By M. Zhou

The first snow that winter came early. The last leaves still clung to the tips of withered branches when Hiko woke one morning, and found the world covered in a mantle of white. He heated some sake, and took it with him to sit outside. Overnight the dreary December landscape had been transformed into one of perfect beauty. Nothing marred the flawless expanse of snow.

Kenshin came out with a bucket to get water for their morning tea, stomping his feet briskly to drive the chill away. A fine powdering of snow flew down from the eaves, landing in Hiko's cup and on his hair.

"Early snow this year. It'll be a hard winter," Kenshin remarked.

Hiko waved him over. "Come. Sit. Be still. I can not enjoy the morning with you bustling about like that."

Kenshin gave him an indulgent look, the kind that said he was only humoring his crazy master, who had nothing better to do than to sit freezing his ass off on a winter morning, and obediently sat down cross-legged beside him.

After a while Hiko realized that Kenshin was shivering quietly, trying without much success to keep his teeth from chattering.

Feeling like an ogre, he gave Kenshin his cup, and poured it full to the brim. "Take some sake. It'll warm you up."

Kenshin regarded the content of the cup with some suspicion.

"Drink up," Hiko ordered. "It's the sweet kind that you like," he added, when Kenshin scrunched up his face like a child forced to take medicine. He waited for the boy to finish, then refilled the cup.

Kenshin needed no urging this time. He drank with his eyes closed, an expression of bliss on his face.

"Still cold?" Kenshin shook his head. Two spots of delicate color had appeared in his face; he held out his empty cup again. Hiko poured out a finger's width for him.

"Now sip slowly. Good wine, like beautiful woman and fine scenery, must be savored."

He took a deep draft from the bottle himself, having given Kenshin his cup, but unwilling to go to fetch another one.

They sat drinking in silence for a bit. Then Hiko, finding himself in a talkative mood after all, spoke to Kenshin about his youth in Edo, and the courtesans who poured his sake, their beauty as delicate as the translucent porcelain they held in their hands.

He paused to fill Kenshin's empty cup, this time to the brim. Kenshin drank, his eyes two slivers of pleasure behind the thick fringe of lashes, his cheeks tinged pink with the wine. Hiko remembered that Kenshin once belonged to slave traders, and it did not take a great deal of imagination to figure out what they had intended for a boy with such extraordinary looks.

He tossed the rest of the sake into the snow, ignoring Kenshin's outraged cry. He remembered why he never liked that variety of wine. It left a sour aftertaste on the tongue.

By noon the snow started again. As Kenshin had predicted, it was a hard winter. While the snow was still thin on the ground Hiko sparred with him, so he could learn his footing under treacherous conditions. But then the snow became too heavy even for that purpose, so they stayed inside, and whiled away the time with stories and games.

If the snow was good for nothing else, at least it was good for cooling raku ware. In the dreary winter months Hiko rediscovered his enthusiasm for pottery. Kenshin laughed when he discovered his master's humble passion. Hiko dealt him a good hard thump on the head, and told him that pottery was the art of the gods.

"The Chinese thought that a goddess, Nuwa, created mankind from clay and water. At first she did not bake them, and so when they went near water they all perished. But then she discovered that if she left them out in the sun long enough, they hardened and no longer feared water."

For weeks afterward Kenshin called him Nuwa, and bowed to him in worship every time he was at the pottery wheel. He finally put a stop to it by teaching the basic techniques to Kenshin. He had hoped perhaps that there was some untapped artistic sensibility in his student's rather prosaic soul, but he was quickly disabused of any such notion. Kenshin grasped the basics quickly, as he did in everything else. He made serviceable pots and jars for carrying water, and then a set of tableware, which appeared at dinner a few days later, replacing the old set of cracked tricolor glaze.

"What happened to the other set?" Hiko asked, trying to ignore a certain sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach.

Kenshin looked surprised at the question. "Those old things? I tossed them out." He was completely unprepared as his master turned pale, and then red, and then silent.

After sometime, Hiko said in a very quiet voice, "they were the works of the grand master Toshigawa, whose wares graced the table of the emperor."

Kenshin did not seem very impressed. "He could not possibly be very good. The glaze was uneven, the tint was muddy, and the bowl wasn't even perfectly round."

Hiko searched for a word severe enough to do justice to Kenshin's transgression: "Peasant!"

Kenshin smiled agreeably, and went back to his rice.

Later that night Hiko found the bowls displayed with the rest of his collection on the shelves. He contemplated tossing Kenshin into the kiln, but settled for making him clean it instead. Afterward Kenshin emerged from the pottery shed like an unbaked clay doll, covered in gray dust, his eyes two solitary spots of violet glaze. Hiko laughed, and sent him to the stream.

"Take care that you don't melt like Nuwa's men," Hiko called out, his good humor restored.

Kenshin turned his back, the picture of wounded dignity. In the river he washed himself with quick, efficient strokes, scrubbing furiously at the few stubborn spots. Hiko watched the pale skin emerge by degrees, like chipping away the overlay bit by bit to reveal the gleaming porcelain hidden underneath.

Hiko's passion for ceramics waned unaccountably afterward. With the coming of spring, the weather warmed quickly. The river next to their home ran swift and swollen with melted snow. He set Kenshin in the turbulent water beneath the fall to practice his kata.

The first day he spent as much time in the water as Kenshin did, fishing the boy out every time he went under the current. At night Kenshin curled up into a pathetic little ball on the floor, too tired even to eat or remove his sodden clothing.

Hiko nudged him up with a foot. "Get up, get out of your clothes. And stretch, or you will be sorry tomorrow when you stiffen up."

Kenshin mumbled something incoherent, and went right back to sleep. Eventually Hiko gave up trying to rouse him, and stripped him himself. He found some ointment good for muscle aches, and kneaded it into Kenshin's poor abused muscles thoroughly until they turned warm and pliant in his hands.

The next day went much the same way. Hiko was nothing if not relentless when it came to his art. Unmoved by the pleading looks Kenshin gave him, he ordered him into the river, and kept him at it through most of the spring. When Kenshin was able to move through water as through air, they fought again on land. Kenshin's Ryutsuisen had acquired extraordinary power. His body soared through the air like swift moving current. On the down stroke his sword fell with the power of a roaring cascade.

Even Hiko was surprised at Kenshin's newly gained power and speed; surprised enough to put more force into his counterattack than necessary, and deal a shallow slash to Kenshin's chest. The cut was no more than a scratch, but Kenshin's shirt, which had gotten rather ragged from the constant exposure to water and mud, was ruined.

"I could mend it," Kenshin offered, without much confidence.

"I doubt it," Hiko told him dryly, and took him to the village clothier to pick out a bolt of cloth for a new shirt. The merchant laid out sturdy blues and browns for his inspection, but Hiko shook his head. He had a mind to see Kenshin in some bright color, after the months of gray and white.

"That one," he pointed.

"The scarlet twill?" The clerk looked doubtful at Hiko's choice, but brought the fabric to the counter to show him the heavy weave. "It's an imported fabric from England. Too fine for a boy his age."

"Brown is probably more practical," Kenshin suggested, stroking the fabric wistfully. The inside of his wrist was luminous against the dark red.

"The red," Hiko stated emphatically.

When the shirt was finished everyone agreed that Kenshin made a fine figure in it. The tailor's daughter, a superior young lady who wore her kimono with a great air, condescended to adjust the draping in a smarter way. Kenshin looked embarrassed at the attention, yet secretly pleased.

Hiko ribbed Kenshin mercilessly for being a peasant at heart with his love of gaudy colors, blithely ignoring the fact that he had insisted on the fabric in the first place, and that the mantle of Hiten-Mitsugi-Ryu was lined in almost the same shade. Kenshin, regarding his new shirt with something like awe, only nodded in a daze.

Once home Hiko found a length of silk cord and put Kenshin's hair up properly in a smooth topknot. He turned him around to judge the result of his handiwork. The style transformed Kenshin's face from that of a child to a man. It brought out the tilt of his eyes and the grace of his features.

Abruptly he dropped his hands. "You'll do," he nodded, and gave Kenshin a hearty thump on the back. "You still have some time to practice before dinner."

"Like this?"

"Yes, like that. Stop acting like a country girl who doesn't know how to walk in a new pair of sandals."

Kenshin still looked hesitant.

"Go! Now!"

Kenshin took off through the door. Hiko sat by himself for a while, thinking things about his young student that he had no business thinking of, and cursing himself for being thrice the fool.

In the late spring, when the new growth in the forest had turned dark and lush, Katsura Kogoro came up the mountain. He picked up Hiko's bottle and drank, with all the familiarity of an old friend, and settled down with Hiko to watch Kenshin.

In the fading sunlight Kenshin appeared gilded with a halo of fire. His hair was a living flame. His arm and sword circumscribed a perfect trajectory through the air, every line of him beautiful, from the slender turn of ankle to the set of his hips to the sheen of his hair in the light.

When Kenshin finished he came over, looking at their guest with interest. Upon hearing Katsura's name his eyes widened. Not liking the touch of hero-worship in his eyes, Hiko sent him to fetch water for tea.

"He has fine form," Katsura said, when Kenshin took off with obvious reluctance. "I did not think you had it in you to make a good teacher."

Hiko harrumphed, not rising to the bait. He mistrusted the speculative gleam in Katsura's eyes as he watched Kenshin's retreating figure. The man was the most dangerous of all idealists: the kind that planned like a realist. He thought he knew what Katsura wanted from him. He had expected impassioned pleading, appeals to his position and his honor. But Katsura reminisced with him about their misspent youth in Edo, and then talked a bit about the situation in Kyoto.

"I have given up on converting you," Katsura said, brushing aside Hiko's suspicions.

Kenshin, coming in with the water, caught the last sentence. "Why?"

Katsura gave an exaggerated sigh, "your master is the strongest warrior in Japan, but also the most stubborn. He would not lend his strength to our cause."

"You do not need the strongest," Kenshin said, "what use is strength if it is willing to serve no one?"

"Well said, young Kenshin," Katsura applauded. "Your student is wiser than you are, Hiko," he told him.

Before leaving he stopped before Kenshin, "when you know your mind, come to see me, Kenshin."

Hiko watched him leave with narrowed eyes.

"Well? What do you have to say about that?" he asked Kenshin once Katsura was gone, thinking that they might as well get the inevitable argument over with.

Kenshin shook his head. "If someone as wise as Katsura-dono could not persuade you, then I wouldn't try."

Hiko looked at Kenshin with complete astonishment, wondering if perhaps Katsura was right. True to his words, Kenshin did not speak to him about the Ishinshishi again. The summer passed away quietly, in spite of the increasing unrest in the surrounding countryside. But sometimes, at sunset, Hiko would look up, and fancy that he saw the shadow of Katsura standing at the edge of the wood, watching Kenshin's progress with a quiet satisfied smile.

When the foliage just started to turn, Kenshin put his few belongings together and quietly announced that he was leaving. There was no need to ask where or whom. Hiko, caught between fear for Kenshin and anger at Katsura, was in no mood to hear reason; and whatever regret Kenshin might have felt in leaving so abruptly disappeared before his master's wrath. The argument went steadily from bad to worse. At last Hiko drew his sword, and invited Kenshin on with a disdainful motion of his hand.

"If you are so eager to die, I can do you the favor."

Kenshin came at him with the mad ferocity of the very young and the very determined, leaving himself wide open in his headlong rush.

"Fool!" Hiko cried, and moved in, thinking that Kenshin will have to let go of his sword to avoid getting his hand taken off.

He realized he had underestimated Kenshin's desperation. He ignored Hiko's thrust, intent on completing his attack. Cursing all stupid and ungrateful students to perdition, Hiko wrenched his sword back by main force, and knocked Kenshin up and out with a backhand thrust of the hilt.

Hiko was livid with anger and fear. "Have I taught you nothing? I thought you were merely young and foolish, but I did not think you would throw away your life like that."

Kenshin wiped away the trickle of blood on his face. Hiko took a step back at the look in his eyes.

"Master, I always thought that in spite of your arrogance, you did care about other people. But now I see I was wrong. Your pride means more to you than other people's lives."

Kenshin's words had the impact of a punch to the gut. For a moment all Hiko could hear was the roar of blood in his ear.

"If that is how you feel, then do not call me master again," he spitted out. He ignored Kenshin's anguished cry, and went into the house, shutting the door between himself and Kenshin. He poured himself some sake, but tasted none of it. His hands shook around the sake cup. He sat still until the moon rose, casting strange shadows against the lattice of the door. The room was closed and stifling. He went to open the door, then froze, rendered into immobility by the sight that greated his eyes.

In the moonlight Kenshin knelt before him, head bowed to the ground. His nape was exposed, and gleamed very white. There was a faint tremor in his fingers. His shoulders tensed when the door opened, but he did not raise his head or change his position. He must have stayed so for hours.

Hiko heaved a great sigh. Relieve and confusion have robbed him of all words. Silently cursing himself for a fool, he took hold of Kenshin, and pulled him up into his arms.

Kenshin's body was taut as a bowstring. His flesh seemed to burn with fever, yet his hands were cold like ice. Hiko ran his hand gently over his shoulders and back, feeling the uncontrollable trembling in the body he held. By degrees Kenshin relaxed into his touch. The shivers grew fewer, and less frequent. Kenshin's arms rose to rest around his neck hesitantly. And he felt him sigh, finally, like a long-held breath, his shoulders relaxing against Hiko's.

"Come on," Hiko said, and led him inside. There was never many words between them. So he bent and brushed his mouth lightly across Kenshin's, asking. He knew that nothing had been settled, and he had almost ruined whatever they had between them. But Kenshin replied in kind, with sweet, inexperienced lips, being young and foolish, and more generous than Hiko ever could be.

He felt his own reactions getting out of control then. He eased Kenshin's clothes open and off. Kenshin had very little trouble taking cues, drawing his legs up and apart at a slight nudge, though his eyes showed a touch of apprehension as Hiko reached for the lamp oil to ease his entry. He was careful going into Kenshin, with about the last control he had.

Kenshin went utterly still. His face and body were tense with pain. He did not struggle against Hiko, but his hands fisted on the mat until his knuckles turned white.

"Breathe. It'll be better presently." Hiko told him. He sought to distract him with another kiss, delving into the soft mouth this time, comforting him with warm lips and tongue. When Kenshin breathed easier, he held the great violet eyes with his own, and pushed all the way in with one smooth thrust.

Kenshin tossed his head back with a strangled moan. His body convulsed. Hiko sealed his lips over the perfect soundless "o" of his month, and started to move. When Kenshin started to rock against him experimentally, he gave up the last of his control, and pounded helplessly into the tight passage. He finished faster than he would have wanted, but Kenshin wrapped strong legs and arms around him and just held him, for a long, long time. Finally, realizing he was lying on him, Hiko eased over and held him the same way, gently.

He touched his hand to Kenshin's lips, feeling them move silently against his fingers. He thought he knew what he was saying: too separate, too different; and both about the same. There was nothing that this could settle. It just started things, that was all, and made matters more complicated than they had ever been.

They drifted in and out of sleep. Sometime in the middle of the night they woke, and made love again. He was not sure who had started it. Certainly he needed no excuses when Kenshin pressed close to him, warm and pliant with sleep. Hiko had been concerned that he would be too sore, but Kenshin wrapped his body sinuously around him, and persuaded him otherwise. He went slowly this time, taking care to give Kenshin the pleasure that he was sure he had missed the first time.

"Shishou", Kenshin moaned, drawing the word out in a sibilant sound of pleasure when Hiko eased into him. He was still moist and soft inside. It was like being immersed in the sun-warmed water of the creek in the summer. Pleasure followed upon another like waves lapping on the bank. Their bodies undulated against each other, flowed and segued onto one, until they shuddered into a finish together.

Afterward Kenshin tightened his arms around his neck, hard, with his considerable strength-not hurtful: trying, Hiko thought, to say things too complicated to explain. And he embraced the boy gently, a little pressure of his arms, thinking things too complicated to say to anyone that young and that old.

He lay awake until the sky turned pale, and got Kenshin up. He dress Kenshin with his own hands, neatly and efficiently, then pulled his hair back in a proper topknot. When Hiko was finished he held Kenshin at arm's length to inspect his handiwork. In the dawn's light his eyes were dark and fatigued, his lips the color of bruised sakura. Hiko did not allow his thoughts to stray.

"Get off my mountain, then," he told Kenshin, and made to cuff him, but turned it into a light touch at the last second.

Kenshin's eyes widened, then turned suspiciously bright. He knelt, and bowed low to the floor.

"Go! Now!"

After he left Hiko got up, and sat on the porch with some sake, as was his wont. The leaves on the tip of branches were turning red with the coming of fall. Soon it will be winter.

Ukiyoe are Japanese prints depicting scenes from the floating world. They are usually charming pictures showing the everyday life of courtesans, geisha and actors.

Raku is a pottery technique in which the pottery, after being glazed and heated, is cooled rapidly using a variety of methods, to give the glaze a crackled effect.