Kanata Kara fanfic
Aug. 22nd, 2005 09:07 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
sakon76For those who don't know Kanata Kara, which translates to "From Beyond" or "From Far Away," it's a fourteen-volume manga by Kyouko Hikawa. It's also known as "Fushigi Yuugi redeemed" and "the manga that everyone with a navel needs to read." It's available in translation at least up to volume five. Go read it. This story happens almost three years after volume fourteen.
Izark straightened, wiping the back of one hand across his forehead. The sun was already high and hot, but they were making good time harvesting the grain. With luck, they'd be able to get it all indoors before the rain started falling in a week.
He looked over at the next field where Noriko labored with the women, tying the stalks into neat sheaves to stand and dry in the sun as long as they could. She'd taken to the task cheerfully and he could hear her chatting with one of the other young women as she twisted long stalks together, knotting them around a sheaf. She wasn't as adept as the farm women, of course, but they'd both done this kind of work before and it showed.
Izark smiled slightly and bent back to his task, swinging the hand scythe low to catch as much stem as possible. It would be fodder and bedding for the village's beasts this winter and he had no wish to short the animals on their feed. It had been Noriko's suggestion, of course, upon hearing the the village dowser's prediction of rain, that they stop and help with the harvest. They hadn't even known then that this was the first good crop in four years and it /had/ to all come in or the village would face ruin. People would survive, of course, they always did, but it was hard to rebuild from nothing.
He wondered, suddenly, and had to bite back a smile and a laugh as he grasped another handful of stalks, what the villagers would think if they knew it was the Tenjouki and Mesame who were laboring beside them in these fields.
*
Noriko held the cup of steaming liquid in her hands and smiled delightedly, watching the villagers dance. Even after soaking in a long, hot bath her own body still ached from the two weeks' hard labor, but the village people sang and danced, ate and drank as if the rush to get in the harvest was a distant memory. Her toes tapped in time to the music and she laughed as Sayla, one of her new friends, was whirled around like a dervish by her husband Murell. Her long brown hair flew and her brightly colored skirts flashed glimpses of her calves. Outside the thunder rumbled and the rain pattered on the windows, but in here, the music and laughter drowned them out.
She took a sip of her tarinbo cider and smiled up at Izark. He was slowly eating a cluster of vela berries, which looked like grapes from her own world, except that they were flame orange instead of red or green.
He met her eyes, then set the berries back down on his plate. Standing, he extended a hand down to her, inviting, in a formal half bow. Noriko's eyes were wide as she set down her cup. "Izark, I don't know how to dance!" she protested.
"I'll teach you," he replied with a half smile, just the tiniest gleam of mischief lurking in the back of his eyes.
A glance at the festive dancers, whirling and smiling and laughing, and another at Izark's open expression had Noriko convinced. She put her hand in his (strong; safe; protecting; her first friend in this world) and let herself be pulled into the dance without another thought.
*
The rain had become a deluge by the time the festivities wound down, and not even Izark's speed could keep Noriko and him from getting wet as they crossed the yard to the granary. Noriko laughed as he set her down and brushed futilely at the damp patches on her dress. Around them was the sweet, dry smell of hay and grain.
"Do you think it will let up tomorrow?" she asked, turning toward the ladder. "I guess we really should be travelling on."
"Agol will never forgive us if we miss Geena's investiture," Izark agreed. "We can travel in the rain if needs be."
"But it's nicer if we don't have to." Noriko reached the loft and stepped off the ladder, lantern held carefully in her right hand. She turned and watched Izark climb up, lighting his way before turning to where their packs and bedrolls were laid out together.
She put the lantern down on the wooden planks and rummaged through one pack for a moment before drawing out folded cloths, one of which she handed to Izark. "Here." She took the other and began using it on herself, wiping the water off her exposed face and hands, blotting it from her hair. Izark sat on the other side of the bedding and began to work on his own, longer hair, thinking about their route and the rain and how much longer it would delay them. As it was, helping out with the harvest had cut drastically into the extra travel time they'd allowed.
Behind him he heard Noriko remove her shoes and necklace, then pull her dress over her head. His hands stilled momentarily in his hair and didn't resume until he heard her slip a dry change over her head. The sheet billowed behind Izark as she slipped into bed, and he hurridly returned his mind to his task.
Noriko's "pen," the strange quill from her own world that she used, clicked as she began writing. Most nights she wrote in her diary in the neat tiny hieroglyphics of her own language, though as she had begun learning how to write Izark's she'd started adding tutorials on that as well--whether to reinforce it to herself or to tell her family about it, Izark wasn't sure. Perhaps both.
They'd gone three times now to the golden sands beneath the forest sea, where they'd first met, where their worlds seemed to be closest to one another, and sent Noriko's diaries through along with little gifts for her family.
After the first time, to Izark's surprise there had been things waiting on the desk in her room. He had floated down, weightless like Irk and the forest spirits, to lay her package on the desk, and had been nonplussed to find a package, wrapped in a brightly colored scarf, already waiting there. He couldn't read the tag--
/It says "to Noriko,"/ she whispered, invisible, in his mind, his anchor to his own world.
The package had contained letters that she'd translated for him, a book of portraits, a golden locket with a portrait of her family within, and sweets from her world. She'd shared them with him and some of their friends who knew that the Mesame had come from another world.
Izark still didn't know what she'd found so amusing when he'd taken a tentative bite of the "Pocky."
The last time he'd crossed over to her world, though, the door to her room had slammed open just as he had been laying her package on the desk. Izark had turned, startled, to see a young man he recognized as Noriko's brother staring at him with wide eyes. "Izark...!" he'd said with the same strange pronunciation Noriko had originally used. Behind him Noriko's parents and grandfather crowded in the doorway, also staring.
"Noriko," her mother breathed, looking over Izark's left shoulder to where Noriko reached across the worlds, straining, a suggestion of a face and pair of hands surrounded by golden light.
Connected as they were, Izark could feel her struggle to close the distance, and knew she couldn't. Not yet. "Don't injure yourself, Noriko," he said softly.
She beamed at him. /I won't,/ she whispered before giving her family a small wave and wrapping her arms around Izark, drawing him back to their world. She'd been lucky he had remembered to grab her package before disappearing.
Noriko had run a low-grade fever for two days, but the presents and the excitement of seeing her family again, however briefly, had brightened her for weeks. After consideration, Izark had asked her to begin teaching him her language.
If he met her family again the next time he went across... he wanted to be able to speak with them.
Izark changed into his own sleeping clothes and got beneath the blanket, lying on his stomach as he watched Noriko write. For almost four years now....
Sensing his regard, Noriko paused in her writing and looked at Izark. "A zol for your thoughts?" she offered.
Smiling, Izark shook his head.
Noriko smiled back at him, finished her sentence, and put the pen and diary away. She leaned over, blew out the lantern with a slight huff of air, and snuggled beneath the covers.
The sound of rain and Noriko's nearby heartbeat lulled Izark to sleep.
Izark straightened, wiping the back of one hand across his forehead. The sun was already high and hot, but they were making good time harvesting the grain. With luck, they'd be able to get it all indoors before the rain started falling in a week.
He looked over at the next field where Noriko labored with the women, tying the stalks into neat sheaves to stand and dry in the sun as long as they could. She'd taken to the task cheerfully and he could hear her chatting with one of the other young women as she twisted long stalks together, knotting them around a sheaf. She wasn't as adept as the farm women, of course, but they'd both done this kind of work before and it showed.
Izark smiled slightly and bent back to his task, swinging the hand scythe low to catch as much stem as possible. It would be fodder and bedding for the village's beasts this winter and he had no wish to short the animals on their feed. It had been Noriko's suggestion, of course, upon hearing the the village dowser's prediction of rain, that they stop and help with the harvest. They hadn't even known then that this was the first good crop in four years and it /had/ to all come in or the village would face ruin. People would survive, of course, they always did, but it was hard to rebuild from nothing.
He wondered, suddenly, and had to bite back a smile and a laugh as he grasped another handful of stalks, what the villagers would think if they knew it was the Tenjouki and Mesame who were laboring beside them in these fields.
Noriko held the cup of steaming liquid in her hands and smiled delightedly, watching the villagers dance. Even after soaking in a long, hot bath her own body still ached from the two weeks' hard labor, but the village people sang and danced, ate and drank as if the rush to get in the harvest was a distant memory. Her toes tapped in time to the music and she laughed as Sayla, one of her new friends, was whirled around like a dervish by her husband Murell. Her long brown hair flew and her brightly colored skirts flashed glimpses of her calves. Outside the thunder rumbled and the rain pattered on the windows, but in here, the music and laughter drowned them out.
She took a sip of her tarinbo cider and smiled up at Izark. He was slowly eating a cluster of vela berries, which looked like grapes from her own world, except that they were flame orange instead of red or green.
He met her eyes, then set the berries back down on his plate. Standing, he extended a hand down to her, inviting, in a formal half bow. Noriko's eyes were wide as she set down her cup. "Izark, I don't know how to dance!" she protested.
"I'll teach you," he replied with a half smile, just the tiniest gleam of mischief lurking in the back of his eyes.
A glance at the festive dancers, whirling and smiling and laughing, and another at Izark's open expression had Noriko convinced. She put her hand in his (strong; safe; protecting; her first friend in this world) and let herself be pulled into the dance without another thought.
The rain had become a deluge by the time the festivities wound down, and not even Izark's speed could keep Noriko and him from getting wet as they crossed the yard to the granary. Noriko laughed as he set her down and brushed futilely at the damp patches on her dress. Around them was the sweet, dry smell of hay and grain.
"Do you think it will let up tomorrow?" she asked, turning toward the ladder. "I guess we really should be travelling on."
"Agol will never forgive us if we miss Geena's investiture," Izark agreed. "We can travel in the rain if needs be."
"But it's nicer if we don't have to." Noriko reached the loft and stepped off the ladder, lantern held carefully in her right hand. She turned and watched Izark climb up, lighting his way before turning to where their packs and bedrolls were laid out together.
She put the lantern down on the wooden planks and rummaged through one pack for a moment before drawing out folded cloths, one of which she handed to Izark. "Here." She took the other and began using it on herself, wiping the water off her exposed face and hands, blotting it from her hair. Izark sat on the other side of the bedding and began to work on his own, longer hair, thinking about their route and the rain and how much longer it would delay them. As it was, helping out with the harvest had cut drastically into the extra travel time they'd allowed.
Behind him he heard Noriko remove her shoes and necklace, then pull her dress over her head. His hands stilled momentarily in his hair and didn't resume until he heard her slip a dry change over her head. The sheet billowed behind Izark as she slipped into bed, and he hurridly returned his mind to his task.
Noriko's "pen," the strange quill from her own world that she used, clicked as she began writing. Most nights she wrote in her diary in the neat tiny hieroglyphics of her own language, though as she had begun learning how to write Izark's she'd started adding tutorials on that as well--whether to reinforce it to herself or to tell her family about it, Izark wasn't sure. Perhaps both.
They'd gone three times now to the golden sands beneath the forest sea, where they'd first met, where their worlds seemed to be closest to one another, and sent Noriko's diaries through along with little gifts for her family.
After the first time, to Izark's surprise there had been things waiting on the desk in her room. He had floated down, weightless like Irk and the forest spirits, to lay her package on the desk, and had been nonplussed to find a package, wrapped in a brightly colored scarf, already waiting there. He couldn't read the tag--
/It says "to Noriko,"/ she whispered, invisible, in his mind, his anchor to his own world.
The package had contained letters that she'd translated for him, a book of portraits, a golden locket with a portrait of her family within, and sweets from her world. She'd shared them with him and some of their friends who knew that the Mesame had come from another world.
Izark still didn't know what she'd found so amusing when he'd taken a tentative bite of the "Pocky."
The last time he'd crossed over to her world, though, the door to her room had slammed open just as he had been laying her package on the desk. Izark had turned, startled, to see a young man he recognized as Noriko's brother staring at him with wide eyes. "Izark...!" he'd said with the same strange pronunciation Noriko had originally used. Behind him Noriko's parents and grandfather crowded in the doorway, also staring.
"Noriko," her mother breathed, looking over Izark's left shoulder to where Noriko reached across the worlds, straining, a suggestion of a face and pair of hands surrounded by golden light.
Connected as they were, Izark could feel her struggle to close the distance, and knew she couldn't. Not yet. "Don't injure yourself, Noriko," he said softly.
She beamed at him. /I won't,/ she whispered before giving her family a small wave and wrapping her arms around Izark, drawing him back to their world. She'd been lucky he had remembered to grab her package before disappearing.
Noriko had run a low-grade fever for two days, but the presents and the excitement of seeing her family again, however briefly, had brightened her for weeks. After consideration, Izark had asked her to begin teaching him her language.
If he met her family again the next time he went across... he wanted to be able to speak with them.
Izark changed into his own sleeping clothes and got beneath the blanket, lying on his stomach as he watched Noriko write. For almost four years now....
Sensing his regard, Noriko paused in her writing and looked at Izark. "A zol for your thoughts?" she offered.
Smiling, Izark shook his head.
Noriko smiled back at him, finished her sentence, and put the pen and diary away. She leaned over, blew out the lantern with a slight huff of air, and snuggled beneath the covers.
The sound of rain and Noriko's nearby heartbeat lulled Izark to sleep.
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no subject
Date: 2005-08-23 04:43 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-08-23 05:38 am (UTC)(side note-- check this draft-- some properly spelled but still incorrect words sneaked in)
no subject
Date: 2005-08-23 03:11 pm (UTC)