Rurouni Kenshin Fan Fiction ❯ The Alchemy of Gold and Silver ❯ Scarred ( Chapter 7 )

Chapter 7: Scarred

 

In a world full of people, only some want to fly.

Isn't that crazy?

-Seal, Crazy

 

The two followed the boy for what seemed like hours, ghosting along pathways as though they weren't even there. And indeed, they might as well not have been, for it seemed that none present paid them any heed whatsoever. Misao was rather pleased with herself at this; she had made it a point to teach Kaoru how to move not only quietly, but unobtrusively as well, and the other girl seemed to take to the lessons with none of the haughtiness that samurai usually displayed for a ninja's art.

 

And why should she? Misao knew that Kaoru was practical enough to appreciate the skill for its usefulness, and in return the young ninja had learned a few tricks in case she should ever get caught in a one-on-one with a fully-armed opponent.

 

She flashed a grateful grin at her the swordswoman across the alley, who merely looked at her with puzzlement. Of course, she wouldn't know why the kunoichi chose this moment to express happiness of any sort.

 

The situation certainly hadn't called for it. They'd spent the better part of an afternoon following the boy Yahiko around, watching him pick pockets. Unfortunately, he wasn't very good at it, and usually either outright failed or was immediately suspected. A few tense times, the two of them had felt the need to melt into the crowd and “accidentally” block a pursuer simply by being in the way. This usually led to protests, but Kaoru, who allowed her fringe to obscure her face, had simply let off a little intimidating ki, and the stranger would murmur an apology to “samurai-sama” and beat a hasty retreat.

 

Misao personally had found it kind of funny at first. Anyone who knew Kaoru understood that she posed less danger than most varieties of insect, and yet people saw a sword and were intimidated. Kaoru herself was less amused by how easy it was to frighten them.

 

“Don't you see, Misao? This is how easily cowed they are. How awful must it be if everyone with a sword is presumed to have bad intentions?” she had asked in a frustrated whisper.

 

The green-eyed girl's response had been to shrug. Such things were just a part of the way things were right now. No use worrying about how people saw samurai; better to end the war that was doing them actual damage. If Kaoru didn't learn to let things go, she was going have an aneurism one of these days.

 

Amusement had faded swiftly to boredom, though, and Misao had begun to wonder if the kid did anything other than make bumbling attempts at thievery all day. Thanks to his unrealized assistance, he'd surely accumulated enough to eat for a few days, which was usually enough to satisfy the thugs that hired these kids, too.

 

Just as she had been about to abandon the whole thing as useless, evening had led the kid down a series of alleys and into the red light district. Walking past brothels and bars- both well-lit and clearly more shady- as though they weren't even there, he had come to stop in front of a decrepit-looking hovel that might once have been a teahouse.

 

He stood there for a few moments, and the sounds of drunken revelry gradually drifted outward to the ears of his shadows. Misao could hear what sounded like overly boisterous songs, laughter, and unless she missed her guess, someone losing the contents of their stomach. Aw, nasty! She thought, shuddering slightly, making wide eyes at Kaoru, who stood pressed against the wall of an unlit building, occasionally stealing glances around the corner at the boy. Misao herself was crouched behind a pile of shipping crates.

 

At catching sight of her face, Kaoru smiled slightly and shook her head. Misao was about to mouth something in her direction when Yahiko stirred ahead of them. Both women's eyes immediately snapped to the scene, and they watched as three men, all large, armed, and, judging by their stumbling gaits, extremely inebriated, emerged from the front of the ramshackle building. The one in front was loudly recounting some story, sword resting absently across his shoulders.

 

Catching sight of Yahiko, the man sauntered over towards the boy, covering the ground in long, lurching strides, coming to stand so that the eerie red lights backlit he and his cohorts, casting their silhouettes over the now visibly-trembling pickpocket. Misao signaled a question to Kaoru: should they move in? The swordswoman shook her head in the negative, and so Misao settled back on her heels, crouching so that she could just see around the crates.

 

The leader stared down at the boy for a few moments, as though trying to remember something. He must have found the vital information through the drunken haze, because there was no confusion in his too-loud voice when he spoke.

 

“How much have you brought me, kid?”

 

***

 

Yahiko did his best to remain stonefaced as the intoxicated thug loomed over him. He could smell the sake on the guy, even though he was still probably three feet away. He carefully reached into his pockets and removed several purses. It had been a much better day than usual today for him; though he'd run into trouble a few times, he'd managed to escape without too much trouble. Maybe I'm getting better at this. He wasn't sure if this was a good thing or not.

 

Truthfully, that lady's words had cut him pretty deeply. He knew what he was doing wasn't right, but then she had to go and say it like that. Dad… I'm sorry. But there was little choice left to him now.

 

The man's callused hand swiftly snatched up the satchels. Hefting them in his left hand, he sneered down at Yahiko. “That the best you can do kid?'

 

The pickpocket swallowed. It was always worse when the boss was drunk. Fixing his eyes on the ground in front of him, he willed his anger to subside. I can't… not now.

 

“Are you listening to me, whelp?” The words were slurred, but the anger in them was unmistakable. Yahiko nodded mutely, hoping the guy would just get tired of berating him and leave. It seemed such was not the case though, when the voice plowed on. “I guess you don't really care what happens to that little girlfriend of yours do you?”

 

That had done it. “You hurt her, and I'll… I'll kill you!” When all four men merely laughed at this, Yahiko cast about for something, anything, to use. Settling on a good-sized metal pipe laying a few feet from where he was standing, he lunged towards it, rolling to come up in his best approximation of a fighting stance. “No more!” he yelled, “I won't let you hurt her anymore!”

 

***

 

Misao was about to jump out herself if Kaoru didn't give the signal soon. Upon hearing the boy's proclamation, the jerks had just laughed some more, and told him to put down the pipe if he knew what was good for him. The lady ninja knew there wasn't much time before the men made good on their threat.

 

She shot another hard stare in Kaoru's direction, and the swordswoman nodded. The two left their relative hiding places at the same time, careful to make enough noise to be noticed, standing shoulder-to-shoulder to block the quickest way out.

 

The two Oniwaban members were indeed immediately noticed; four obvious leers and a few lewd comments later, Misao had abandoned any notion of just asking them to hand over the kids. Oh no, she was going to enjoy this.

 

Kaoru, who had been blushing furiously, nevertheless managed to hide her embarrassment when she spoke. “I suppose we'll have to leave one of them conscious for interrogation, right Misao?”

 

The latter sighed, though a near-malicious grin was spreading across her face. “I suppose…” she shrugged. “Darn rules, always ruining my fun.”

 

Kaoru snorted in what might have been an attempt to suppress laughter, but all further communication was cut short when the head honcho started talking again. “Well, boys, what do you say we punish this brat and then have some fun, eh?”

 

Yahiko, who had turned to see what was going on, appeared to be distracted by their appearance, and noticed too late that a sword was descending towards them. “Sorry, kid, but we don't got much use for a thief what can't even steal!”

 

Misao was in the middle of deciding that taking so long to attack hadn't been a good idea when Kaoru moved. Indeed, that was the best word for it. It was too sudden to have been running in the typical sense, and too slow for anything else. Her sakabatou was unsheathed and blocking the attack before the criminal launching it had even registered any change at all.

 

“Lesson one,” the samurai said, glancing down at the petrified youth, “never let down your guard.” A flash of steel, a broken collarbone, and the man was down for the count, the woman who had felled him moving smoothly to intercept the one guy who had recovered enough to draw his own blade.

 

Misao grinned, then realized with a start that she'd better get moving if the wanted in on the action. Pulling a couple concealed kunai from the obi of her slightly-modified kimono, she launched herself at the nearest opponent, striking arms, chest, and head in a flurry of movement with the flats of the blades. No need for deadly force here; these guys were no real threat to anyone.

 

Bringing the handle of the knife down atop the dazed man's skull, she took a moment to examine her surroundings. The kid was trying to stave off the last guy, and so she moved in and pinched the vein along his neck that would send him straight to sleep, jumping out of the way to avoid his fall.

 

Her first opponent was still awake, though barely, and Misao placed a foot on his chest to keep him down. She felt Kaoru walk up beside her, and shot her friend a sly look. Locking eyes with the now-terrified petty crook, she smiled her best weasel smile. “So… are you gonna tell us who you work for, or are me and my knives going to get to have some real fun?” she drawled, angling one of her kunai so the light from the nearby streetlamps glinted off the steel.

 

The man swallowed audibly, and the kunoichi could have laughed. Where was their bravado now? She had no intention of actually torturing him, but he didn't have to know that.

 

“P-please,” he stammered at a pitch a few octaves too high, “d-don't, uh…”

 

“I do believe she's waiting,” Kaoru broke in. Clearly having caught onto Misao's game, the thumbed her sakabato loose in its sheath, wearing a bored expression and looking lazily at Misao, who was still smiling like a maniac for dramatic effect.

 

“K-Kurogasa! We work for Kurogasa!” the response was barely more than a squeal.

 

The ninja tilted her head sideways, widening her eyes just a bit. “Hmm… Kurogasa… that sounds like a fake name to me. How about you?” she asked her partner.

 

Shrugging casually, Kaoru replied in her best imitation of Aoshi-level calm. “It does at that…”

 

The poor fool's eyes flew open, and he was hasty to speak again before they could decide he was useless and kill him. “It is! But, I don't know his real name, none of us do. They say he used to work as a hitokiri, but has gone rouge recentl- pleasedon'tpointthatatme.” His interrogator was impressed that he managed it all in one breath, and stopped slowly moving the knife closer to his face.

 

“One last thing,” the gi-clad woman intoned flatly. “Where is the girl?”

 

“Girl?” he looked confused. “Oh, her! All prisoners are kept at Kurogasa's warehouse across town. Umm…” he wasn't sure they were going to like what he had to say next, but figured it was better to tell them than have them figure it out later and then come back to punish him.

 

“What?”

 

“Thing is… Kurogasa don't keep too many prisoners for too long, if ya catch my drift.”

 

“Yep, gotcha!” Misao's shift to a peppier version of psycho must have lulled him into a sense of security, because he seemed to relax a little. The point was moot, however, because he went entirely limp when she gave him another good whack over the head.

 

“What do we do with him?” Kaoru had dropped the act entirely, and was looking at Yahiko with undisguised concern. The kid had taken the news that his friend was probably dead hard, and was now sitting on the ground, clutching his knees to himself, looking utterly defeated.

 

Misao grimaced. “Let's get him back to the Aoiya. Aoshi-sama will want to know about this Kurogasa guy, and he looks like he needs something to eat anyway. We can't do anything else tonight.”

 

The other girl nodded, and without another word, walked over to the trembling boy and offered him her hand. He looked at it for a few seconds, then took it and stood, following them as they left the unconscious men behind.

 

***

 

The Battosai watched with disinterested eyes as the man fell, clutching in vain at the vital artery in his neck, now gushing blood at an unquestionably deadly rate. Stepping over the body, he ignored the small twinge at the edge of his awareness, instead flowing into the next succession of katas as another Shogunate soldier stepped up to fill the place his comrade had left.

 

So many had he killed already, nameless soldiers whose faces he did not care to remember. Yet, he knew that each one was burned as an afterimage into his brain, fuel for ghostly conjurations of his sleeping mind.

 

Slicing through flesh and bone, watching as expressions froze in twisted caricatures of mindless terror, all of this was automatic. It required no thought, no real presence of mind. This was no challenge, no true battle for him, merely a grim necessity. And so he observed the crimson trails running down the length of his katana without once wondering if the blade would eventually stain that way.

 

At least, that had once been the case. Now though, each kill seemed to be filling a space in his consciousness, as though slowly working towards some unknown quota. What happened when that number was reached, he could not say. The Battosai knew only that with each felled opponent, the niggling sensation grew to encompass more of his experience, until it was all he knew. His body moved automatically, destroying them with no less perfection than he had before, and yet his mind was completely consumed. Something was threatening to burst, to make itself known, and though he knew not why, the Battosai fought it with all he had.

 

As the battle progressed, he found himself cutting a path through the enemy ranks towards the commander. The soldiers here were no more skilled than their fellows, and there was naught else to do but slice through them all. It seemed the battle was turning in the rebellion's favor; the men threw themselves at his mercy with increasing desperation.

 

Someone, at least, appeared to finally understand what he was doing, because he was confronted next by a group. Coming to a stop, he allowed all twenty to surround him, swords drawn. One of them yelled something, but the Battosai had ceased to hear the sounds of the battle a long time ago. Indeed, it was as if everything was moving through water, save himself, so slow and silent did it seem.

 

They struck in tandem, but it was of little consequence. He lashed out at the first man faster than anyone could see, severing his sword arm with a quick, practiced stroke. He could feel the others coming in behind him, but knew that the suddenness of what he had just done would be enough to make them hesitate. Using that time, he launched himself into the air, bringing his sword down crosswise so that it went through three of those who'd been at his back moments ago. Turning to face the rest, he was largely unsurprised when he observed that the fear and hesitation on their faces and in their ki had increased exponentially.

 

“O-oni,” one of them whispered. “Demon!” He and several of the others turned and fled at the speed only the truly desperate reach. The Battosai let them go; cowards were beneath his notice. It was not they he had been sent for anyway.

 

The few that remained were no more of an issue than the others, and in mere moments, the Battosai was hacking a hole in the command tent. To his surprise, only one man was within: his intended target. The man was about thirty-five, young for someone of such high rank. He was seated as though he were meditating, and did not look up even as the tent collapsed around him. Only when the wreckage had subsided did he spare the Battosai a glance.

 

“I see… so you are the one they have sent to kill me.” It was not a question, and the Battosai did nothing to acknowledge it, merely watched his opponent levelly.

 

There was no mirth in the upward tilt of the man's mouth, rather, he looked almost thoughtful. “Very well. I will fight you, slayer of men, and see how well my grandfather's style fares against a blade such as yours.” At this, he stood, stepping over the snapped poles that lay on the ground, and came to a stop about ten feet from the golden-eyed assassin.

 

The Battosai's eyes narrowed as he took stock of the commander. Given the war his mind was waging with itself at the moment, this might be harder than he had anticipated. The man was certainly fearful of him, and rightly so, but it was not the mindless fear that caused men to run like rabbits. Rather, it was an adrenaline-laden fear that, when used skillfully, could sharpen ability to threatening levels.

 

The red-haired samurai knew all of this, and yet could barely force it into his waking mind, strained as it was with what was now a splitting headache, surely the result of trying to suppress whatever was threatening to break loose. Even now, shards of images were flickering over his thoughts, images of battles old and new, of people better forgotten.

 

The first exchange was fast, but the Battosai found himself being more cautious than was usually his wont, for surely any lapse in his concentration would loose the images entirely. His opponent, by contrast, was much more the aggressor than he would have expected, and the exchange ended with the hitokiri driven back at least five paces from where he had stood.

 

The commander was now eyeing him warily, same thoughtful expression on his face. “You are conflicted, manslayer. I can see it in the way you hesitate. Surely this is not all the legendary Battosai has to offer?”

 

The Battosai still said nothing, but simply stared the man down. Without warning, he struck. Though his blade was parried, his opponent was thrown almost entirely off-balance, recovering in barely enough time to hold off the following series of heavy strikes.

 

Leaping back, the man managed to pivot and reverse his momentum. Knowing that this would be the final pass, the assassin swiftly sheathed and redrew his sword, applying for the first time that day the full measure of his inhuman speed.

 

It seemed that this had been a mistake. Though the force with which he propelled himself forward was more than enough to carry the strike through to completion, it had taken enough of his concentration that memories now flooded his mind, pictures from battlefields bathed in blood, men lying prostrate beneath him. After each sequence, each repetition, he saw himself, coldly flicking the blood from his katana, before the next set of tortured screams began.

 

A voice from behind broke into the stream. “I hope that you find your answer, manslayer.” There was an exhalation, which sounded almost relieved, and the muffled thud of the commander's body contacting the ground.

 

To the Battosai's surprise, even as his opponent fell and the images renewed their assault on his mind, he was vaguely aware of a wound opening up on his face, from the bridge of his nose to the end of his cheekbone. Had he really been so careless?

 

There was little time to consider that or anything else. His head was pounding, and soon he found that he could no longer keep his balance. He stabbed the sword into the ground as he fell, holding onto it for support as he was accosted with a new onslaught of fragments of his own existence. This time, he heard more than saw them.

 

O-ni… Demon!

 

The hitokiri Battosai!

 

No… no please!

 

You heartless bastard!

 

`Why' is a question you have not asked me in a long time, Himura…

 

If I have to explain it to you, you'll never understand, baka!

 

He struggled violently against his own demons, willing them to leave him in peace, but the tide of guilt and pain was relentless, and so he had no choice but to give himself over to it and hope that it would soon cease. Suddenly, the voices stopped, and he was brought to stand on a more recent battlefield, one he had visited not long ago. The burning in his mind eased, and he felt cool relief flood his senses. This time, there were no shouts, no screams, only a single speaker, heard through a slight haze of time and distance, as though this were a memory of a dream rather than a reality.

 

Who are you?

 

He trained you to be a samurai, not an assassin, of that I am sure.

 

Farewell, Himura-san…

 

He was realeased, and his eyes snapped open. How long had he been kneeling here like this? He quickly stood, and pulled his katana from the earth, sheathing it smoothly. His hand brushed the hilt of the second sword he was carrying, and he froze. Himura-san… how long has it been since I've been Himura? The Battosai didn't know, and that troubled him for some reason. Why should his kills be bothering him now? The last time he had worried overmuch about taking lives was when he had first begun his work over four years ago. So why should those initial reservations surface again now?

 

Himura Battosai moved his hand from the second sword and headed for the edge of the field. He should probably get the cut on his face looked at. It would likely scar anyway, but he cared little.

 

***

 

“Aoshi-sama! Aoshi-samaaa!” Misao's voice called.

 

Aoshi started, having not heard her coming, but swiftly recovered. Had his trance really been that deep?

 

Misao appeared from around a corner, expression all eagerness and spirit as usual. She wasn't going to like what he was about to say. To his surprise, Kaoru followed a short way behind, bearing a far more neutral expression.

 

Resigning himself to the unpleasantness that was to follow, Aoshi gestured for them both to sit near him on the covered porch behind the Aoiya. The polished wooden floors shone with proper upkeep, and the garden which it overlooked was in a similar state of good maintenance. It was the flowering plants in the middle ground that Aoshi kept his eyes steadily on as Misao began to speak.

 

“Aoshi-sama, you said you would make your decision today.” He could see from the corner of his eye that she was regarding him with something nearing reproach; it was true that he'd avoided telling her of his choice, though he wondered why. Surely it should have been just as easy for him to tell Misao as anyone else, so why had he chosen not to do so?

 

Putting the thought aside, he broke the news without preamble. “I will send a group to the warehouse once we have enough spare people to handle it.”

 

Misao's reproach swiftly changed to disappointment, then frustration. “But, Aoshi-sama, why can't you just send Kaoru and I? Sano could come too, and the three of us should be able to sneak in, rescue the girl, and get out again,” she protested.

 

Aoshi allowed a slight frown to crease his face, which immediately silenced her. “Sanosuke has other duties to attend to at the moment, and we will need more experienced people when the time comes,” he replied flatly.

 

“So you don't think I'm strong enough then, is that it?” Misao couldn't seem to muster her usual energy; the statement sounded flat and defeated. Aoshi said nothing, and after a few moments, she got up wordlessly and went back inside, closing the door a tad too forcefully.

 

There was a momentary silence. “I suppose you wish to protest as well?” he asked at last.

 

“Not as such,” Kaoru replied. “But, there are a few things I am surprised you do not see,” she continued evenly.

 

Aoshi cast a glance in her direction; she was sitting a few feet from him, facing out into the garden just as he was. “Oh?”

 

“She's much stronger than you think.” The swordswoman began simply, still staring straight ahead.

 

“Even if she is, that doesn't mean she wouldn't be killed by a rouge hitokiri.”

 

Kaoru sighed. “Nor does it mean that she will. I understand that it is not your desire to see her harmed, but is it not a leader's duty to put his people to the best use possible? To select them for the tasks they can succeed at?”

 

Aoshi's eyebrows furrowed. “It is also my duty to see that they stay alive.”

 

She turned, and her eyes bored into the side of his face, willing him to look at her. He did, and was surprised to see an understanding there that he would not have expected. “You can't be everywhere. I understand that Misao is special, I do. But I also think that by trying so much to protect her from everything, you will drive her to place herself in more danger than she would otherwise.”

 

He thought on this for a moment. Special? Yes, I suppose she might be. Misao was, after all, one of the few people who had known him before the Oniwabanshu, before the deaths of his most trusted men. Was that the reason he detested the idea of sending her out into the field?

 

Still, he didn't understand the logic. Kaoru must have picked up on this, for she elaborated. “I fully believe she intends to go anyway, with or without your permission. You can't have her watched at all hours of the day, so she will manage it eventually, most likely alone.”

 

“And what do you propose I do about this? I cannot acquiesce to this idea. It would be irresponsible of me to allow her to go by herself,” he replied, a slight note of admonishment in his tone.

 

“Then don't. Let her sneak off, but let me go too. If you can't give us your permission, give us the information. Tell me when the guards change so we can sneak in and out before they notice us. Give her a chance to prove herself to you. Surely you must know how she feels by now.” The last was accompanied by a pointed look, and Aoshi sighed inwardly. Misao had hero-worshipped him ever since they were children. For the most part, that was what he liked to think she did now. Deep down, though, he knew that Kaoru was right, and cursed himself for allowing it to happen. He should have pushed her away when he had the chance, but somehow he had been unable to.

 

“Fine. Misao will do what she chooses with her own time, and I'm assigning you to guard her wherever she goes for the next three days.”

 

Kaoru flashed him a smile. “I'll protect her with all I've got,” she promised, rising and bowing before leaving him to his thoughts.

 

***

 

Katsura Kogoro was more than surprised to see the bandages on his hitokiri's face. Himura hadn't sustained many injuries since his first missions. Katsura had known that the Shinsengumi captain he'd assigned the youth was a good swordsman, but couldn't help but feel that some other factor had been at play for the young man to come away with such a mark.

 

Nevertheless, he did not comment as the assassin gave his report, though he sensed that some details were missing. Ordinarily, he would have asked after them, but he chose not to in this case. He was actually hoping that the Battosai's injury might be the sign of a breakthrough.

 

When Himura had come to the Shishi at the age of fifteen, Katsura had been dead-set against hiring him. The idea of mere children as soldiers repulsed him, but the boy's skills had been impressive enough that his considerations had been overridden by his superiors.

 

Needless to say, when the teenaged assassin had returned from his first few missions with obvious signs of shock and trauma, Katsura had been saddened, but unsurprised. He had watched as the starry-eyed, idealistic boy had transformed into what seemed on the surface to be a cold, emotionless killing machine. Truly, though, there was no doubt that Himura Kenshin was still in there somewhere.

 

It was why he had been secretly pleased when the hitokiri had asked him why someone had to die. It was that kind of question that he wished he heard more often, no matter how hard it might be to answer. Katsura was just as displeased with the Shogun's regime as the next revolutionary, but unlike most, he was an advocate of using the hitokiri only sparingly. Too many of them ended up with too much damage for such a tactic to be completely justified in his mind, and he was working as much as he could to keep the idealistic young man inside the Battosai from being just another victim of the manslayer's cold wrath.

 

“So it was all taken care of then? Good. Your next assignment is a traitor: one who once walked in our midst, but chose to give information to the enemy. His name is Jin-e, but he is better known as Kurogasa.” Despite his desires, Katsura could not allow any piece of his plans to keep Himura from losing himself to reach the man himself. For now, he just had to hope that whatever had affected the hitokiri the first time he'd refused to kill would continue to do so. I wonder if that second sword has something to do with it?

 

“Where is he now?” the question brought Katsura back to the present.

 

“We aren't sure, though rumor places him in Kyoto. You could probably reach him in a day or two.”

 

“I understand.” With that, the assassin executed a swift bow, turned on his heel, and exited.

 

Himura…

 

*****

Kiku's Corner

 

Hello again, everyone, and welcome to this week's author's notes! As you have probably noticed, I changed the title. Someone suggested `Silver and Gold, ' and while I liked the idea of including Kenshin in the color motif of the title (since he is a main character, obviously) I didn't want to just call it that, since it didn't really fix the issues I had with the title as it was. I think the “Alchemy” bit serves the purpose of describing the fact that there's a reaction going on between the two of them, one that will prove transformative to both… Sorry for rambling; I tend to overthink things like this. Pay no mind to the ramblings of an author, ne?

 

Anyway, thanks are due to Beth the Wonder Beta, as well as all the readers.

 

Thanks also to GreyPhoenix for your reviews; I'm glad to hear from you again!

 

~Kiku~