LIFE AND DEATH, LOVE AND HATE
by Ronin Fox


People could hear Sakurai Hanada's anguished screams from a mile away.

The child that she had brought into the world bawled ceaselessly as it drew its first breaths of air into its lungs. It was beautiful -- its face a rosy, healthy pink, its features angelic, its chubby hands and feet like alabaster figures sculpted to perfection.

But all was not well.

"It is an omen ... an omen of the vilest sort!" said Shinobi Hanada, the baby's father. "I will not have this creature in my household!"

He hung his head, staring coldly at the wooden floor.

"Dispose of it," he told one of his servants.

Sakurai glanced at the infant and screamed again. Its right hand, though well formed, bore an abnormality that was believed by all of the kingdom to be an evil sign.

Seven fingers.


Sixteen years later, Shinobi had managed to free himself from the memory of the "monster child." He had devoted his life to studying the fighting arts, surpassing even the greatest of masters. His wife bore no more children; to fill the void in his life, he decided to take in a student to whom he
could pass his skills.

That was me.

Up to now I still find it amazing that he chose me, a parentless, wandering girl, to be his pupil. Unlike the other masters, he's not prejudiced against gender. I'm quite thankful for that.

My name is Taki. It was given to me by my father ... dear, dear Father. I missed him. He was with Mother now, who died when I was barely a year old. The two of them were together again at last, in the land of the spirits.
 
"Taki," I remember Shinobi saying one day. "That was the name I was to give my first child, if it were a girl..."

"And?" I folded my hands in my lap and began to listen more intently.

His expression grew cold.

"The baby was a freak. An abomination. It was cursed," he spat. "It was born with seven fingers. I ... had my servants dispose of it." He narrowed his eyes, then looked at me, his gaze immediately growing warmer. "But that is a thing of the past. You are our child now, Taki. You are more to me than my student, and I shall always be more than your teacher. Our house is your home, and it shall be for as long as you live. I have no regrets about teaching one such as you ... my beloved."
 
I blushed. Unable to think of anything to say, I sprang forward and threw my arms around him. He hugged me back lovingly, and as I laid my head upon his shoulder, I couldn't help thinking about that poor, innocent baby he had left to die.


I remember that later on in the same day, Shinobi and I took a walk by the coast to enjoy the seaside air. A young man, dressed in the garb of a rival fighting school, suddenly sprang at us from out of nowhere and swung his blade at my teacher.

I remember crying out and shoving Shinobi aside in a desperate lunge. I remember the glint of cold steel, the spreading crimson haze that was my blood, and Shinobi's piercing battle shout as he drew his katana. The assassin thrust his weapon towards my teacher, hatred and bloodlust
flashing in his eyes. Shinobi parried the blow, then as swift as lightning, dropped low into his stance and plunged his sword into his opponent's heart.

I had lost consciousness a split second later -- not from the loss of blood, but from the pain and pure, simple shock. When I awoke, I was in my house, in my bed. My arm was in a fresh linen bandage and Shinobi and Sakurai were seated by my side. Sakurai's brow furrowed in concern;
Shinobi was smiling. I gazed back at him, and in his smile, I saw radiant warmth and total love.

"My beloved," said Shinobi, gently taking me into his arms. "I am proud of you. You have shown great courage today. I owe you my life. Thank the gods that your life was spared."

He stroked my hair, and Sakurai smiled that sweet, motherly smile of hers. I tried to smile back.


That night, I stepped out of the house into the bitter blackness, letting the icy wind ruffle my robe.
 
I had to leave this house. I could not bear to deceive Shinobi and Sakurai any longer. The truth was staring me in the eye, and it burned like a blazing ember. I was trapped. If I told them about my true nature, they would disown me, throw me out of the house just as they did that innocent infant sixteen years ago; but it pierced my soul even more to have to lie to them by hiding behind my mask of normality.

I released the controls in my mind, letting my flesh melt and creep into place and my true form show ... the form that I had been forced to conceal from the rest of humanity, from those that I now loved, for fear that they would not only reject me, but hate and fear me. My true form was smaller than an average person, with strange round eyes.

I was a shape-changer. And perhaps I was being deceitful, but after the man that I called my father died, altering my form to match what other people perceived as normal meant the difference between life and death ... love and hate. I looked up at the sky and shouted at the very gods, furiously asking them why the only people who had dared to accept and care for me in spite of my imperfection had to die. When I received no answer, I fell upon my knees, striking the ground in grief.

I gazed down at my right hand, the one with the seven fingers, and wept to the heavens.