Mighty on the Earth (Hunter x Hunter, 5/5)
Mighty on the Earth
~ A Hunter x Hunter Fic ~
by aishuu
Rating: PG-13 for violence
Summary: Once upon a time, Kurapica lived in happiness with his people. Life among the Kurata tribe, and their doom.
First part, Second part, Third Part, Fourth Part
Part 5:
It was a week on foot to the nearest town. He knew that it was to the west, since that was the way Takota always arrived from. If he was lucky, he would find the old man there. If not... well, he'd find Takota somehow. He was the only person left alive that Kurapica could call a friend.
The town was called Rondon, and it was larger than anything Kurapica had ever imagined. It was pushing twilight, and the streetlights were beginning to flicker on. Had he not been so shell-shocked, he would have paused in wonder at his surroundings. Instead, he pushed on, looking for some kind of official place that would be able to provide him guidance.
He didn't know what he was going to do. This world was alien to him, and there might be others out there, looking for the scattered remains of his tribe. Keep calm, he told himself. Let no one see the color of his eyes in anger.
The buildings were taller than he was used to, and the streets were paved. He hadn't gone through the Kurata's course on traveling in the outside world, so all he had to draw on was information in the books Takota had brought him. Large towns did not have village elders to discipline their people; in large towns, people did not all know each other.
He was all-too-aware of the attention he was drawing. Kurata tended to seem young, and their clothing styles were very different than most cultures preferred. He didn't realize that his delicate features and unusual coloring were the cause of most of the stares, some more lascivious than was deserved by a twelve-year-old.
He walked confidently, making sure his body posture said he was capable of looking after himself. The swords he wore on his hips were unusual as well, but he wanted to appear in control. He had heard that people grabbed unaccompanied children and sold them, and he didn't want to try his luck.
He wondered if Rondon was large enough to have its own police force. He was about to stop a passer-by and take his chance asking for directions, but the sight of a brick building with a sign proclaiming it the police station got his attention. He took a deep breath to find his resolve before he climbed the twelve stairs to the door, opened it and proceeded in.
It was an old room, shabby but well-loved. Faded wanted posters were hung next to out of date calenders. The permanent scent of coffee inundated the place, and he crinkled his nose involuntarily at the stale air, laden with ancient smoke from old cigarettes.
An older, grizzled-looking veteran sat inside. He was smoking a thick cigar, and his feet were up on his desk as he worked on a book of crossword puzzles. He looked up at the sound of Kurapica's footsteps. The man evaluated Kurapica's worn and unusual appearance with a single, curious look, and he settled his feet back to the floor.
"Did you lose your parents, kid?" the police officer asked, his voice gentle.
He had a kind face, Kurapica thought, and since he needed to tell someone, he opened his mouth to explain. The words came out wrong. "They're dead," he said.
The officer regarded him with pity. "How about your guardians?" Surprisingly sharp eyes considered Kurapica's outfit, and drew an obvious conclusion, that Kurapica wasn't a local. "Where are you from?" he asked, correcting himself.
"Rukuso Valley," he said. It was risky to introduce himself, but something he had to do if he ever wanted to catch his tribe's murderers. "I am Kurapica of the Kurata tribe."
The man inhaled slightly, his face losing a bit of blood. "The Kurata don't let their children out of the village," he said, trying to refute Kurapica's claims. "You don't look like you're old enough to be on your own."
"My tribe was slaughtered nearly two weeks ago," Kurapica said. He felt like he was discussing the weather, not the fate his tribe had met. The anger had faded into blessed numbness, but he realized that his rage was only sleeping, not forgotten.
The man jerked upright. "Are you serious?" he asked, and his tone conveyed urgency. Kurapica couldn't understand why; it wasn't like this man could help them get revenge. Only Kurapica could do what needed to be done, and he had the patience to wait.
"I buried them." He stared down at his tired hands, remembering the feel of the dead weight of his friends and family in them. The scratches he'd incurred from all the heavy work were healing, but still marred the otherwise perfect skin.
"What?" The man looked even more shocked.
"None of you would have known the appropriate rituals." It was a simple answer, one which would hopefully explain things without requiring Kurapika to elaborate.
"Kid... Kurapica..." The police officer seemed at a loss for words. He clearly wanted to offer comfort, but Kurapica's demeanor did not encourage it. Taking a deep breath, the man shut his eyes for a long moment before opening them again. This time, they were calmer, his natural concern replaced by professionalism. "Let me get my commanding officer, and then you can tell the full story."
The rest of the day passed in a blur, with Kurapica repeating the story over and over - first for the commanding officer, then for the mayor, and finally for the entire police squad. The words came out of his mouth easily as a song, rote repetition making his voice fall into a cadence.
As the light from the window dwindled to nothing, a switch was flicked, and an over-head lamp provided illumination using the electricity he'd always heard about. He tried not to shudder at how alien this was from his village, but a bit of his apprehension must have shown, because the police officer he met first - Kushou - looked at the mayor and shook his head slightly. "It's getting late, we should wrap this up," he said. "The kid needs to eat."
Kurapica had forgotten he hadn't eaten since arriving in Rondon. The mayor accepted this with a nod of agreement. "Kurapica, we have some places for orphans to stay. From there, we can make a plan on what would be best for you."
Kurapica shook his head, denying the offer. He didn't want to end up in some kind of system for orphans, unable to make his own choices. "I have a friend who I would like to speak to. His name is Takota, and he is a merchant."
"Do you know where he lives?" the mayor asked reasonably.
Kurapica mutely shook his head. "I'm going to find him, and see what advice he offers."
"You should hire a Hunter to find him for you," Kushou said, although not unkindly. "They'd do it the quickest."
He'd read tales of the remarkable people who devoted their lives to searching for various items and people. They were strong and respected, and even the Kurata had offered them hearth welcoming, on the rare occasions one would pass through the village. He remembered seeing one three years before, a slender man with a quick sense of humor and a strong arm. He'd helped their hunters bring in food for the winter, in return for a week of shelter.
"Where would I go to do that?" he asked.
"There's a Hunter's office branch in town. If you need, I can take you there tomorrow," Kushou said. He glanced at the mayor, looking for confirmation, which was delivered with a quick nod.
Kurapica would have liked to decline the guide, but he was new to this world and such pride would be foolish. "I thank you," he said, inclining his head. The two older men exchanged a look, but were unable to say anything else. The knowledge of the tragedy was just starting to sink in; there would be economic repercussions for Rondon, which valued the unique items the Kurata tribe produced. Not to mention the fear the general populace might feel, knowing that an entire village could be wiped out in less than an hour.
Kushou was kind, offering to help Kurapica find a place to rest for the night. It wasn't a hotel, so much as a small bed and breakfast that was on the wrong side of old. Still, the sheets were clean and the landlady was discrete, promising to not mention his presence to anyone who might ask.
That night, he dreamed of his people, happily living their lives. His mother turned and smiled at him, brushing his hair with affection as she teased him about how her little boy was all grown up. He dreamed of Olathe, telling him she was going to marry Motega, and asking him to stand beside her at the wedding. He could hear his father's voice, lifted in one of the mourning songs as Kurak smirked at him, asking if he was willing to take his eamemeohe early. He had no voice to answer any of their queries, but they all acted as though it was a foregone conclusion that he would accept their demands.
He saw all of them, and their eyes glowed at him with crimson, and they asked him if he would remember them. Some wept, but their tears were the same color as blood, falling like liquid rubies to the ground at their feet. Then Elu stepped forward, holding out the matched swords he had given Kurapica.
"Will you fight for us?" he asked.
Kurapica still couldn't speak, but that didn't prevent him from reaching out to take the weapons. He could feel all of them watching as he secured the swords to the inside of his shirt. When he woke up the next morning, he was exhausted, but his face was dry of tears.
He ended up hiring a relatively young hunter named Kaname to help him. She was barely in her twenties, a silent, red-haired woman with sharp green eyes. It only took her two days to locate Takota. He was in Madlid, a city located not too far from Rondon. Apparently that was where he had retired. Kurapica offered her a piece of his mother's jewelry in payment, which she had accepted graciously. Kurata crafts were prime trade goods now, since there would be no more.
"I took the liberty of asking him to come here," she said. "I think it would be wiser than having you travel. He should arrive tomorrow." It was the longest statement she had made since they'd met.
Kurapica offered his thanks again, and she left. It left him with a full day to himself. At loose ends, he wandered the streets of Rondon, trying to find something to do. Most people ignored him, and he felt more alone than ever. If he'd been in his village, the people would have called greetings or asked for help. He truly was anonymous in this outside world.
He discovered the town's public library. His mother had told him about the concept, explaining she'd encountered several on her eamemeohe. She'd never actually gone inside one - she possessed the tribe's customary indifference to reading - but she knew what they were. It sounded wonderful to him, the idea that books were gathered for people to share.
He entered the building tentatively, and walked into a place that would have been his fondness dream a month ago. Now he'd trade all the books in the world, just to spend another day with his people.
From floor to the ceiling, books were arranged on shelves. The room was bigger than Mâheo'o , and he realized how truly out of his depths he was. Machines glowing with a soft light - he guessed they were computers that Elu spoke of on his return - sat waiting for use. He considered trying one out, but decided that there could be a more productive use of his time.
Kurapica went to speak to the woman sitting behind a desk. She was in her late fifties and wore dull colors, but her eyes were bright with intelligence. "Can I help you, young man?" she asked, adjusting the pair of glasses she wore on her nose.
"How do I go about finding something?" he asked, hoping he didn't sound scared or overwhelmed.”
"Do you have a topic in mind?" The woman's voice was a touch softer.
"I want to research an outlaw band. Can I do that here?”
“Certainly,” the woman answered. “Are you familiar with the internet?”
He shook his head negatively. “I prefer books.”
That made her laugh. “That's unusual, most boys your age...” Her eyes focused on his mode of dress, and then she gasped, pressing her hand against her lips as she recognized him. “Oh. Oh,” she said. “Kurata. Yes, I know what you're looking for.” She rose to her feet, and gestured for him to follow her. “I'm sorry for your loss, Kurata-san.”
He wondered how far his story had spread, if this stranger could identify him. If she knew who he was, it was possible that the Spiders would hear rumors of his survival. He knew that would annoy them, since they were the type to be thorough. Rather than fear that threat, he found a part of himself eager. He hoped they'd come back. When they did, he would be ready for them.
“Thank you,” he replied, nodding his head. He didn't know what the proper way to address her; outsiders put more value on formality than his tribe had. They only had one name each, unlike the outsiders who had two.
She wove through the shelves with the grace a spider uses while creating a web. After the third turn, Kurapica felt thoroughly lost, but at least she seemed to know where she was going. He was just starting to wonder if they'd get lost forever in the stacks when she stopped abruptly, almost causing him to run into her.
She was short enough that he came up to her shoulder. She was the first person he'd met since leaving the village that didn't tower above him. “This is a year old so it's a little out of date, but it should help you,” she said.
She pulled a blue hardcover off the shelf, handing it to him. "If you want to borrow it, we can get you a library card."
As soon as he saw the title, he nodded. "Yes. Yes I would."
He went back to his lodging, trying to move at a sedate pace when all he wanted to do was immediately sit down and read the thin volume he'd "checked out." After turning down an offer of cookies and milk from the landlady, he found a comfortable perch on a window seat in his room. Even though there was electricity available, he preferred to read by sunlight.
The Genei Ryodan of Ryuusaigan was a brief, rather sensationalist chronicle of a group of rogues that was comprised of thieves, killers and mercenaries. The author hadn't been able to get much factual information on the group - only on the destruction they left behind them. According to the book, there was only thirteen individuals, but each of them was strong enough to bring down an army alone.
Unlike usual, he didn't bother to savor the reading of this book. He read quickly, his memory burning every detail into his mind. He saw a sketch of a spider with a number at its center, and his heartbeat quickened, and he starting to gasp for breath.
Until this moment, seeing the words in front of him in black and white, he hadn't been truly able to believe in the people that had destroyed his tribe could be real. Masscacreing the whole Kurata tribe without taking a single casualty was unbelievable; maybe a part of him had hoped that the massacre had just been a nightmare, and he was still dreaming.
He wished he hadn't been such a coward. A part of him wished he'd died with his family.
The light from the window started to dim, but Kurapica only noticed when he had to start squinting to read the pages. His landlady knocked on the door a half an hour later, only to find him slumped in sleep against the window, the stress of the last few days taking their toll.
The next morning, Kurapica sat in front of the police station, politely declining the occasional offer of companionship. The police officers were concerned about him and kept dropping by, asking if he'd like a snack or wanted to talk. He refused all their requests politely, burying his head in the book as he reread it.
It wasn't until the middle of the afternoon that the hum of an engine jerked Kurapica's attention from his reverie. Glancing up, he watched as Takota came into sight. He set the book aside, rising to his feet and staring as the trader pulled to a stop.
Takota didn't look older than Kurapika remembered, but he did look different. There were no horses with him; instead, he straddled an impressive motorcycle, wearing a sleek black helmet that was polished to a high shine, bearing a series of XX's on it that made something in the back of Kurapica's mind ping in recognition. The XX's were like the ones on the back of the card Kaname had produced to prove her identity.
The man pulled to a stop in front on him, and lifted the visor on his helmut. His face took on a troubled look. "Kurapica?" the man said. "What are you doing here? I had a message that a Kurata lad was looking for me, but I assumed it would be Elu...”
Kurapica was trying to reconcile this man with the merchant whom had always visited his tribe. This man looked like he belonged to the outside world, not the trader who had once been a friend to his people. Had he been an idiot to seek him out? What if Takota had sold information to the Genei Ryodan to help in the attack? What if...
Taking a deep breath, he looked directly into the old man's eyes. Takota's eyes were what decided him. They were kind and concerned. Kurapica decided he had to trust someone.
"We were attacked, and everyone was killed," Kurapica said, proud that he spoke without his voice breaking.
Takota took a surprised, deep breath. Kurapica was startled to see tears start to flow silently down the old man's cheeks. The man slid off the motorcycle quickly, and before Kurapica realized what was happening, he was wrapped in a warm embrace.
"My poor, poor child," Takota said, and his hand rubbed Kurapica's back reassuringly.
Had Kurapica not already cried himself out several times, he would have probably broken down due to the man's compassion. Instead he wrapped his arms around Takota's back, savoring the warmth of another person who cared about him. The man smelled like petrol and pine, the scent of a man who traveled many roads. He savored the warmth of a human who cared for him, then pulled himself together.
"I just... thought you should know," Kurapica said, pulling back. He didn't know what he wanted from Takota, but he was the only person who knew Kurapika's people and had cared for them.
Takota was wise, and only asked one question. "What are you going to do, boy?"
There were so many answers he could have made. He decided to tell the truth. "I'm going to kill them, and get my tribe's eyes back," he said softly. "My people can't rest until I reclaim what was taken."
Rather than condemn Kurapika for his bloody agenda, Takota thought carefully before speaking. "I'll take care of you, Kurapica," Takota offered.
Kurapika opened his mouth to protest that he didn't need a guadian, but Takota held up a hand to stop him.
"I was an information hunter," Takota said. He flashed a red card quickly in Kurapica's line of sight. "I wanted to know everything about the world, and becoming a merchant worked well. I got to travel all over, and I met many wonderful people, including your tribe.
"If you really want to hunt down an enemy strong enough to kill all of the Kurata, you're going to need resources and training. You're going to need to become a Hunter. There's all kinds of hunters, but I think you'd want to look into becoming a Blacklist Hunter."
"A Blacklist Hunter," Kurapika echoed.
"It will give you the power to seek your enemies," Takota said. "But you should know that it's a brutal, nasty path. Blacklist Hunters see the worst of humanity, and seldom die of old age. Once you kill a man, there will be no going back."
"The decision was made for me already, Takota," Kurapica said.
Takota went over to his motorcycle, lifting the seat and retreiving a spare helmet, which he tossed to Kurapica. The last of the Kurata caught it, staring at the older man. "Get your things, then," Takota said. "If this is the road you want to take, I will help you pursue it."
In the stories, people always rode off into the sunset after a story had been completed. Perhaps Kurapika had ended one chapter of his life, but that didn't mean he was finished. He would find vengeance for his people, since there was nothing else he could offer them.
As long as he lived, the Kurata would exist.
Sun in the sky, trees on the ground.
Our bodies created from the earth.
Our souls from the heavens.
The sun and moon shines on our limbs,
And the ground moistens our body,
Giving this body to the wind that blows,
Thank God for the miracle,
And the Kuruta territories.
Wishing for everlasting peace in our souls,
I desire to share happiness with my people,
And desire to share their sadness.
God, please praise eternally,
The Kuruta people.
Let us use our Scarlet Eyes.
~ A Hunter x Hunter Fic ~
by aishuu
Rating: PG-13 for violence
Summary: Once upon a time, Kurapica lived in happiness with his people. Life among the Kurata tribe, and their doom.
First part, Second part, Third Part, Fourth Part
Part 5:
It was a week on foot to the nearest town. He knew that it was to the west, since that was the way Takota always arrived from. If he was lucky, he would find the old man there. If not... well, he'd find Takota somehow. He was the only person left alive that Kurapica could call a friend.
The town was called Rondon, and it was larger than anything Kurapica had ever imagined. It was pushing twilight, and the streetlights were beginning to flicker on. Had he not been so shell-shocked, he would have paused in wonder at his surroundings. Instead, he pushed on, looking for some kind of official place that would be able to provide him guidance.
He didn't know what he was going to do. This world was alien to him, and there might be others out there, looking for the scattered remains of his tribe. Keep calm, he told himself. Let no one see the color of his eyes in anger.
The buildings were taller than he was used to, and the streets were paved. He hadn't gone through the Kurata's course on traveling in the outside world, so all he had to draw on was information in the books Takota had brought him. Large towns did not have village elders to discipline their people; in large towns, people did not all know each other.
He was all-too-aware of the attention he was drawing. Kurata tended to seem young, and their clothing styles were very different than most cultures preferred. He didn't realize that his delicate features and unusual coloring were the cause of most of the stares, some more lascivious than was deserved by a twelve-year-old.
He walked confidently, making sure his body posture said he was capable of looking after himself. The swords he wore on his hips were unusual as well, but he wanted to appear in control. He had heard that people grabbed unaccompanied children and sold them, and he didn't want to try his luck.
He wondered if Rondon was large enough to have its own police force. He was about to stop a passer-by and take his chance asking for directions, but the sight of a brick building with a sign proclaiming it the police station got his attention. He took a deep breath to find his resolve before he climbed the twelve stairs to the door, opened it and proceeded in.
It was an old room, shabby but well-loved. Faded wanted posters were hung next to out of date calenders. The permanent scent of coffee inundated the place, and he crinkled his nose involuntarily at the stale air, laden with ancient smoke from old cigarettes.
An older, grizzled-looking veteran sat inside. He was smoking a thick cigar, and his feet were up on his desk as he worked on a book of crossword puzzles. He looked up at the sound of Kurapica's footsteps. The man evaluated Kurapica's worn and unusual appearance with a single, curious look, and he settled his feet back to the floor.
"Did you lose your parents, kid?" the police officer asked, his voice gentle.
He had a kind face, Kurapica thought, and since he needed to tell someone, he opened his mouth to explain. The words came out wrong. "They're dead," he said.
The officer regarded him with pity. "How about your guardians?" Surprisingly sharp eyes considered Kurapica's outfit, and drew an obvious conclusion, that Kurapica wasn't a local. "Where are you from?" he asked, correcting himself.
"Rukuso Valley," he said. It was risky to introduce himself, but something he had to do if he ever wanted to catch his tribe's murderers. "I am Kurapica of the Kurata tribe."
The man inhaled slightly, his face losing a bit of blood. "The Kurata don't let their children out of the village," he said, trying to refute Kurapica's claims. "You don't look like you're old enough to be on your own."
"My tribe was slaughtered nearly two weeks ago," Kurapica said. He felt like he was discussing the weather, not the fate his tribe had met. The anger had faded into blessed numbness, but he realized that his rage was only sleeping, not forgotten.
The man jerked upright. "Are you serious?" he asked, and his tone conveyed urgency. Kurapica couldn't understand why; it wasn't like this man could help them get revenge. Only Kurapica could do what needed to be done, and he had the patience to wait.
"I buried them." He stared down at his tired hands, remembering the feel of the dead weight of his friends and family in them. The scratches he'd incurred from all the heavy work were healing, but still marred the otherwise perfect skin.
"What?" The man looked even more shocked.
"None of you would have known the appropriate rituals." It was a simple answer, one which would hopefully explain things without requiring Kurapika to elaborate.
"Kid... Kurapica..." The police officer seemed at a loss for words. He clearly wanted to offer comfort, but Kurapica's demeanor did not encourage it. Taking a deep breath, the man shut his eyes for a long moment before opening them again. This time, they were calmer, his natural concern replaced by professionalism. "Let me get my commanding officer, and then you can tell the full story."
The rest of the day passed in a blur, with Kurapica repeating the story over and over - first for the commanding officer, then for the mayor, and finally for the entire police squad. The words came out of his mouth easily as a song, rote repetition making his voice fall into a cadence.
As the light from the window dwindled to nothing, a switch was flicked, and an over-head lamp provided illumination using the electricity he'd always heard about. He tried not to shudder at how alien this was from his village, but a bit of his apprehension must have shown, because the police officer he met first - Kushou - looked at the mayor and shook his head slightly. "It's getting late, we should wrap this up," he said. "The kid needs to eat."
Kurapica had forgotten he hadn't eaten since arriving in Rondon. The mayor accepted this with a nod of agreement. "Kurapica, we have some places for orphans to stay. From there, we can make a plan on what would be best for you."
Kurapica shook his head, denying the offer. He didn't want to end up in some kind of system for orphans, unable to make his own choices. "I have a friend who I would like to speak to. His name is Takota, and he is a merchant."
"Do you know where he lives?" the mayor asked reasonably.
Kurapica mutely shook his head. "I'm going to find him, and see what advice he offers."
"You should hire a Hunter to find him for you," Kushou said, although not unkindly. "They'd do it the quickest."
He'd read tales of the remarkable people who devoted their lives to searching for various items and people. They were strong and respected, and even the Kurata had offered them hearth welcoming, on the rare occasions one would pass through the village. He remembered seeing one three years before, a slender man with a quick sense of humor and a strong arm. He'd helped their hunters bring in food for the winter, in return for a week of shelter.
"Where would I go to do that?" he asked.
"There's a Hunter's office branch in town. If you need, I can take you there tomorrow," Kushou said. He glanced at the mayor, looking for confirmation, which was delivered with a quick nod.
Kurapica would have liked to decline the guide, but he was new to this world and such pride would be foolish. "I thank you," he said, inclining his head. The two older men exchanged a look, but were unable to say anything else. The knowledge of the tragedy was just starting to sink in; there would be economic repercussions for Rondon, which valued the unique items the Kurata tribe produced. Not to mention the fear the general populace might feel, knowing that an entire village could be wiped out in less than an hour.
Kushou was kind, offering to help Kurapica find a place to rest for the night. It wasn't a hotel, so much as a small bed and breakfast that was on the wrong side of old. Still, the sheets were clean and the landlady was discrete, promising to not mention his presence to anyone who might ask.
That night, he dreamed of his people, happily living their lives. His mother turned and smiled at him, brushing his hair with affection as she teased him about how her little boy was all grown up. He dreamed of Olathe, telling him she was going to marry Motega, and asking him to stand beside her at the wedding. He could hear his father's voice, lifted in one of the mourning songs as Kurak smirked at him, asking if he was willing to take his eamemeohe early. He had no voice to answer any of their queries, but they all acted as though it was a foregone conclusion that he would accept their demands.
He saw all of them, and their eyes glowed at him with crimson, and they asked him if he would remember them. Some wept, but their tears were the same color as blood, falling like liquid rubies to the ground at their feet. Then Elu stepped forward, holding out the matched swords he had given Kurapica.
"Will you fight for us?" he asked.
Kurapica still couldn't speak, but that didn't prevent him from reaching out to take the weapons. He could feel all of them watching as he secured the swords to the inside of his shirt. When he woke up the next morning, he was exhausted, but his face was dry of tears.
He ended up hiring a relatively young hunter named Kaname to help him. She was barely in her twenties, a silent, red-haired woman with sharp green eyes. It only took her two days to locate Takota. He was in Madlid, a city located not too far from Rondon. Apparently that was where he had retired. Kurapica offered her a piece of his mother's jewelry in payment, which she had accepted graciously. Kurata crafts were prime trade goods now, since there would be no more.
"I took the liberty of asking him to come here," she said. "I think it would be wiser than having you travel. He should arrive tomorrow." It was the longest statement she had made since they'd met.
Kurapica offered his thanks again, and she left. It left him with a full day to himself. At loose ends, he wandered the streets of Rondon, trying to find something to do. Most people ignored him, and he felt more alone than ever. If he'd been in his village, the people would have called greetings or asked for help. He truly was anonymous in this outside world.
He discovered the town's public library. His mother had told him about the concept, explaining she'd encountered several on her eamemeohe. She'd never actually gone inside one - she possessed the tribe's customary indifference to reading - but she knew what they were. It sounded wonderful to him, the idea that books were gathered for people to share.
He entered the building tentatively, and walked into a place that would have been his fondness dream a month ago. Now he'd trade all the books in the world, just to spend another day with his people.
From floor to the ceiling, books were arranged on shelves. The room was bigger than Mâheo'o , and he realized how truly out of his depths he was. Machines glowing with a soft light - he guessed they were computers that Elu spoke of on his return - sat waiting for use. He considered trying one out, but decided that there could be a more productive use of his time.
Kurapica went to speak to the woman sitting behind a desk. She was in her late fifties and wore dull colors, but her eyes were bright with intelligence. "Can I help you, young man?" she asked, adjusting the pair of glasses she wore on her nose.
"How do I go about finding something?" he asked, hoping he didn't sound scared or overwhelmed.”
"Do you have a topic in mind?" The woman's voice was a touch softer.
"I want to research an outlaw band. Can I do that here?”
“Certainly,” the woman answered. “Are you familiar with the internet?”
He shook his head negatively. “I prefer books.”
That made her laugh. “That's unusual, most boys your age...” Her eyes focused on his mode of dress, and then she gasped, pressing her hand against her lips as she recognized him. “Oh. Oh,” she said. “Kurata. Yes, I know what you're looking for.” She rose to her feet, and gestured for him to follow her. “I'm sorry for your loss, Kurata-san.”
He wondered how far his story had spread, if this stranger could identify him. If she knew who he was, it was possible that the Spiders would hear rumors of his survival. He knew that would annoy them, since they were the type to be thorough. Rather than fear that threat, he found a part of himself eager. He hoped they'd come back. When they did, he would be ready for them.
“Thank you,” he replied, nodding his head. He didn't know what the proper way to address her; outsiders put more value on formality than his tribe had. They only had one name each, unlike the outsiders who had two.
She wove through the shelves with the grace a spider uses while creating a web. After the third turn, Kurapica felt thoroughly lost, but at least she seemed to know where she was going. He was just starting to wonder if they'd get lost forever in the stacks when she stopped abruptly, almost causing him to run into her.
She was short enough that he came up to her shoulder. She was the first person he'd met since leaving the village that didn't tower above him. “This is a year old so it's a little out of date, but it should help you,” she said.
She pulled a blue hardcover off the shelf, handing it to him. "If you want to borrow it, we can get you a library card."
As soon as he saw the title, he nodded. "Yes. Yes I would."
He went back to his lodging, trying to move at a sedate pace when all he wanted to do was immediately sit down and read the thin volume he'd "checked out." After turning down an offer of cookies and milk from the landlady, he found a comfortable perch on a window seat in his room. Even though there was electricity available, he preferred to read by sunlight.
The Genei Ryodan of Ryuusaigan was a brief, rather sensationalist chronicle of a group of rogues that was comprised of thieves, killers and mercenaries. The author hadn't been able to get much factual information on the group - only on the destruction they left behind them. According to the book, there was only thirteen individuals, but each of them was strong enough to bring down an army alone.
Unlike usual, he didn't bother to savor the reading of this book. He read quickly, his memory burning every detail into his mind. He saw a sketch of a spider with a number at its center, and his heartbeat quickened, and he starting to gasp for breath.
Until this moment, seeing the words in front of him in black and white, he hadn't been truly able to believe in the people that had destroyed his tribe could be real. Masscacreing the whole Kurata tribe without taking a single casualty was unbelievable; maybe a part of him had hoped that the massacre had just been a nightmare, and he was still dreaming.
He wished he hadn't been such a coward. A part of him wished he'd died with his family.
The light from the window started to dim, but Kurapica only noticed when he had to start squinting to read the pages. His landlady knocked on the door a half an hour later, only to find him slumped in sleep against the window, the stress of the last few days taking their toll.
The next morning, Kurapica sat in front of the police station, politely declining the occasional offer of companionship. The police officers were concerned about him and kept dropping by, asking if he'd like a snack or wanted to talk. He refused all their requests politely, burying his head in the book as he reread it.
It wasn't until the middle of the afternoon that the hum of an engine jerked Kurapica's attention from his reverie. Glancing up, he watched as Takota came into sight. He set the book aside, rising to his feet and staring as the trader pulled to a stop.
Takota didn't look older than Kurapika remembered, but he did look different. There were no horses with him; instead, he straddled an impressive motorcycle, wearing a sleek black helmet that was polished to a high shine, bearing a series of XX's on it that made something in the back of Kurapica's mind ping in recognition. The XX's were like the ones on the back of the card Kaname had produced to prove her identity.
The man pulled to a stop in front on him, and lifted the visor on his helmut. His face took on a troubled look. "Kurapica?" the man said. "What are you doing here? I had a message that a Kurata lad was looking for me, but I assumed it would be Elu...”
Kurapica was trying to reconcile this man with the merchant whom had always visited his tribe. This man looked like he belonged to the outside world, not the trader who had once been a friend to his people. Had he been an idiot to seek him out? What if Takota had sold information to the Genei Ryodan to help in the attack? What if...
Taking a deep breath, he looked directly into the old man's eyes. Takota's eyes were what decided him. They were kind and concerned. Kurapica decided he had to trust someone.
"We were attacked, and everyone was killed," Kurapica said, proud that he spoke without his voice breaking.
Takota took a surprised, deep breath. Kurapica was startled to see tears start to flow silently down the old man's cheeks. The man slid off the motorcycle quickly, and before Kurapica realized what was happening, he was wrapped in a warm embrace.
"My poor, poor child," Takota said, and his hand rubbed Kurapica's back reassuringly.
Had Kurapica not already cried himself out several times, he would have probably broken down due to the man's compassion. Instead he wrapped his arms around Takota's back, savoring the warmth of another person who cared about him. The man smelled like petrol and pine, the scent of a man who traveled many roads. He savored the warmth of a human who cared for him, then pulled himself together.
"I just... thought you should know," Kurapica said, pulling back. He didn't know what he wanted from Takota, but he was the only person who knew Kurapika's people and had cared for them.
Takota was wise, and only asked one question. "What are you going to do, boy?"
There were so many answers he could have made. He decided to tell the truth. "I'm going to kill them, and get my tribe's eyes back," he said softly. "My people can't rest until I reclaim what was taken."
Rather than condemn Kurapika for his bloody agenda, Takota thought carefully before speaking. "I'll take care of you, Kurapica," Takota offered.
Kurapika opened his mouth to protest that he didn't need a guadian, but Takota held up a hand to stop him.
"I was an information hunter," Takota said. He flashed a red card quickly in Kurapica's line of sight. "I wanted to know everything about the world, and becoming a merchant worked well. I got to travel all over, and I met many wonderful people, including your tribe.
"If you really want to hunt down an enemy strong enough to kill all of the Kurata, you're going to need resources and training. You're going to need to become a Hunter. There's all kinds of hunters, but I think you'd want to look into becoming a Blacklist Hunter."
"A Blacklist Hunter," Kurapika echoed.
"It will give you the power to seek your enemies," Takota said. "But you should know that it's a brutal, nasty path. Blacklist Hunters see the worst of humanity, and seldom die of old age. Once you kill a man, there will be no going back."
"The decision was made for me already, Takota," Kurapica said.
Takota went over to his motorcycle, lifting the seat and retreiving a spare helmet, which he tossed to Kurapica. The last of the Kurata caught it, staring at the older man. "Get your things, then," Takota said. "If this is the road you want to take, I will help you pursue it."
In the stories, people always rode off into the sunset after a story had been completed. Perhaps Kurapika had ended one chapter of his life, but that didn't mean he was finished. He would find vengeance for his people, since there was nothing else he could offer them.
As long as he lived, the Kurata would exist.
Sun in the sky, trees on the ground.
Our bodies created from the earth.
Our souls from the heavens.
The sun and moon shines on our limbs,
And the ground moistens our body,
Giving this body to the wind that blows,
Thank God for the miracle,
And the Kuruta territories.
Wishing for everlasting peace in our souls,
I desire to share happiness with my people,
And desire to share their sadness.
God, please praise eternally,
The Kuruta people.
Let us use our Scarlet Eyes.