Chapter Text
Ushijima is an unremarkable man with an unremarkable history. In his time as a farmer of a variety of crops, he has seen his fair share of unusual produce. Sometimes the fruit comes out in an unexpected colour. Sometimes the pumpkins are seedless. Sometimes the vegetables come out in embarrassing shapes. So he doesn’t understand why this yam he just pulled up is screaming its little heart out. Does it even have a heart? All he knows in this moment is that vegetables aren’t supposed to scream no matter how strange they may be.
If Ushijima was one of a trio of ambitious siblings in search of a quest, had a horrible step parent to force him to go into a suspicious forest everyday or maybe even found a mysterious trinket the previous day then it would make perfect sense that this vegetable should be screaming and kicking as it dangled from his fist.
However, none of these things happened, which only furthered his confusion. Now Ushijima is an unremarkable man with an unremarkable history with a fistful of leaves that end with a squalling yam swinging wildly at the end of it. All he can do is clap his other hand over his ear and gawk stupidly at it.
It is definitely uglier than normal. For a yam anyway. There is still mud caked on its lumpy, barklike skin despite its flailing. Its growth in the root was clearly stunted, being just half the size of his thumb. The root itself had the vague shape of a human. A rounded bit at the top for a head where scrawny leaves come out and four squirming nubs that can pass for stubby little arms and legs. Its mouth is not much more than a tiny hole, but somehow it manages to make this infernal scream, shattering the quiet before the sun has even risen.
After this brief assessment, Ushijima decides to do the only thing he knows: treat it like a baby farm animal. It’s screaming and plants don’t scream. So this thing, whatever it is, must be an animal. First, he has to clean it. Animals don’t like to roll around in their own filth. That’s why their mothers groom them so much.
Holding the screaming yam at arms length, he goes to the well to fetch a pail of water. He set the yam down carefully on the ground. It’s screaming less, but still very loud. He can understand that, now that he knows that it’s an animal. Animals don’t like to be held up by the hair. He made a mental apology for causing it pain and began drawing up a pail of fresh water.
Gently holding the yam in his palm, he dips it into the water and brushes the softened mud away from its barklike skin. It isn’t screaming anymore and Ushijima could feel it wriggling about like it’s ticklish. Suddenly, the yam slips through his fingers and falls to the bottom of the pail with a tiny plop. Ushijima isn’t at all worried about it as vegetables do like to be well-hydrated. That is, until he spies a little stream of bubbles rising up to the surface of the water. His eyes grow wide and his mouth hangs open. Oh no! He forgot it’s an animal in addition to being a plant! How can he forget? It has leaves! Panicking, he frantically gropes around the bottom of the pail, sloshing water out onto the ground in the process. At last, his fingers curl around the stubby, little yam. Quickly bringing it out of the water Ushijima taps his pointer finger on its back. Coughing and spluttering, the yam is shivering in his hand. If Ushijima looks closely, he can see that its mouth is turned down and its non-existent lip is quivering as though it’s about to cry. Except, just now, he notices that the yam doesn’t have eyes. Maybe it’s like a bird and the eyes would open as it grows? Anyway, if it can’t cry due to a lack of eyes, then it’s probably going to scream. He shudders at the possibility.
Before it could let out a whimper, Ushijima once again does the only thing he can think of: treat it like a baby farm animal. Cradling the upset yam in his palm he rubs soothing circles on its back with his fingertip. Sometimes he would brush out its leaves with utmost care, since they are shriveled up stringy fronds at the moment. Water might help it look healthier, but maybe it would be safer to use a shallow dish instead of a big pail to avoid drowning. Before long, the yam seemed to relax and its mouth is now a very small “u” shape.
Ushijima frowns, staring intently at the root vegetable in his palm. It’s fine now, but it’s still a problem. He knows nothing about screaming vegetables. He’s not even sure precisely what animal it is. What he does know is that it definitely can’t look after itself and he feels responsible for it since he was the one who pulled it out of the ground. Bringing his fist up to his chin in thought, he tries to think of what he should do about the yam.
The pale grey sky of dawn begins to brighten and blush in vibrant blues and soft pinks. Ushijima feels the rosy fingers of the sun slowly slip across his face. He’s losing precious time and this is way out of his depth. He needs to ask someone who would know more about this sentient vegetable.
He makes up his mind and strides back to his cottage. Rummaging in one of his crates by the door he finds the perfect tin. It’s the size of his hand and would fit the yam just right. Fetching some old clothes he had kept, he tears it into strips and lines the tin with it. His friends had always teased him about keeping clothes he had long since outgrown. Now he is certain that it wasn’t a foolish decision. Not that he has ever doubted it before. The yam will surely be comfortable. Next, he uses a stake to punch some holes into the lid of the tin. Hopefully, if he keeps the lid on the yam would sleep soundly. Very carefully, he nestles the little yam in its new bed, keeping in mind to make sure that the yam is facing up. He tucks it in and whispers “Goodnight” before closing the lid as noiselessly as possible.
With mental fortitude, he leaves the cottage to continue the harvest. Staring hard at his crop of yams, he feels no small sense of apprehension. There might be more than one. Nonetheless, he diligently pulls them up one by one.
+
A full morning of harvesting saw no more screaming vegetables, though there were a couple with embarrassing shapes that Tendou is sure to be amused with. Ushijima doesn’t understand why Tendou insists on buying specifically vegetables in rude shapes. Ushijima once asked him if it was because they tasted better, but Tendou confessed he never ate them. He likes to collect them and fluster people visiting his home. What a waste of perfectly good food.
It’s noon and the sun is high in its zenith, beating down harshly on the field. Now is as good a time as any to take a well deserved break and to check on the yam. It will probably want water, so he fetches some water from the well before returning back to his cottage.
The room is exactly as he left it that morning. Tidy and organised with the day’s required tools leaning on the wall nearby the door for quick access. The tin is on his bedside cabinet, as quiet and still as it was this morning.
Too quiet for a baby animal.
Practically sprinting towards the tin, he can’t help the rapid beating of his heart. His mind jumps to the worst possible conclusion: It's dead! He killed it with his ignorance. He should have known better. He has no experience with sentient vegetables.
Wrenching open the tin he expects to see a shrivelled root and dried out leave crumbling to dust. Instead, what he sees is the yam with longer limbs, more of a torso and a bit of a neck. It’s growing.
Ushijima lets out a sigh of relief. He doesn’t know how to take care of this thing properly, but at least it’s growing so he must be on the right track.
The yam yawns and gurgles, reaching its tiny arms out to Ushijima. Unsure of what to do, he gives the yam his pinky to hold on to. Because it’s so small it’s tiny touch tickles his skin. A smile tugs at the corners of his mouth. What an adorable mystery this little plant is.
He takes away his finger and puts down the tin to fill up a shallow dish with water. He has just finished when the yam begins to fuss. Just like a baby , he thinks fondly. Slipping his fingers beneath the yam, he takes it from the tin and settles it in the dish of water.
The yam wriggles around a bit, sitting up comfortably. Ushijima’s eyes widen in surprise. Its leaves are plumping up and becoming greener. Its limbs and torso are literally growing before his eyes. Soon, he sees the beginnings of fingers and two dark spots on its head where eyes should be, just under a film of translucent barklike skin. The growing yam however seems unaware of any changes, its arms hanging over the edge of the dish giving out tiny sighs of contentment.
+
Ushijima munches thoughtfully on an apple. One hand holding the reins, the horses respond to the slightest touch, driving his cart of produce towards the market. He can drop by at Shirabu’s after selling his vegetables. See if he might know anything about the yam tucked away back home. He ended up having to find a bigger box for it to accommodate any growing it might do while he’s gone.
With the steady clop clop of the horses and a rattle of the wheels, Ushijima guides the cart to the market by the west gate, mindful of children playing in the street. Shiratorizawa’s walls loom high above the west market, shielding merchants and shoppers alike from the harsh afternoon sun. The Wall of Shiratorizawa is one of the Seven Wonders of the World, and rightly so. Letting the horses do their work, he takes a moment to admire it.
Towering and unbreakable, an expanse of black rock rises sharply from the ground in jagged peaks that touch and prick the soft blue sky above. The length of the wall snakes across the landscape, as serpentine as it is jagged at the top. There isn’t a single smooth surface on it either. It is a large, hulking, brutish thing. Crudely made one slab of jet black rock at a time by Ushijima’s ancestors without the aid of magic. This is what makes it special. It is the only wall built by man’s own hands. All others were built using some form of magic or another.
He remembers once, when he was only a little boy, a wyrm had slithered out of the northern mountains. It had a long, twisted body covered in bright blue scales supported by four sturdy legs armed with claws longer than a man was tall. On its head sprouted impressive antlers like fallen trees stripped of leaves and white as bone. Running all along its spine and ending in a plumed tail were flickering flames of red and gold that matched the fire in its throat. Above all, it was large beyond imagination and five year old Ushijima was afraid.
His father knew this and took him up the wall. Ushijima cried in protest, squirming in his father’s arms all the way up the hewn stone steps. By the time they were on the narrow path at the wall’s summit Ushijima was screaming.
His father soothed him with his gentle voice and tender touches on his small back. Ushijima shook and sniffled, calmed down enough to stop crying. After all, his father was here with him so nothing could go wrong.
Then his father had him look over the rampart and the screaming began anew.
Below was a tangled mess of scales and flames. They were standing right above the coiled blue wyrm. Snarling and ferocious, it sprang from the ground and lunged at the summit releasing a torrent of flame with a deafening roar. The stone made this horrible fractured noise as though it was going to burst into a million pieces. They were going to die.
Ushijima screamed, frozen in horror. He watched the flames rushing up the wall in a loud hiss. He pushed and beat on his father’s chest with his little fists, trying to get him to pull back from the rampart. Then, the flames lost momentum. The end of the flame dissipated two thirds of the way up the wall and all Ushijima felt was the residual heat, a warm breeze ruffling his hair.
Oh.
His father laughed deep from within his chest and wiped tears from the corners of his eyes. Ushijima laughed with him.
“It’s huge, isn’t it?”
Ushijima nodded, keeping a wary eye on the frustrated wyrm.
“But our wall is even bigger.” His father ruffled his hair. “What do you think would happen if the wyrm gets over the wall?”
Ushijima looked at him then, fear in his voice. “We'll die.”
His father smiled at him fondly. “No.” He nodded towards a soldier on patrol nearby. “Our warriors will protect us. They’re like the wall. Strong and dependable.”
The soldier came over in long, powerful strides. He stood tall, proud and confident in the maroon regalia of their warriors. With armour glinting in the sun and a huge sword at his hip he seemed untouchable, just like the wall.
The soldier spoke to his father about some boring adult stuff and patted Ushijima’s head before he left. His hand dwarfed Ushijima’s and was rough with callouses, but his touch was soft and warm. Ushijima felt safe knowing that those hands were protecting everyone.
“When you grow up, I want you to be like him, like the wall. You don’t have to be a warrior, but if you can be strong and dependable for others I would be happy.”
After that Ushijima was no longer frightened of the wyrm and even went back to the wall to play with the nice soldier from before.
In the days that followed, no matter how much the wyrm huffed and puffed its blood red flames and golden sparks, the wall merely crackled like thunder and nothing more. The wyrm was nothing if not persistent. It tried to tear the wall down with its fearsome claws and it even tried to scale it like a mountain but to no avail. Eventually it grew tired and starved to death.
Soldiers then poured out of the gates and swarmed around the fallen wyrm like ants. They made quick work of disposing the carcass, harvesting useful parts for potions and magical arts under the guidance of the few mages they had. Magic in any living thing was rare in Shiratorizawa, so the dead wyrm was very precious.
The nice soldier managed to get a hold of one shimmering blue scale, which he gave to Ushijima and he was delighted with the beautiful treasure.