mattress there, just the cold hard floor and a blanket.
Inaki threw his luggage to one side and collapsed on the floor tired from his day of travels. He stared at the plain ceiling of the room, and listened to the whistling of the wind through his window. Even though he was so exhausted he couldn’t sleep. He had spent more than half a year sleeping on the most comfortable bed a man could sleep on, he certainly wasn’t used to the cold, hard stone floor. Eventually exhaustion led him to fall asleep.
It wasn’t comfortable whatsoever. Inaki had successive nightmares one after the other. In one he died of hunger, a pauper, and the next, the man Inaki used to be before his accident, cut him down, ending him.
Inaki woke up to a cold sweat.
“Oh shit,” One of the men in the room yelped. There were three men in the room, and they were going through his luggage.
“For this little bit of money,” One of the men said. “These are some awfully good clothes.”
All three men were well-built, but on their arms they had the Mark of the Clanless, men who didn’t belong to clans and were either relatives, or were themselves exiled. There were some of the clanless who were exiled so long ago, they didn’t even know what clan they originally belonged to. These men looked recently exiled. How had they entered the city?
“Are you a thief yourself,” The man said. “Pull up your sleeve.”
Inaki pulled up his sleeve, and of course, he didn’t have any mark. “Clanless like us stealing is acceptable, but a man like you. How did a painter like you get so many scars?”
Inaki was paralyzed in fear. He didn’t know what to say. In a previous lifetime, these men would’ve been just puddles of blood. Now Inaki just watched in fear, as they stole all of his belongings.
“These clothes are worth an awful lot, let’s see what else he has on him that’s worth something.”
In a desperate move, Inaki drew his knife and rushed at the closest attacker. The man just grabbed Inaki’s hand and threw him to the ground. Inaki got up, but another one of the men punched Inaki in the face, and then punched him in the gut. With one of the men now holding Inaki, another man picked the knife out of Inaki’s hand.
Inaki resisted, but it was useless. Inaki was a pathetic weakling, who couldn’t survive in this world.
“This knife looks awfully expensive,” The man said. “Guess we are just stealing from another thief.”
The men threw Inaki to the ground.
“Give us your clothes,” One of the men said. “They would sell well in the market.”
Inaki couldn’t muster up a word. One of the men picked up Inaki and punched him in the face. The man pushed Inaki against the wall, then pulled out his own knife. “I don’t want to get blood on these mighty fine robes, so for your own sake and for my sake, give us the robes.”
Then Inaki stripped, and gave his clothes to the men. Luckily all the men were interested in his belongings. They luckily left his paints and his canvas, but that was all his belongings that Inaki had. Taking the last of Inaki’s money, dignity and self-respect, the men left through the window as they came.
Filled with shame, and not having enough tears left to cry, Inaki closed his windows and locked them. He checked the lock on the door, and then collapsed on the ground.
When he woke up in the morning. Inaki didn’t know what to do. He was cold and naked, and he didn’t know where he would get clothes from. After a lot of hesitating, Inaki wrapped himself in the inn blanket, and walked out.
“What the hell happened,” The owner asked Inaki.
“Clanless,” Inaki said.
“Let me get you a change of clothes,” The owner said. “Those bloody clanless scum.”
The owner generously gave Inaki some clothes, and some breakfast. The clothes fit a little too loose, but it was better than roaming the streets in a blanket.
“Seeing you have no money left, I’ll pay you for that painting,” The owner said.
Inaki began the painting. After an hour of drawing the man, he looked at the painting and said, “Explains the light wallet, I can pay you ten coins for this.”
Inaki knew it was a bad painting, and he knew that the ten coins would be more charity than payment for the painting. Ten coins would get Inaki one meal. Inaki hoped that at least finding Takehito and Gonten would mean that this nightmare of his would end. Inaki left the inn with the few things left of his belongings, and the borrowed clothes.
Stolen novel; please report.
Looking around the city, Inaki felt a sense of whiplash watching so many people with spears instead of swords. Inaki had spent his entire life going from sword clan to sword clan. Now in a spear clan, Inaki couldn’t see any people with swords at their belts. Instead people carried large spears on their backs, with short knives at their belt. Inaki found it extremely impractical, and thought the sword was better, but the spearmen looking at him probably thought the opposite.
The walk across the city was longer than Inaki had expected. Gael was around the same size as Tomoka, but it was much less dense, with fewer people living here, fewer buildings, and more space, it made the city seem bigger. Inaki eventually reached the monastery, and stepped in through the garden gate. He could tell that Hassai and Gonten had done good work there. There was a wonderful smell, flowers of all different colors, dense grass, and tamed bushes. It seemed like heaven. There was also a spring in the garden. Could it be another Dreamspring? Wars had been fought over the Dreamspring in Tomoka, so how could Inaki not know about one in Gael.
Inaki walked to the entrance of the monastery, when he walked in, he saw that all of the monks were deep in meditation. Inaki walked over to the only monk who was awake.
“We do not have any space for vagrants,” The man said, looking at Inaki. “Unfortunately this monastery has no room.” The monk was a tall man, with high cheekbones, a bald head, and a rectangular face. His frame was covered by loose black robes, with white pants.
“Me, a vagrant,” Inaki began to say. He was about to say that I am a swordsman, then realized how absurd that would sound, he just said, “I am here to meet Gonten and Takehito”
“Oh, they left a few weeks ago, who are you?” the monk said.
“Just a friend of Gonten. Do you know where they are?” Inaki asked.
“They walked towards Heoin last I know,” The monk said.
“Would it be possible for me to get two meals and a place to sleep,” Inaki said.
“As I told you there is no room for you. We can give you food, but anything the monastery gives you, you have to earn,” The monk said.
“I know that,” Inaki said.
“Well, let me check what job I have for you,” The monk said. The monk walked away, leaving Inaki alone surrounded by others like him—who were cleaning the floors, the idols, and doing other chores—and the meditating monks. Soon the man was back, and he told him.
“The Gael festival is coming up soon, which is why the monastery is full, and because of that most jobs are taken,” The monk said. “But there is one job, if you are willing to take it.”
“What is it?” Inaki asked.
“Clean the privy,” The monk said. “We need someone to clean the privy. Unless you don’t want the job.”
With no other option, Inaki weakly said, “Yes.”
With just a bucket of water, and a cloth in his hand, he walked into the privy. The privy started as a long room with a urinal, the smell of ammonia floated through the air.
Why don’t I just go home.
But for Inaki, going back to Tomoka wasn’t an option. He was done with being a disappointment to his father. It was better for Hassai to just announce to the world that Inaki had died, and that he had only one son now. The man who regardless of the odds of losing his right hand, prospered and became a great swordsman.
The first room in the privy was slightly tilted, which collected all of the water from the urinals into a bucket, before anything else, Inaki had to empty out those buckets, and wash them out.
Inaki walked out of the monastery with the buckets, he had to walk halfway across the city holding buckets reeking of piss. He did not complain, for what right did he have to complain. When he was a swordsman made to garden, he complained that he was a swordsman not a gardener. But after all, what was he now? He was a nobody. Not a painter, not a swordsman, definitely not someone important without his father’s name. Definitely not wanted.
Living in the real world, Inaki had found that he had a few privileges that he had taken for granted when living in a castle. One of those privileges being not understanding the sewage system of the cities. There was a creek under the city near the outskirts, where all the waste was thrown. It was the worst smelling part of the city, and reeked of urine and feces. Inaki then walked back with the empty buckets. Even without the urine, they still reeked. Disheveled hair, pauper clothes, bruised face and body, and carrying an empty bucket of piss, Inaki looked like anything but nobility, so completely unrecognizable from the man he once was.
He reached the castle, and began scrubbing clean buckets of urine with water, and soap. It was a harrowing process, and once he was done, he placed the buckets of urine back where they should be, for people to just urinate, and the bucket to collect it.
But if it was all that easy, then it couldn’t have been Inaki’s life. Not all of the urine found its way to the bucket. The floors of the urinals were covered with urine residue, and Inaki had to scrub that with soap and water. The smell made Inaki want to vomit, but there was barely any food in there to retch. The one thing that stopped him from throwing up whatever little was in his stomach, was that anything he threw up, he would have to clean himself.
There were two doors at the end of the room, two places for the other process of excretion. Inaki walked into the first one, and the walls were painted with brown streaks. This time Inaki couldn’t hold himself, he vomited right into the chamber pot. Lucky for him, the chamber pot had been emptied before, and he only needed to wash the walls and floors, but now he needed to clean it too because of his vomit. Trying not to make his own job even harder, Inaki desperately clogged his nose shut.
Whether it was from barely breathing, the horrible fumes, or just Inaki’s general derangement, Inaki could almost see the older version of himself looking down on the man that he had become, and Inaki stared up at the man that he once was.
Inaki never remembered being satisfied with himself, but now, given the chance to go back to how he was but not ascend a single step, Inaki would take that choice without having a single thought.
Inaki finished cleaning the toilet, but he didn’t have much appetite for lunch. He would use his credit for dinner. Inaki sat in the garden, staring at their spring. A monk walked into the garden, probably to meditate, and Inaki asked, “What is that spring over there?”
“It is only for the monks to bathe in, strictly forbidden for outsiders,” the monk said. This was a different monk, older, shorter, and with a round face with a long beard.
Until dinner time, Inaki sat observing the flowers. He pulled out a canvas and some paints from his bag, and began painting the garden. It took him nearly till sunset. He was done with it, but didn’t think of it as anything special. He was about to stow it away into his bag, until a person walked out. It was a monk, the monk who had made Inaki scrub toilets for his next meal.
“That is quite a splendid painting,” The monk said.
“Thank you,” Inaki said.
“Would you mind giving it to us,” The monk asked. “We will give you compensation of course.”
“Why do you want a painting of the field, when you can see it right here?”
“We want it for autumn,” The monk said. “To allow us to see the spirit of this garden when it is empty. Now are you going to sell it to us?”
“Sure,” Inaki said.
“How much do you want?” The monk asked.
“Whatever you offer,” Inaki said. He was embarrassed that he would be getting paid for this painting anyway.
“How about a hundred coins,” The monk said.
“Are you sure it’s worth that much?” Inaki said.
“Oh don’t be so humble sir, here take this,” The monk said, giving Inaki the bag of money. It would be enough for him to get to Heoin.
The monk took the painting, “I hope that you find Takehito and Gonten.”
“And I hope this isn’t charity,” Inaki said.
“What did I tell you about the monastery? Anything you take from the monastery you have to earn, you earned it with this painting, now come in for dinner.”
Inaki walked into the eating hall, where he sat amongst the monks and ate their bland food. But he was ravenously hungry, and ate almost too many servings of rice and yogurt with some salt. They also served some pieces of salmon with the rice, but they weren’t willing to give Inaki more than one piece.
Inaki left the monastery, intending to look for an inn. Inaki walked to the first inn nearest to the monastery, and with the money he had, he quickly bought a room, settled in, and this time closed the windows, bolted them shut, and then went to sleep. Luckily this inn had a futon on the ground for Inaki to sleep on, so it wasn’t completely uncomfortable.
When Inaki fell asleep, he had a horrible nightmare. The nightmare began with Inaki back in the monastery cleaning the privy. The Inaki of old stared down at Inaki, but this time picked him up. Inaki before the accident slapped Inaki in the face and rammed his head into the wall of the toilet.
“Is this how you are going to spend the rest of my life?” the Inaki before the accident said.
“I am sorry.”
“You say that every single day, and every single day, I hope that you will become better, but today you have hit a new low. Cleaning a privy. Have some respect for who you used to be if you don’t have any respect for who you are.”
“What was I supposed to do, starve?”
“Die for all I care. Someone as pathetic as you should die. I wish that Hassai hadn’t walked in that day, and that you had just ended your life. You are a worthless toilet cleaner.”
Inaki before the accident raised his sword, and stabbed the current Inaki right through the heart. Inaki woke up in a cold sweat. It was day time. Inaki quickly checked out of his room to make sure that he wouldn’t be charged extra for being late, ate breakfast, and prepared to catch a cart to Heoin.
He walked outside the inn, and as he was about to walk out, he saw a group of spearmen—eight or so men—marching through the streets. As he walked more towards the gates, he kept seeing the soldiers marching.
He realized the Gael spearmen were all following him, and at their head was a man the same age as Inaki, holding a spear with an Iron band just below the spearhead.
“Son of Hassai, we have some business to discuss,” The man screamed.