Sometimes, when I remember what the Ancient told me- though that was before I knew him as the Ancient; at the time, he was just a kind old man with an interesting staff in the seat across from me on the train- I wonder if I've reached the end of that path he spoke of yet, or not.

Then again, sometimes I wonder where and when that path really began- when did I first step into the darkness? For the longest time, I thought that Ryo was the light he meant, that our friendship marked the end of my 'dark path' and that things would be better from then on.

In hindsight that's more true than not, but there's certainly been plenty of dark spots in my life since then. Still, when I compare my life before I met Ryo, Rowen, Cye and Kento, to my life after meeting them- there's no doubt I'd sooner have the later half of my sixteen years than the earlier half. Dynasty and all.

I suppose I really ought to start at the beginning, but that's the problem...it's hard to tell where and when it all started.

Call me Sage- yeah, like 'call me Ishmael'. It's not my given name, which is the point; my 'given' name was never exactly 'given' to me. I wasn't a welcome addition to the family Date and they seldom used my name. Certainly the General almost always called me 'boy', when he wasn't calling me worse. Besides, 'Sage' means pretty much what 'Seiji' does, anyway. It's ironic that Ryo and Rowen call me Seiji whenever they're being extra-nice to me... and that I like it. Coming from them, it really means something. But that's because they're more my family than the one I was born into ever was.

I guess that's where I should start, though I don't remember a thing about it.

I was labeled a troublemaker from the time I was two hours old. Not that I was making trouble. I was just lying in my hospital bassinet, sleeping, when my father decided he wanted to see his new son and came down to the nursery to have a look at me. I'm told he got into a loud argument with the nurses on duty for having somehow mixed up the babies; one look at my little blond head and he was swearing (literally) that this child couldn't possibly be his. He had a point, too. Mother and Father were both full-blooded Japanese, with the typically black hair, brown skin and black eyes of their race. There was simply no possibility of them having a fair, blond baby, but I was the only one that had been born so far that day, and therefore something was seriously wrong.

Mother was in her hospital room, talking with her parents- my grandmother and grandfather Date- when Father stormed in with me in his arms, held me out to her, and demanded an explanation. I believe my grandparents initially thought he was playing a joke- one in very poor taste- but Mother's reaction convinced them otherwise. She took a long, horrified look at me and burst into tears, raising such a commotion that she eventually had to be sedated.

Not a very auspicious beginning, and it was probably a good thing I wasn't aware of what a ruckus I was at the center of.

When everyone had calmed down a little, Mother gave her explanation, or according to Father, her story. (If you gather from this that he didn't believe her, you're correct.) About nine months previously, Mother had encountered an old friend from school at the grocery store and they'd made an arrangement to get together the next evening to catch up with all the news. Father had agreed, and Mother had met her friend at a little bar about halfway between our home and the friend's. While they were sitting and talking, an American tourist had come up and insinuated himself into their talk, claiming to share a mutual acquaintance with Mother's friend. Mother recalled him as blond and blue-eyed, friendly, and surprisingly good at both the Japanese language and customs. She readily admitted to drinking more than she should have, and had only the haziest recollection of leaving the bar- after that, she claimed, everything went blank until she woke up in the American's hotel room- in his bed, but alone and fully clothed. The American himself was passed out on the sofa in the main room. Mother had departed as quickly and quietly as she could and arrived home around three in the morning, still fuzzy-headed but quite certain that nothing dishonorable had taken place.

Obviously, it had- I was proof enough of that.

Like I said, Father didn't believe a word of it. His firm opinion was that Mother had not just seized an opportunity that presented itself, but that she had actually planned the whole thing in advance. He was also convinced that this sort of thing had been going on for quite a while. Her parents agreed, rubbed in the fact that she'd resisted the marriage they'd arranged for her, proclaimed themselves disgusted with their dishonorable, disobedient, spoiled, scheming daughter, and left. Mother and Father argued at each other for a while, eventually waking me, and I- apparently- set the place by the ears with my protests.

And that was my introduction. Date Seiji: black sheep, troublemaker, cuckoo in the nest from the very first day. The Date family's honor was ruined and it was all my fault; I was the dishonorable child, the living proof of a scandal that couldn't be denied or ignored. What no one seemed to recognize, then or afterward, was that there wasn't a damned thing I could do about it. No one ever accused me of ruining their tranquility or contentment- it never was a very happy family- but I think it's safe to say that I was the unhappiest person in it, for I ended up being the scapegoat for everyone's frustrations and resentments...when I wasn't being outright ignored.

Yeah, it stings, even now. Family's supposed to support each other, not tear each other down or push each other away. Yet one of my first and sharpest memories is of standing near the door one evening as Father came home and watching Yayoi, my elder sister, run into the room and fling herself into his arms. He swung her up over his head, then carried her into the living room and sat with her on the sofa, listening as she talked a mile a minute about her day. I remained at my post, waiting, and after a few minutes Father turned and gave me a smile, a nod, and a brief, 'Hello, small one. Have you been a good boy today?' On hearing my, 'Hai, papi-san,' he nodded again and then turned back to Yayoi. I stayed where I was, watching with envy as my sister cuddled and teased and laughed with Father, knowing better than to join them.

I was barely three and I already knew that Father didn't want me to come to him for hugs and smiles, didn't want to hold me, didn't want to talk to me. I didn't know why, I only knew he loved my sister more than me. But I was in that mind-set that very young children have: they simply accept things as 'that's how it is' and go on with whatever comes up in their lives. Nothing is very remarkable to a three-year old- or maybe, everything is equally remarkable. It's been a while since I was three, so I don't really remember which. Either way, it didn't occur to me that our family was anything but normal, and I zeroed in on the most obvious reason as my own private explanation. Father and Mother liked Yayoi better because she was a girl, and older than me. I wasn't sure which was more important, the being-a-girl part or the being-older part, but I did figure that her being there before me had a lot to do with it. The really odd thing was that I didn't dislike my sister for getting all the attention. I was jealous, of course, and the two of us didn't always get along, but I never blamed her for the way our parents acted towards either of us.

My next major memory is of my Grandmother Date's death when I was five, because it was at her funeral that I first heard the term hanyou- half-breed. I had no idea what it meant, I just knew that Grandfather looked at me mean when he said it, though he was talking to my father at the time. I also heard the word dirty and went off into a corner, worried that I might have spilled something on the white funeral clothes. Later that night, after my bath, I dared to ask Mother what hanyou meant and why Grandfather thought I was dirty when I hadn't even been outside. Her only answer was to turn her face away and close her eyes, which her way of saying that she wasn't going to talk about it. A little while later, when she put me in bed, she left my room without giving me a kiss goodnight. I thought it was because she was upset about the funeral and didn't think much about it, but I was mistaken about that. She never kissed me again.

The funny thing was, I didn't miss it. Mother wasn't demonstrative at any time, of any feeling. I never saw her smile or laugh, and she didn't cuddle or chatter with Yayoi like Father did. She never raised her voice to either of us, but when she told us to do- or not do- something in a particular tone, we obeyed immediately. She was always polite, especially to Father, but she was completely detached and seemed to care nothing for anyone or anything. In hindsight, she must have been extremely unhappy with her life, and the objective part of me totally understands why she was so withdrawn- but at the time, all it meant to me was that neither Father nor Mother loved me as much as they did my sister.

As I moved into the 'question everything' phase (you know- the constant whys and whats and hows that a young kid will ask of anyone who's nearby), Father seemed to grow more accepting of me. He still didn't hug me the way he did Yayoi, but he seemed to enjoy answering my endless string of questions. I heard him say once, to Mother, that I had a very quick and logical mind, and I know he was amused by my habit of asking questions that had nothing to do with what I was doing at a given time. Just for example, I remember playing with blocks on the coffee table one day, and without looking up, asking him a question about dinosaurs. What I chiefly remember from that time, though, is that he was always patient, explained things carefully, and if he didn't cuddle me, he did often have me come sit or stand near him while he explained the more complicated aspects of some off-tangent question. The end result was that I decided I loved him more than Mother; Mother would answer me sometimes, but never in detail, and more often than not she simply told me to be quiet. So I took my questions to Father- and fortunately, Yayoi didn't seem to feel threatened by all the attention Father gave me. In fact, sometimes she joined in, either asking questions herself, or answering mine before Father could.

So for the first six and a half years of my life, things were reasonably acceptable, if a bit puzzling at times. Then I turned seven and started school, and that changed everything.

I thought school would be fun. Interesting. Exciting. Challenging.

You get my drift, here, right? I anticipated a positive experience. What I got was, as Kento would say, blown out of the water. Not right away, of course. It took a week or so for my classmates to get past the surprise and uncertainty of seeing such a strange kid in their midst and start making my days a living hell.

You think I'm exaggerating. I only wish I was. I know American schools are tough in the peer pressure and acceptance departments, but Japanese schools are tougher. For one thing, you're in them longer each day, and for another, nonconformity is about a hundred percent more acceptable in the U.S. than it is in Japan. 'The nail that sticks up gets pounded down'...well, I was the nail.

The pounding down took on a lot of different forms. Initially, I was stared at, which- though it made me self-conscious and nervous- was more or less understandable. I was the only student in the school with blond hair, and one of only three with eyes that weren't brown. In fact, my eyes caused more commotion than my hair. If I'm being honest, pale lavender is an unusual eye color by any country's standards- but in Japan, that color is associated with demons. So when things moved to the 'taunting and mockery' stage, I got called 'demon-boy' a lot, and many of the kids would pretend to be afraid of me. That wasn't too pleasant, but it got worse when I realized that some of them actually weren't pretending. They honestly thought that being around me would give them bad luck. So I got treated as if I had some revolting disease that everyone was afraid to catch. I was always the last one chosen for any team sport; no one cared to sit near me at lunch; no one ever wanted to lend me a piece of paper or a pen; no one wanted their coat or shoes near mine... and when it came to pairing up for any class project or field trip, I always wound up working by myself on my projects and having a teacher as my 'partner' for field trips.

By the time I got to third grade, we'd all moved past the point of staring and avoiding, and the primary objective was name-calling. The kids held informal contests to see which of them could come up with the most original insulting remark about me. They also held informal contests to determine who could spit out the most insults, original or not, in the shortest time. This was augmented by the occasional bout of 'push the demon-boy', although 'push' isn't exactly accurate. The object of that little game was to push or trip or poke or in some way give me a physical inconvenience- without getting caught, of course. I believe they had a point-scoring system: so many points for making me drop my books, so many for making me land on my rear, so many for falling flat on my face...

... Give me a minute.

So, in other words, kids are really cruel, especially in packs. And their inventiveness in making the loners and misfits suffer- I think torture inquisitors could take some hints from elementary and high-school kids. By the time I reached high school, (7th, 8th and 9th grade, in the U.S.) I had become- not immune, but able to control my reactions, to keep a mask of indifference up so that no one could see me hurting. It was a lesson I brought from elementary school: the more of a reaction they get, the longer they go on. Making me angry was good, because it usually got me in trouble with the teachers for my rudeness. Making me cry was even better, because then they could taunt me for being a wimp and a baby and all those sorts of names.

But I'm getting a bit ahead of myself here.

The biggest problem, as far as I was concerned, wasn't so much that I got treated like crap all the time by the kids, it was that none of the adults seemed to care. The teachers insisted on order during the classes, but they seldom did anything to stop the things that went on between classes, in the halls and on the athletic fields. And as time went on, my reputation for being the cause of all the trouble grew, because whenever there was a commotion and a teacher asked a witness who was causing the problem, the answer was- invariably- either, 'I don't know, I didn't see,' or 'Seiji.' So by my third year, every time there was a confrontation of any kind and I was involved, they automatically assumed it was my doing. My solution to this was to stop trying to defend myself and just ignore it all; it was better than attracting a teacher's attention and getting blamed, scolded and punished. It worked- the incidences of false witness gradually declined- but it infuriated me that those brats could get away with bare-faced lies and the teachers never bothered to get my side of the story. Still does, actually.

When I complained to my parents, Mother told me that there was nothing they could do about it, since it was school business and the teachers were the ones who were supposed to keep order. Father told me it was the way of schools all over the world and I should keep ignoring it so that they'd get bored and find someone else to bother. My sister Yayoi was the most sympathetic, but the only suggestion she could come up with was that I might dye my hair. I pointed out that it was kind of late for that: everyone would still know it was me and treat me just the same. Still, I was grateful that someone was taking me seriously, even if she didn't have any solutions. Yayoi also helped me with my homework, particularly with the projects that I didn't have a partner for, so I managed to make top grades in almost all my classes. That probably didn't help my popularity any, but not much could have done that, short of turning into a completely different person.

Needless to say, I looked forward to the vacations from school, counting off the days and wishing they'd go by faster. When the summer break for my third year finally arrived, no one was happier to get out of that building than I was.

My happiness and the feeling of freedom lasted a week.

It happened on a Monday night- I can still shut my eyes and see it. Mother had prepared dinner and we were waiting for Father to come home so we could eat. Yayoi was impatiently wondering why he was so late when the doorbell rang and Mother went to answer it. I was sitting near the door, reading a book and trying to keep in mind the questions I wanted to ask Father about it; when Mother opened the door, I stood up and stared in surprise at the two policemen on the walk. My first thought was that they had come to tell us Father would be taking another duty, or was going out with some of his comrades- it was very common for the off-duty officers to go out for a few drinks together and talk about what they'd accomplished during the day. Father was fairly senior on the force, so he received many such invitations, and usually accepted them, though he never actually drank much.

It wasn't until one of the men asked who Mother was that I realized something was wrong, but I think Mother must have realized right away what had happened, because she didn't ask the officers in. In fact, she scarcely said a word, just stood there with her hand at her heart while they told her that Father had been killed doing his duty. She didn't ask for details, simply accepted the tokens they gave her: Father's insignia and rank-pins, and the two honor medals he'd been awarded during his career. There was also a note from Father's captain; I never saw Mother read it, never knew what it said.

As soon as Mother shut the door, Yayoi burst into tears and ran to her room. I sat back down on the floor, my book still in my hand, too stunned to do anything else. Mother stood staring at the things in her hands for a moment, then left the living-area without a word or a glance at me, and I felt a strange sort of loneliness push into my heart. It seems unbearably selfish now, but right then my main thought was that now there was only Yayoi to like me; Mother didn't, and Father was gone. I sat brooding over it for a while, then noticed that I was still holding the book, put it down- and realized I'd never get to ask him any more questions.

That was when it hit me. He was dead. He had died doing his job, like so many Japanese did, but I had never imagined it would happen to him. It seemed impossible; that morning he had been there and now... and now... I got up off the floor and stumbled down the hall toward my sister's room, hardly able to see where I was going. The door was closed when I reached it, but I shoved it open and, for the first time, went into her room without permission. She was kneeling next to her bed, and I dropped down beside her. I felt her hug me, and the two of us sat together beside her bed, crying.

After a while, Yayoi calmed down a little, which calmed me, but then we started wondering how it had happened and why, which set us off again... It went like that for a couple hours at least, crying and talking and crying some more. I don't think we ever did eat dinner that night; I know I had no appetite at all, and I only remember Yayoi insisting that I sleep in my own room because she had to pull me down the hall and put me in bed.

The funeral was the next day, and I wasn't allowed to go. Nothing in my life has ever made me so angry and hurt as not being permitted to say goodbye to the man I called Father. I loved and respected him, and I knew he'd cared about me. I had the right to be there, but Mother refused me as offhandedly as if I had only asked for a piece of candy. I spent the afternoon alternately fuming at her and grieving for Father, and when she and Yayoi got back, I let Mother know exactly how I felt.

If I'd limited myself to that one furious outburst, that might have been the end of it, and in hindsight I wish I had kept my mouth shut and my manners on. But I didn't. I was as deliberately rude as I could bring myself to be, which turned out to be a lot more than I would have guessed. For two weeks, I vented all my frustrations and disappointments and jealousies on Mother- and it was the biggest mistake of my life. My attitude made Mother decide that I was going wild- whether from the lack of a male authority figure or from my hanyou blood, she neither knew nor cared- and she no longer wanted to deal with me. So one morning she called her father, my grandfather Date, told him I needed a stern hand, and asked if he would be willing to provide discipline for the rebellious little boy before he ended up disgracing the family any further. (I was standing about two feet away from her during that discussion, and to say I was horrified doesn't get anywhere near describing my emotions.) Grandfather, after some deliberating and a pointed reminder about who had been the initiator of this particular disgrace, decided he couldn't let the family name be sullied any further and told Mother to put me on the evening train to Toyama.

Six hours later- having wept and pleaded and apologized and pleaded some more, all without the slightest effect- I found myself in a seat on the train, my single piece of luggage in the rack over my head and dusk looming outside the window, clutching my ticket to me with shaking hands and biting hard on my lips to keep from crying. The busy, crowded station had been unnerving enough, but Mother had made it many times worse by handing me the ticket she'd purchased, telling me to go to go to a particular platform and find my train, then leaving without another word. Suddenly finding the responsibility of the whole trip resting like a rock on my skinny shoulders was utterly terrifying; I'd never set foot on a train before and had no idea what to do or not do. Somehow, I'd found my way to the platform and gotten on what I thought was the right train; a passing college student had helped me with my bag and assured me that I wouldn't end up in Yokohama, but my relief was only momentary.

What if I lose my ticket? What if I get off at the wrong stop? What if I can't get my bags down again when I do get off? What if I get hungry- if someone takes my things while I'm getting something from the food-car? (It didn't dawn on me then that very few adults would be interested in taking the belongings of a ten-year-old boy. I was a little too used to having things snatched from my hands by mocking classmates.) What if I fall asleep? What if someone kidnaps me? (Though, actually, that one wasn't worrying me nearly as much as the other questions. I was too young to know about the child-slavery rings, and I reasoned that if my own mother didn't want me, not too many strangers would, either. I think that's what's called cold comfort.) And then the doors closed and the train started up and I couldn't get off, even if I'd had the courage to face the station full of strangers again. I shut my eyes and tried to think of something nice, and failed.

A few minutes later, the conductor came by to check my ticket. I gave it to him with shaking hands; he gave me, in my white mourning clothes, only a passing glance, but studied the ticket carefully before punching it and handing it back. I felt somehow rebuked by his casual dismissal of me, and my half-formed idea of asking him to tell me where to get off evaporated. I would just have to figure it out by myself, and with that in mind, I looked at the ticket more carefully, hoping it would tell me something. Price, station, destination, date, time...but not how long the trip was, nor how many stops were between me and Toyama. Disappointed and unhappy, I stuffed it into my pocket and tried to content myself with looking out the window. My spirits lifted a little when we reached the first stop along the way, for there were several large signs on the platform outside the window, giving the name of the station. That made things much easier, if all I had to do was watch out the window and wait for the Toyama sign.

I don't know how long I sat in that train-seat, staring out the windows, hungry and thirsty and generally miserable but not daring to leave my seat for fear of missing the Toyama station. It was probably not more than an hour or so, but it seemed far, far longer, and as the journey went on and on and the light outside the window grew dimmer and dimmer, my fear grew. How could I read signs in the dark? But stop after stop went by and none of them were Toyama; no one got onto the car I was in and the few people who had been in it gradually got off until I was the only passenger. I wasn't sure how to feel about that, but finally settled on worried, rather than relieved. Now I wouldn't be able to ask anyone for help if I needed to!

It was another long while before I noticed that the stations seemed to be getting farther apart; there were long stretches when I sat watching the darkness outside the window, occasionally lit by a brief flash of light as the train rolled past some town or village. With nothing to do but wait, my mind wandered from thought to unpleasant thought. I thought about Father and how terribly I missed him, how much I loved him and how kind he'd grown towards me. I thought about Mother and how angry I still was at her, how betrayed I felt by her casual decision to get rid of me, and how desperately I longed for her to love me.

And then I thought of my Grandfather and shivered with cold fear.

I hadn't seen him since Grandmother's funeral, but I remembered how he'd looked at me and what he'd called me. I still didn't know what a hanyou was, but I remembered that he'd called me 'dirty' and I knew now he hadn't been referring to real dirt. He'd been insulting me, the way the kids at school did. It frightened me; I already knew he wouldn't like me and I was sure he'd be even colder than Mother, but a little voice in my mind was wondering just how mean he would be. Suppose he beat me? Or locked me up, or didn't give me enough food- oh, there were hundreds of things he might do to be mean to me. I was the unruly one, the troublemaker, the wild boy who needed discipline, and Grandfather had agreed to deal it out, which meant he could do anything he wanted. And who would care? Not Mother. Yayoi, maybe, but she couldn't do anything to help me.

I was on the very brink of tears when a soft chiming noise reached through my fear and sadness, a sweet, soothing sound that made me feel better almost immediately. I looked up curiously to see a man standing beside the seat across from me. It didn't occur to me then how odd it was that I hadn't seen or heard him before; he was there now, and that was all that really mattered. I sniffed back my tears, half embarrassed, and watched him take the seat, lean his fascinating winged staff against the dark window, and then turn to me. I couldn't see his face very well, since he was wearing a funny round hat that shaded his eyes, but I could see his white hair and concluded that he was elderly. He was wearing an outfit I'd never seen before- blue robes and strange white bandage-like things on his arms and legs, with a pouch hanging around his neck- but that didn't seem particularly important either.

"Good evening, young traveler," he said in a quiet, friendly voice. "Are you going far?"

"To- to Toyama," I managed, adding a 'sir' quickly at the end.

"Ah. A long trip. I am going to a village called Azu. It is the stop before Toyama on this train," he remarked, and a sudden vast relief went through me at his words. My biggest problem was solved; all I had to do was wait till he got off, then the next stop would be mine.

"Is it- will it be very long, sir?" I ventured, not really wanting to admit how lost I was.

"It will be another two hours or so," my companion said placidly. "I am going to meet a friend of mine."

"I'm going to my grandfather," I admitted. "He's General Date- my mother is sending me to live there."

"Ah." The old man said nothing more, which I didn't really expect. He seemed of an age to know all about Grandfather's heroic war record- in fact, he seemed old enough to have fought beside Grandfather- and most people liked to talk about the great General Date, who'd won such glorious victories for the Japanese Empire. But when the elder spoke again, it was only to say that he hadn't yet had his evening meal, and to ask me to watch his staff while he went to get something from the dining car. I agreed and settled back in my seat as he got up and moved down the center aisle towards the door that connected one car to another.

He was gone for what seemed a very long time, but I didn't really mind. It wasn't so bad, being alone. The metal rings on his staff seemed to chime gently with every click of the wheels and I felt comforted by the sound. My eyes grew very heavy and finally I couldn't keep them open anymore; I lay down across the seat and felt my head resting on something warm and soft. I made my eyes open, but I was so sleepy that it didn't seem odd to see the old man looking down at me or to feel his soft robe against my cheek.

"You have a longer journey ahead of you than you know, young Halo," he said softly, sadly. "It is a dark path before you now, a path that will lead you through sorrow and pain. But reach for the light, my son, and it will welcome you at your journey's end. And when you are in doubt and despair, or in need of help and guidance, this will be a comfort to you." He held out his hand; resting on his brown palm was a small glass ball with a glowing green character- Wisdom- deep inside it. I stared, bemused, then slowly reached up to take it, feeling the warmth of the light against my fingers. "Make Wisdom yours, my young friend, but seek Justice and Trust, Life and Virtue as well. They will protect you and care for you. Do not surrender to despair, Halo, for from the deepest darkness comes the brightest light and the strongest love."

His voice faded and the musical sound of his staff was all around me, singing me to sleep. I remember yawning, and then I knew nothing until I woke with a jump and a gasp to find that I was sprawled across the train seat, stiff and very hungry. I slowly sat up, wondering if I had dreamed the whole thing or not, and then I looked down at what was clasped in my hand and knew that I hadn't. The character in the glass was very faint, but I could still see it and it made me smile. Shoving the precious orb deep into my pocket, I looked around and saw the staff, still chiming gently to itself in the other seat, and several packets of food sitting invitingly on the seat next to me. There were several more like them beside the staff, but open and empty, and I realized with a surge of gratitude that these were for me. I didn't lose any time in putting them to good use, feeling my gratitude deepen with every delicious mouthful.

When I was finished- it didn't take long- I gathered up the empty boxes and found a waste bin to drop them into. Then I returned to my seat, feeling much better, and sat studying the orb and thinking about my strange dream until the train pulled to a halt outside another station. The doors opened, and I watched without surprise as the old man walked up from the rear of the car and picked up his staff. He paused long enough to reach up to the luggage rack and lift my bag down for me, then turned with a nod and exited the train, his staff chiming softly as he went. I felt a deep sense of loss as he disappeared into the darkness outside; I wanted to get up, grab my bag and run after him.

I still wonder what would've happened it I had done that, and for a long time afterward, I wished I had. Instead, I squeezed the little orb more tightly, and as the doors closed, started wondering again what my grandfather would be like.

It was another half hour before the train stopped again, though it seemed to take much longer. But finally the train slowed to a halt; I saw the 'Toyama' sign outside the window and the lights of a very large city not far away. The doors opened and I got up and carried my bag off the train, shaking a little as I stepped onto the platform. After the lonely silence of the train-car, the crowds and noise in the station were a rude shock. I had never seen so many people at once before, all of them hurrying in different directions, none seeming to notice me even as they dodged around me. I looked anxiously around the huge building, seeing shops and offices and signs and booths; maps on the walls and departure-lists and over in one section, ticket machines. I didn't see any place set aside for meeting people, and all around me passengers were recognizing friends and family among the rapidly-shifting crowd- but no one came forward to claim me. I wondered fearfully if Grandfather wasn't here yet, or if he wouldn't come at all, and what I would do if he didn't. Not knowing what to do, I did nothing except try to keep out of peoples' way.

After a few minutes the crowds thinned out and only a few people hurried past me to the train platform. An announcement came over the loudspeaker, startling me, and then the train pulled away and things grew even quieter. There was still a lot of hurry and activity going on in the station, but my immediate area was more or less deserted. I glanced uneasily around again, and this time I noticed an information booth over near the ticket machines. I was tempted to go over and see if the agent could help me, but as I took a few hesitant steps, it occurred to me that the agent would have no more way of knowing if Grandfather was there than I did. I stopped again, wondering if I should try to call Mother- and whether she would answer the phone or not- and without thinking, put my hand in my pocket. The orb the old man had given me rested warmly against my fingers, and suddenly a thought occurred to me. I was wearing the white of mourning; if Grandfather was here, he would be wearing white mourning also. So I scanned the crowd again, and started slightly when I spotted a man in white not far away from me. I approached him hesitantly, and the closer I got, the more certain I became that this was my grandfather, General Date.

He was younger than the man on the train, but where the Ancient One had been kindly, this man was grim. His hair was mostly black with gray streaks, tied back in a tail. His face was vaguely familiar to me, but his expression, as I stopped a few feet away from him, was one of cold indifference. He was dressed in a white suit, which surprised me a little; the last time I had seen him, he had been wearing traditional clothes. But that had been at Grandmother's funeral, I recalled- if this really was him. I bowed and began to ask if he was who I thought he was, when he spoke. "Not very observant, I see. I expected that. Come."

Taken aback, I followed silently as he turned and led the way through the station. It was larger than I had realized- longer, with more platforms on both sides of the main hall and more shops and stands and hallways leading off and escalators going to other levels. But my mind wasn't on my surroundings; it was on Grandfather's critical comment. He had expected me to be unobservant? What had I not observed? Had he expected me to pick him out of the crowd immediately, when I hardly remembered what he looked like? I didn't like to think that he could be so unreasonable and unfair, but I couldn't imagine what else he might have meant. Tired and apprehensive, I hurried along behind him, wishing I dared ask him to slow his swift pace. He walked even faster once we got outside, away from the crowds of people. It was full night now, but the darkness of the evening was offset by the bright lights of the parking lot, and even the sky seemed brighter from the light of Toyama's buildings. I couldn't see any stars at all- not that I had much time to look for them.

By the time we reached Grandfather's car, in a remote corner of the lot, I was panting and sweaty. He said nothing as he unlocked the doors, just climbed in and started the engine while I scrambled into the back seat. I barely got the door shut before he stepped on the gas. The light from the streetlights flickered over me as he drove silently through the busy streets, and I turned to watch out the window with tired interest. Sendai was a large city, but this Toyama seemed twice as big. It had more- and taller- skyscrapers, more flashing lights and bold signs, more cars and pedestrians and bicyclists, more noise and activity than I could readily adjust to. It all made me feel very insignificant and I was glad when Grandfather left the city road for a smaller and darker residential one. At last he pulled into a driveway, eased the car into a small garage, and shut the engine off. I took the cue and hauled myself and my bag out of the car, closed the door carefully, and stood looking a moment at the dark square of the house. Grandfather strode past me and I followed wearily as he opened the front door and turned on the lights.

I lowered my bag to the floor as I automatically removed my shoes and took a quick look around. All I could see was the reception area, with stairs leading both upward and downward to other floors. Both staircases had identical silk curtains hanging at the far end, so one could not see anything beyond the steps. Grandfather replaced his shoes with slippers, then turned to me. His dark eyes seemed to pin me in place, and I couldn't meet his gaze for very long. "The kitchen, the dining room, the garden supply room, a bathroom, and the pantry," he said abruptly, nodding to the downward staircase. I nodded. "The living room, my office, the library, several closets," he continued, gesturing at the other flight of stairs. "Above that, the bedrooms and bathroom. Outside, my garden and the practice building. A woman comes in every Thursday to clean. I do the gardening myself. I cook for myself. Has your mother taught you anything of preparing meals?"

"I have not been allowed to use the stove, sir," I murmured. "But I can make a few things that don't need to be cooked." Sandwiches, mainly.

My grandfather snorted. "I will add that to your lessons, then. There is a school several blocks away; you will attend there when the break is over. I have arranged for it. You are to be home by five o'clock each day. I will expect your assignments to be done neatly and well, and will check to make sure this is so. I will also expect you to learn other things. I will speak more of that tomorrow. Now I will show you where you are to sleep. You will, of course, keep the room neat and orderly- untidiness is the mark of a chaotic mind." He turned away again and I followed him up the stairs, pausing just past the silver-silk curtain to take in the living room. It was much larger than the one at home and very traditional; there wasn't much in it, but what there was was very beautiful. And yet, it gave me a strange uneasy feeling to look at the tokonoma alcove with its cypress table and delicate vase of irises, the intricate weaving of the floor tatami, the silk-covered seating-cushions- even the rice-paper paintings on the walls seemed cold and formal, not welcoming at all. I shivered and hurried up the steps after my grandfather.

The upstairs hall was narrow and dark, and all the doors that I saw were closed. I was a little surprised that they weren't the traditional paper-screen doors, but figured the house must have been built without them. Grandfather stopped outside of one door and opened it, then stood aside and looked at me expectantly. I hesitantly stepped inside and was surprised. There was a futon on the floor, covered with a gray blanket, a dresser, an empty bookcase, and a small heat-table in the corner. There was no decoration, none of the beauty of the living-room, and I wondered if all the bedrooms were so plain.

"This room belonged to your mother," Grandfather said, and I started, looking over at him in surprise. If this had been mother's room, why did it look like no one had ever lived in it?

"Of course, we burned her possessions after she shamed herself with this dirty hanyou son."

I blinked up at the tall old man in shock, not understanding much besides the contempt in his voice. "I - don't understand," I said hesitantly.

"Are you slow-witted? I might have known. American blood-"

"I'm not stupid!" I interrupted crossly, stung past prudence or politeness. "I-"

His hand whipped out and cracked against my cheek so hard that I staggered. My hand flew to my face and I stared up at him in pained shock. "You will address me with courtesy and respect," he informed me grimly. "You will not raise your voice or glare. You will obey when I give you an order and be silent until I permit you to speak. There will be no insolence, no defiance, no rebellion. You are hanyou, your blood is dirty, defiled, and it will take much labor to wipe out enough of the stain to make you a decent human being. It can never be wiped completely clean, but you will learn enough to prevent you from shaming this honorable family further. The dishonor your mother began will stop with you. I have sworn it before the gods in the temple. You will learn," he concluded, his eyes boring into me. "Whatever it takes to teach you, you will learn."

I shrank back a step, then another, angry and outraged but far too frightened to say or do anything more. I didn't understand what he meant by American blood and my mother's dishonor, but I understood that I didn't want to get hit again.

"Now," he went on curtly, "I will explain carefully so that your slow mind can comprehend. You are not Japanese, you are only half Japanese, through your mother."

I felt my eyes widen as the memory took me: Mother refusing to allow me to go to Father's funeral. I looked down at my white clothes, then back up at Grandfather in dismay. Was that why she hadn't let me go? Because-

"He who died was not your father."

"But," I began to protest, confused and upset. Mother had sent me away, I might not ever see my sister again, my grandfather hated me, and now he was taking my father away too! I wanted to think of that good man as my father, even if he hadn't been. He'd cared about me and I had loved him. "But I-"

"Silence!"

I shrank back another step and stood shaking with tension and distress.

"The man who died was not your father, as I have told you. Do you call me a liar?"

I knew the answer to that, all right, even without his raised hand warning me of another smack. "N-no."

"That is not a respectful reply."

I took a shaking breath. "Y-you are not a liar, sir," I ventured, "and I- this one does not call you that."

"Better." Grandfather lowered his hand. "The man who was your father was an American. Your mother left her husband and home to visit with a friend in a bar, and there was great shame that night, though we did not know it until you were born. She thought she had escaped with her dishonor, but Fate made certain that all would know what she had done. Fate gave her a son who looked like his father, the man who was not her husband. Your blood is not pure; you are a mix, unclean. You cannot remove that blood from you. It will be within you always. Always you will be the disgrace, the wrongness that should not have been, the lie, the dishonor."

Tears stung my eyes and I bit my lip, trying to keep them inside. He saw, though, and pursed his lips.

"And weak," he observed. "Shall I bind your feet?"

The reference to the old tradition of binding a girl's feet to make her more desirable to a potential husband made me mad, but I couldn't think of anything to say. Nothing that wouldn't get me hit, that is.

"You are a half-breed born of sin and you are a disgrace to your name. You will never bring anything but shame to our House. However, your mother has asked me to ensure that you are as minimal a disgrace as possible, and I have agreed. You will abide by my will, hanyou, and your weak and disobedient self will learn self-control and discipline, as a good Japanese should. Now, put your things away and go to bed. In the morning, you will begin your lessons with me." And with that he turned and walked away, leaving me alone in the small bedroom.

I stood there trembling, trying to stop the tears that insisted on coming, convinced that somehow he would know and return to scold and insult me for that weakness. Finally I reached out and closed the door as quietly as I could, then sat down on the floor beside my little bag of clothes. I wanted to go home. I had never imagined I could want so terribly to go home to Mother and Yayoi. But I had a sick feeling that I was stuck there in Toyama for good.