Note: This is a prizefic for Englehart, who won the popular vote (and best artist under 15) for the Rurouni Kenshin Fanart Contest in honor of hakubaikou, who tragically died last year. Hakubaikou, a devoted and talented artist, ran the annual RK art contest and contributed so much to aspiring artists and the broader art community in general. This last contest was put on by one of her friends (details at double backslash forhakubaikou dot deviantart dot com). Congratulations to Englehart and I'm SOO sorry for the amount of time this took me! (See the winning submission at double backslash englehart dot deviantart dot com / art / Only-a-Moment-129884349)

Disclaimer: If I owned the franchise, I guarantee you, I would find a way to ruin it.

Forging a Heart of Sword

by Leila Winters

He stares at the glinting metal...at the way the blade reflects the clear blue sky above the thin, crisp mountain air...the way the point nearly—almost—vanishes as it angles just between his eyes and stops there.

A heartbeat.

Three.

And stays.

Shinta raises his eyes to meet those of Shishou's, which are sharp and unreadable, as always. Perhaps, he thinks, he should not have snuck extra playtime in the pre-dawn hours to spin the worn top that was the only trace left of Shinta and the life he'd had before cholera laid his entire village to rest.

He knows he shouldn't think about what cholera does to the body, particularly those warm and known to him and certainly not dwell on the itchy, skin-crawling sensation of all the flies buzzing around with that smell...that awful smell no child could forget...

"Kenshin."

Shishou does not waste words. Every one is a lesson Shinta must learn and learn quickly.

"Yes, sir," the boy replies, unflinching before the blade not unlike one used to strike down the sisters sold into slavery...who fell to save him...

...but from what? Oblivion? He thinks about it often in the cool, damp nights when his muscles scream for relief and all he can think about is, "have the dead been redeemed yet?"

But in the morning, his resolve is different. Shishou was going to teach him to protect the innocent and he had promised to devote his life to service: to living masters...to prevent what happened to him from happening to someone else.

There is a whoosh and a click and suddenly the sheathed wakizashi is being presented to him. He blinks at it dumbly.

It isn't until Shishou trips him and throws the weapon at his crumpled form that he realizes he was meant to take the blade for himself.

"When we first met," Shishou begins in his imposing voice, "you agreed to live on my terms. Whoever you were is not who you are now." His gaze hardens. "Kenshin, you are a man at ten. Will you live up to your name?"

The way he says it, he doesn't sound like he thinks it a likely outcome. But Shishou knows what he is doing. He is not one to waste his time on lost causes. Shinta knows this and believes it wholeheartedly because Shishou is the only thing he has ever been able to count on.

If Shishou says he is a man at ten, it must be so.

He feels the weight of the blade in his hand as he gets to his feet. It is heavy.

Shishou raises himself to his full height. He's enormous. Shinta has never grown used to this fact.

"Your first lesson is this: if you expect to protect those you love with a sword, you must not be afraid to kill."

Uneasily, the boy draws the blade that is nearly beyond his meager arm span and tests its grip in his small hands. He is not sure he understands Shishou's words. If you are strong, won't your opponent choose to live and flee?

He knows he promised to live by Shishou's rules.

So he tells himself: do not be afraid to kill.

Do not be afraid.

He believes it. He must believe it. If he cannot grasp this single, simple concept, Shishou will see through him and refuse to teach him how to protect others.

How to kill.

He's afraid of the words.

But he takes a stance. This is the promise he made. This is what he wanted.

Shishou issues a quick jab of his fingers to his back to correct his posture. "Most students of the sword will have waited longer to swing live steel...but this will accelerate you beyond them. Either you will improve by leaps and bounds now, or fail, and I'll know you were never meant to be extraordinary."

The words sound harsh, but it is Shishou's way. Shinta can feel that the margin for error is extremely narrow and it makes his palms sweat.

He is a man, now, at ten. He will now wield a man's sword and take life to save...life? It didn't sound like much of a life at all.

But he can't think about that right now.

"You will take this wakizashi with you wherever you go. From now on, you will use a suburito for strengthening your arms. All else, including sparring, will be with this blade."

He's never even held a sharpened blade before now and it is in this moment Shinta realizes failure at the lessons Shishou imparts will mean death.

He tries to listen as hard as he can over the sound of the thundering taiko of his heart.

After a scant few practice swings, Shishou orders Shinta to fetch water from the pool near the falls. The water is placid and transparent there and Shinta often lingers when on errands because he likes the peace and Shishou doesn't punish him too harshly when the boy returns with something good to eat from turning over a few rocks.

Shinta doesn't think Shishou knows he does this. But he does. And it is precisely why he has chosen to send Kenshin there today, to the place the boy feels most at ease.

Full pails set aside, Shinta is anxious to practice with his first sword. He knows Shishou expects a great deal from him and he does not want to disappoint. Not that Shishou has ever said a word of praise to him, but Shinta believes it is only a matter of time because it is very early for him to begin training with a real blade and Shishou would not have given it to him if he hadn't thought him ready, right?

He gives a few trial swings, listening to it whistle through the air. He experiments and slices the stem of a cattail in one fluid motion.

So it can cut. He wonders what it means that Shishou has given him something so deadly so soon in his training.

But he doesn't have time to think about that right now. There is movement to his left and his head whips around to catch a disturbance in the green.

A grunt. A stamp.

He feels his stomach drop.

It bursts from the shrubbery with blazing, misty eyes, a creature only before known to him on his dinner table. It lets out a terrifying scream as it charges for him, larger than life, more than half his diminutive size.

He doesn't bother picking up his scabbard.

He runs.

The beast barrels after him, snorting rudely with its dark snout low to the ground. Shinta does not know what has set the creature off, but he has heard stories of the rage they are capable of unleashing and he does not wish to become a cautionary tale.

He can sense the animal gaining, so instead of keeping course, he changes direction suddenly, skirting around tree trunks and using them to propel him at strange angles.

Shinta knows he is fast. Although always a weak child in the village, he was not easily bested in speed. He does not know how he will compare with a wild, blood-thirsty creature, but he knows failure will end in death. The conviction in that thought terrifies him.

It isn't until he tries to pull himself onto a branch that he realizes he is still clutching the wakizashi in one hand. He hugs the limb close, throwing his sword arm over, and scrambles a leg up and over to safety.

"Kenshin."

Shinta nearly tumbles to certain death. He raises his eyes to meet Shishou's dark gaze, there, on the limb next to him. In addition to being silent and invisible, Shinta isn't sure Shishou has a shadow to cast. He shudders involuntarily at the mountain demon he calls master.

"You are my apprentice, are you not?"

Shinta tries to ignore the wild boar below, still steaming from its ears, and answers. "Yes, sir. I am."

"And how do you write your name?"

With a trembling finger, Shinta traces the unfamiliar strokes against the worn bark. "Kenshin," he says, but it sounds more like a concept than a reality.

Shishou leans back a little, watching him with that terrifyingly critical eye. "And what does it mean?"

His hand instinctively tightens around the handle of the wakizashi and he hardens his resolve, as he knows Shishou desires this of his pupil. "It means 'heart of sword.'"

"You are about to fail that namesake."

The question just behind Shinta's lips lingers for a few fleeting seconds longer before burying itself in shame. He knows what Shishou wants of him.

"You're incredibly fast, both on your feet and with your reflexes. If you wanted to, you could outrun the beast until it gave up or lost you entirely." With deadly precision, Shishou draws a blade Shinta is sure is as tall as he is, testing its edge on the limb the boy is perched so precariously on. "What will you do, Kenshin? Here is your first true test: an opponent who will not hesitate to kill you. Will you run? Will you succeed...or die like the rest of them?"

Without waiting for a response, Shishou swings the blade—so quickly, Shinta almost misses it, even as he's staring right at him—and separates the branch from the rest of the tree.

Shinta tries not to think about the fate of a long line of baka-deshi who have met with failure. Does Shishou rename them all Kenshin in the hopes one of them will survive to embody the name?

He feels as though he is free-falling in slow motion: Shishou watching impassively above him and growing steadily farther away, and the creature scrambling to dodge the crashing of wood. Even before impact, Shinta launches himself into the air and lands several yards away, spinning quickly to face his opponent head-on.

It charges.

In these precious, few moments, he realizes he doesn't know what to do. Shishou has taught him how to swing a wooden sword, but not yet how to use a real one. He dodges at the last second.

The creature rages and rounds a second time.

What will you do? Shishou's voice taunts him.

Fight or die is what Shinta knows he means. And he does so hate to disappoint his master.

Its hooves pound a steady beat toward him. He swings clumsily, dodging to the side. The blade glances off the tough hide and coarse fur with a barely-registered nick.

Shishou's voice sharply raps out, "That is not how I taught you to swing."

If you expect to protect those you love with a sword, you must not be afraid to kill.

The words sting. If this is the test, perhaps those he would have come to love are doomed already.

He tries to thrust the blade forward, but the creature is fast enough to prevent impaling, a minor gash marring its belly and enraging it further.

He wants to apologize to it. He doesn't know what angered it in the first place, but he sees it has real emotion and suddenly he realizes this is all happening. It's real. He knows the merciful thing to do is kill it quickly, but all he can think about is putting the point of his blade through the animal's eye and there is that operative word again—kill. He doesn't want to. He's terrified to.

Shishou's voice again. "I intend to have that pig for dinner, Kenshin. With or without you."

He didn't know taking a life while it looked you in the eye would be so hard. Those other men had made it seem so easy. But here it was: this wild animal with its home disturbed, trying to kill him, but it wasn't the same. Not at all. It wasn't out of greed or basic human cruelty, it was instinct and nature.

He wonders if humans also have murder in their nature as he raises the blade halfheartedly. This is nothing like real combat, he tells himself. In battle, there are sides. There is clearly one who is right and one who is wrong. There is good and there is evil.

Right?

He is startled as his foot catches on a root and he stumbles to the ground, too late to find out. There are no clear sides in this battle, but he knows he is going to lose and he waits for it.

There is blood, to be sure, spurting and warm and everywhere. It is on his face, all over his clothes, and dribbling, still, down his chin. It takes him a moment to realize it isn't his.

Shishou is standing over the twitching form of the creature, his back to the boy. Shinta knows he has failed this first test and finds the disappointment heavy.

"You idiot..." Shishou admonishes, contempt in his tone. "You can't even do it to save your own life, how will you do it to save others?"

Shinta feels tears rush to his eyes but he is a man at ten. Men do not cry.

"You're a mess. Go clean yourself off. And how about that water, huh?"

"Yes, sir." And just like that, dismissed without ever even being looked at. He feels the shame gnawing at his gut.

He has been sitting at the water's edge for what must be hours now. Shishou has not come looking for him, too disgusted to bother, no doubt.

He wants to know what the difference is between a samurai and a killer. He thinks that someday he'll be able to overcome the fear of taking a life. He knows he can do it if he truly believes he is in the right.

And don't evil men deserve to be taken down so that the rest of society may thrive in their absence?

He thinks this must be so.

But every time he rises to gather his things, the sight and sensation of blood arcing through the air comes to him again, stopping him in his tracks and forcing him to sit down to mull it over some more.

His mother would have called it pouting.

Then again, his mother probably never imagined he'd be asked to kill an animal or be killed by it.

Shishou had spared his life.

Where was the lesson in that?

It was nearly dark by the time the little fiery-haired failure deigned to show. He couldn't find a crumb of remorse in himself to feel for the brat. He had given the boy a task (and maybe he had ensured the stakes had been real)...and his little idiot apprentice had failed to deliver on the hidden potential supposedly crammed into that frail, unfortunate body. It was going to be a very long summer indeed.

And if he was going to have to deal with the child's moping a second longer, he'd never get to discover whether or not he'd found a true prodigy to pass on his mantle to.

Of course, it would be absurd to think Kenshin could be any more of a prodigy than he had been, after all, the boy would never grow to his magnificent height and physique, but it would be foolish to say he couldn't be great.

True, it'd only been just over a year since he'd dragged that scrap of leftovers with him into the mountains. Until recently, it'd been mostly bringing the boy's strength up...forcing him to fetch water, swing branches around, making sure he knew how to read, cook and sweep, gather firewood, launder linen and clothes, maintain a hearth, brew rice into sake, knead air out of clay, fire a kiln, gather food off the land, to not fear the dark and learn to see in it (on middle of the night sake runs), forcing him to drag timber around on his back, balancing jugs of water, drying food for the winter months, trudging through snow while making no sound, catching fish, and learning to mend clothes (just for example).

And were these not important tasks for a young man who would one day go out on his own to learn? Hiko thought so.

He eyed his pupil sitting morosely at the table, pieces of his would-be killer in a stew before him.

"You're lucky you came home when you did. I was going to eat your dinner and let you starve," he barked.

The brat merely continued staring into his bowl, perhaps replaying the spurt of blood as the animal met its end in his mind. He was beginning to get irritated.

"Eat up," he ordered unkindly.

"I-I'm sorry, Shishou—"

"Save your apologies for when I'll care, which is never!"

The boy trembled into his bowl.

Oh, for the love of Kami-sama.

"Eat or you'll be sorry tomorrow when I set you to work on an empty stomach."

With rounded eyes, his pupil lifted the bowl, gave a shuddering, long-suffering sigh, and sipped delicately.

The boy didn't speak again until he'd completed his meal, the only sound in the small enclosure was the steady scrape of metal against stone as the master sharpened his blade.

"Shishou, about today..."

Hiko shoved the dirty dishes at him. "If you have time to dwell on the past, you have time to clean these. Tomorrow we will test how good you are with a real blade."

That wide-eyed, terrified expression returned to the boy's face and Hiko felt Kenshin's spirit twist.

He fixed a hard gaze on his apprentice.

"I never promised you this would be easy. You said you would work hard to master the sword and I expect you to live to see it through. The first kill is the hardest."

He doesn't know why, but something about Shishou's words make him feel better. He cheerfully scrubs the bowls outside and smiles at the way the moon makes everything look so serene.

Perhaps it's because Shishou has not given up on him.

When they are laying down in the near-darkness, the fire tiny and sputtering, just enough to keep them from freezing to death, Shinta feels a lightness of spirit he hasn't felt in a long while.

He understands. Sometimes one must kill to protect those you care about. Shishou has been saying this all along, but he never truly believed it until now.

As his eyes are drooping unsteadily, he hears Shishou say quietly, almost to himself, "When you rise and have your morning meal, you are to stand beneath the falls until I retrieve you. You've a lot of ground to cover before the fall."

His eyes flutter sleepily. "What's in the fall?"

"The bears will be fattening up for winter. You'll need to be stronger and faster."

Shinta's eyes fly open as he hears Shishou mutter something that sounds like "bear nabe" before softly snoring on his pallet.

Perhaps he has less time to live than he thought.

~Fin~

End Notes: This was sort of out of my comfort zone. The request was something with a young Kenshin and Hiko. I ended up doing some digging around for a proper timeline so that the fic could sit somewhere within the realm of the possible in the RK world.

Also, in terms of badass animals living around the mountains near Kyoto in that time period...it's either boars or bears. I was so disappointed. LOL.

Concerning the grievous delay...weeks/months before the end of the contest, I started two separate fics as warmups. It'd been a very long time since I'd written and I wasn't sure I could do it (even just 1,000 words). I even started drinking wine while writing just to loosen inhibitions. The drabble remained unfinished. The other fic...ended up being so intense, it spawned an entire book series concept that I started a separate research notebook for. Then I got slammed with a few months of straight overtime at work and later started a blog of ridiculous proportions. So yes. Lax in my duty. But I never stopped thinking about this fic and pulling out my notes for it. When I finished it, I let it sit for about two months because I didn't like it and when I picked it back up again, made very few changes. Strange what distance will do.

So...um...hope it didn't suck entirely. I know it's not really anything innovative, but I did look around at what had already been done in terms of little Kenny and Hiko interactions and this seemed to be an untold story. I'm the worst ever with deadlines, too. I apologize for that.

Suburito – heavy wooden sword used for strengthening swings, often in preparation for the katana

Wakizashi – a sword that is shorter than the katana

Taiko – big, beautiful Japanese drum