HP: Spirit Talker

The entire rectangular area is filled with lone trees and massive boulders scattered here and there. At first glance, it is chaos, but after a few seconds, the eye already detects the presence of some kind of system, probably difficult to understand, because I did not understand it.

Continue. Bushes and flowers are also present, but they are placed so carefully that they only emphasize the overall picture, "covering" the voids and somewhere enhancing the effect of the openwork arbours.

The pavilions were placed on hilly islands, in the middle of small ponds connected by narrow arteries of streams. The rustle and splash of flowing water, the splash of fish, the chirping of birds in the branches of the trees, a light breeze shaking the branches.

I really wanted to walk on the red humpbacked bridges over the streams, on the paths paved with river stones. A wonderful place, emotive. Why wasn't I allowed to come here before? Here all stress disappears instantly, and meditating here is a joy. However, I felt someone pushing me from behind.

— Young Master, they're waiting for you, you can't stay! — The woman's voice was strange: ingratiation, tension, displeasure. Unpleasant.

I just nodded and continued on my way, still under the impression that I was not paying attention to something scratching somewhere inside. It was only much later, after I had learned more about local etiquette and relationship norms, that I realized that this woman's behavior was offensive to someone who could be called "young master.

She could only bow, point with her hands where to go, ask but not push, and raise her voice. I didn't know this then, so I obediently walked forward, never taking my eyes off the garden — when will I have the chance to see it again? And then I saw something else that interested me greatly.

The trees blocked it from my view, but as I walked around them, I saw a simple bench on which a woman with long black hair was sitting, wearing a pale blue yukata. Behind her, a few steps away, stood two women dressed as servants. But they were of no interest to me.

All my attention was captured by the woman on the bench looking out at the garden. I walked slowly, looking at the woman all the time — there was something unusual about her that was not present in any of the people around me.

This is not the presence of magic — I have already learned to sense it in people and animals, I have learned to distinguish the ungifted, the simpleton, from the magician, or the one in whom magic is small or dormant. It is difficult for someone with magic to learn this, but it is possible.

And I felt that I needed it. I couldn't tear myself away from her, we had almost passed her when the woman shivered almost imperceptibly and somehow turned around jerkily. I almost stumbled when I met eyes exactly like mine, deep lilac. Only her eyes were filled with indifference, emptiness, coldness.

But it took her a moment to recognize me, to come to life, to open her mouth, to put her hands over her mouth to stop her from screaming. She stood up and looked at me without taking her hands from her face. I don't forget my parents from that life, but I don't deny the relationship here either, because everyone needs roots.

And then one look into her eyes was enough to make me understand. I stopped and turned to her. I don't care about everything and everyone, I have to talk to her! I walked toward her, and she walked toward me.

But we were prevented: the guards grabbed my arms, and the reluctant six-year-old was dragged away, while the woman in the pale blue yukata remained in the garden, held by her guards. A few minutes later, I was led into a half-empty room with several old men.

There was discord in my soul, my blood was boiling, I wanted to become hysterical and rush to that woman. I was shaking violently, and I felt heat in my body and an unpleasant pulling weight in my stomach. In the background of all this, the arrogant faces of the assembled old men and women caused not only irritation, no, — dull hatred for those who did not allow even a word to be exchanged with their real relatives for all these years.

I understood then that these old men controlled the clan, and the fate of many people, including mine, was in their hands. Therefore, they were extremely disgusting to me. And their twisted grimaces when they looked at me, or their demonstrative arrogant coldness, made me want to hang these fossils on the nearest branch.

According to etiquette, I had to bow deeply to show respect, and so on, the Japanese generally like to bow. I'm a free man, not a slave to be thrown at everyone's feet. All the clan elders received was the same frank examination of each one; at the sight of some, I deliberately curled my lips in response to similar grimaces. The first to collapse was the small, fat woman in a pink kimono.

— And why, one wonders, does the clan pay teachers so much money if this little brat can't even say hello properly?! — The grandmother made a toad-like face and turned to the other grandmother, who had dried up like a mummy.

The mummy had no time to answer, just opened her mouth when a tall old man with a thin beard and mustache spoke.

— They told me that you, Arata-kun, are doing well in your studies. Why don't we see the customary greeting from you? — The old man sat in the middle, and his dark eyes, hidden behind thick gray eyebrows, sparkled with self-confident strength.

I really didn't know what to say. Well, let's not say that I really didn't like their "one hundred and older" group at first glance? Many thoughts were spinning in my head, panic prevailed, and then suddenly, from somewhere in my memory, the phrase appeared: "It's better to be silent than to say stupid things".

I'm not sure if I remembered it correctly, but this memory allowed me to overcome the panic and follow a reasonable thought — to remain silent. And to be honest, what can a six-year-old child do? What can narcissistic old people say that will at least be listened to the end? That's right, nothing.

I have seen this more than once, because I have lived among people: when a person grows old, he is deeply convinced that everyone is obliged to listen to him and to obey him. Often this is not based on anything, it just happens — being old means being wise.

But that's not true, because most people are still the same fools they were when they were fifteen, they just have more worldly experience, that's all. So I try to treat old people neutrally, and only later decide for myself if there is something to respect about them.

And here I am, six years old, and I can't even ignore them, because these mummies can think of anything. In short, I lowered my eyes to the ground and remained silent. There was silence for a while and I looked at the floor. Then the old man chuckled and spoke in a satisfied voice:

— It's good that you understand your mistakes, your teachers were right about you. The clan chief thought for a moment, or pretended to. —The elders and I wanted to praise you for your diligence and success. — Now, you have questioned our conclusions, and it is inappropriate for the elders of a respected clan to offer unfounded praise. — The head fell silent again for a while, looking at the child in front of him. He wanted the child to bow before him, as expected, but the grandson did not move during the entire speech. Well, apparently the blood is showing, but it's not scary — a few years and the teachers will beat the disobedience out of him. — Since this has happened, then the conversation with you is reduced to news: in a week you will begin new lessons, including in Kenjutsu. I hope you will show zeal and prove that respected people do not waste their time. That's it, the audience is over. — The old man waved his hand imperiously, and it was difficult not to understand his gesture.

Without making him wait, I leave the room in the same way I'm used to: I turned over my left shoulder and walked out with a steady step. I heard the hissing of the old men, but I didn't care about their wishes and demands — I wasn't going to back down, let alone bow. My teeth were beginning to ache from this relic of the past.