Rurouni Kenshin Fan Fiction ❯ The Four Swords ❯ Chapter Five ( Chapter 5 )

AUTHOR'S NOTE: In celebration of the beginning of my Spring Break, the shopping for of my prom dress, and all the college acceptances I have received (only 1 waitlist and 1 rejection), I present to you Chapter Five.

 

Still no reviews, huh? Stubborn, the whole lot of you. How hard is it to click the “review” button…?

 

Chapter Five

 

Sagara turned and looked at the men behind him. Their mouths and eyes were set. They knew exactly what they had been asked to do.

 

He was surprised at how many men had volunteered to go along. Their hearts, their minds, their ideals called stronger than their pride and dignity.

 

“We'll have pride and dignity when the new era begins,” one of the men told him. “Then, we can put the past, and what we did in it, behind us and look to the future. We will think only of how we helped bring in the new era, not what we did to bring it in.”

 

“Sagara-san! Sagara-san!” a small voice called.

 

Sagara turned and watched as the boy ran up to him, tripping twice and scrambling back to his feet. He smiled down as the young boy, whose gi was now dirty at the knees, came alongside him.

 

“Good morning, Sano,” Sagara said pleasantly.

 

“Ohaiyo!” Sano cried, smiling broadly. “Where are we going, Sagara-san?”

 

“To the mountains,” Sagara answered simply. The village was called Hanayama, if his memory served him correctly.

 

“Ahhh! I've always wanted to see the mountains!”

 

“You'll get your chance. It won't be very much fun, though, once we get there.”

 

“Of course not. The Sekihou has a job to do,” Sano said simply, walking facing straight forward.

 

Sagara's eyes widened. He loved Sano as if he were his son—it was a strange, alien sort of feeling that Sagara was not used to. He'd given up “love” as an emotion when he left home (surrounded by bad feelings and disgrace, of course) and joined the Imperialist movement.

 

But then Sano had appeared in his life… and he'd adopted Sagara, instead of the other way around. That was what made Sagara most uncomfortable about what he did. Sano loved him, adored him, revered him. All the terrible things he'd done—and would do—in the name of 9-year-old Sano's future haunted him. Sano shouldn't treat me like this. He should know all the terrible things I've done.

 

“Sano,” Sagara asked softly. “Why do you stay with the Sekihou?”

 

“Because of you,” the little boy answered directly.

 

Sagara was silent. Finally, he said, “Sano, there are things I need to tell you…”

 

-------------

 

“There's been another strike.”

 

“Really? Where?” Aoshi asked, brow furrowing slightly. He disliked being interrupted while writing, but this was important. He carefully laid the brush down against the ink bowl and waited for the rest of Hannya's report.

 

“In a little village called Hanayama. Nobody knows if it's the same assassin, though. Nobody saw the murders.”

 

“Tell me what happened.”

 

“Only two men were killed. The killings were clean, and the bodies were dumped in the forest. Both of the men were soldier-types. One was killed in his tent outside the village, the other was killed in some unknown location.”

 

“What makes you think it was the same assassin?”

 

“Gut instinct, really. There was something mysterious about the whole thing… why only those two men? The killings were so silent, not even the men in the tents nearby heard one of the men die. And there are absolutely no clues as to where the other man came from. They were both exceptionally clean killings—no needless wounds or anything. They were beaten similar to our men—one by a martial artist, who slit the throat, and the other by a thrown knife, I think.”

 

“What were these `soldier-types' doing in Hanayama?”

 

“The Lord there—Lord Nobori—is gathering men dissatisfied with the Shogunate and the proposed Meiji government. It's not clear what they'll be fighting for, but rumor has it they'll be fighting for Nobori and his ideas on government.”

 

Aoshi snorted in a strangely delicate way. “And what does he know of government?”

 

Hannya shrugged. “I wouldn't know, but I'm guessing whatever he's saying appeals to everyone who's agreeing to fight.”

 

Aoshi sighed. Hannya was like that sometimes… If I want your opinion, Hannya, just give it to me. Don't sidestep the question and give me some asinine answer like that.

 

“Very well.” Aoshi tapped his fingers against his finely shaped chin as he thought, and Hannya could not but notice again how handsome Aoshi was. Sad, he thought to himself. Now that he's Okashira, it's not likely he'll ever marry. A pity for the women of Japan.

 

“Hannya, you take care of everything here. I'm going to Hanayama.”

 

“Are you sure, Aoshi-sama?”

 

“Yes. I'll find out for myself who this assassin is. You've been of great help, Hannya. Consider this a break.”

“Hai, Aoshi-sama.”

 

----------------------

 

“Hanayama? I've never heard of it,” Saitou said with a slight frown.

 

“How exciting, then!” Okita chirped. “Wouldn't you like to see someplace new? It's like a vacation!” Okita was practically dancing. Saitou smiled.

 

“For someone five years older than I am, you certainly don't act like it.”

 

“You just don't know how to have fun, Saitou-san,” Okita teased.

 

“When will you be leaving?”

 

“This afternoon, I think. It's not far from here, really, and the troop should hold up fine.”

 

Saitou nodded. “Take care of yourself, Okita.”

 

“Hai, hai Saitou-san! What shall we do until then?”

 

Saitou drew his sword and tested its edge with his right hand. “Practice?”

 

“Oh, Saitou!” Okita groaned. “Must you ruin my fun already? I don't want to practice!”

 

“But you're so good,” Saitou cajoled. “Besides, I'm not comfortable fighting your Tennen Rishi style yet.”

 

“And I don't want you to become so,” Okita pouted. “It means I won't be able to beat you anymore.”

 

Saitou laughed aloud, causing Okita's eyes to widen in fear. “Saitou-san?”

 

“You would still be able to beat me, you know. You're the caption of the First Troop for a reason.”

 

“Still,” Okita sniffed. “I like my pride just like you.”

 

“Very well. We won't practice. What shall we do instead?”

 

--------------------

 

Mieko yawned and uncurled herself from the branch where she'd been sleeping. Frowning, she dropped to the ground and sought out clean water. She wanted to clean the bloodstains from her clothes before she continued.

 

And a bath would be nice too.

 

She found the tiny little stream and sighed. Enough to wash her clothes, but probably not enough to bathe in. Oh well. Her vanity could wait another day. She stripped off the layer of black clothing, dumping the knives into a pile at her feet, and dunked it in the water, grimacing as the water turned pink. There wasn't a lot of blood, but enough to stain and smell.

 

When she was satisfied that the blood was out, she laid the clothes out to dry on a rock and lay in the grass. There were immediate concerns to be taken care of—food, a kimono, and news. The middle one would be the hardest. If she had any hope of blending in, she'd need women's clothing. But in a village this small, stealing (which was what she usually did) was virtually impossible.

 

To avoid the problem, she turned her thoughts to nourishment. She'd gone without food for two days before, so she wasn't overly worried. But, she thought wistfully, I'd like to at least eat something.

 

News… that she could only get by going into the village and nosing around. People might talk freely, but she was more likely to hear the important stuff if she kept silent and stayed invisible.

 

Which required a full stomach and a kimono.

 

Groaning, Mieko rolled over onto her stomach and lay there, letting the morning sun warm her back. Damn. Why does this have to be so hard?

 

She resigned herself to the fact that she needed a kimono. Glancing up at the sky, she attempted to determine what time in the morning it was. The safest way to get a kimono, she decided, was to go back to her safe house and retrieve her own. Running back there didn't appeal to her, but getting caught and trapped appealed to her even less.

 

Definitely before noon. If I'm fast, I can make it back before the end of the day, and there might still be people around. Certainly, I'll make it back before the evening meal.

 

Resigned to running and remaining food-less, she picked up her damp clothes, bundled them up on her back, strapped the knives to her exposed body (making them less surprising, but equally as useful), and set off at a trot back towards the Kawami lands.

 

-----------------

 

Late in the afternoon, the Sekihou Army finally reached the mountains. Sagara called the men to a stop and organized a conference with the other captains—and Sano, who stayed stubbornly by his side.

 

“We're less than an hour from Hanayama. The scouts tell me we're out of sight of the army camp. I want to stop here and stay for the night.”

 

The other men murmured their assent. “Good. Tell your men to set up camp.”

 

As soon as they had gone, Sagara turned to Sano. “Sano…”

 

“Hai, Sagara-san?”

 

“I'm going out tonight. I want you to stay with the army.”

 

“Of course, Sagara-san. I always do.”

 

“I want you to stay… where you're safe.”

 

Sano looked confused. “I can take care of myself, Sagara-san. You don't need to worry about me!”

 

“It's not that, Sano… I know you can take care of yourself, but… Listen, Sano,” Sagara said, dropping to one knee before the boy. “You're like a son to me, and I just… I wouldn't be able to forgive myself if something happened to you. So just stay safe tonight,” he said quickly, gently shoving Sano away.

 

Sano smiled at him and trotted away, grinning ear to ear. Sagara gave a little half-smile. It was the closest he could bring himself to saying how important Sano was to him—how much like the son Sagara would never have Sano was.

 

He shoved his hands into his pockets and slowly picked his way towards the makeshift camp. The wind caught his purple and red coat around his torso, and the red cloth holding his hair back whipped around his head. He glanced over his shoulder at the mountain looming in the background, and his eyes narrowed.

 

Hanayama. He would see this Nobori's army for himself tonight.

 

--------------------

 

Dusk was falling quickly, and Aoshi sensed he was still some ways away from the village. He grunted and hacked aside another branch with his kodachi. There was only a rough sort of track that lead anywhere close to Hanayama from Edo, and it apparently hadn't been used in years. He wished he had Hannya's skill, and could run quickly or use the trees instead of the ground.

 

Instead, he plodded forward for another hour, until the sun hung just above the horizon. Sighing heavily, thinking he would need to sleep in the woods tonight, and delay his arrival in Hanayama—and his chance to find the assassin—by a day, he finally broke through the foliage.

 

He was standing on a hill overlooking the small village. There were lights going on in the homes, inns, and restaurants as they prepared for the evening meal. From here, he could also see the lights of the army camp.

 

Aoshi looked down at himself, then brushed the leaves and dirt off his clothes. They were not so conspicuous that he couldn't pass as a normal traveler. He began to head down towards the village.

 

In just a few minutes he was there, and he began walking down the streets. The village was small and tight-knit. Everyone he passed knew he was an outsider, but they looked at him with something of fear in their eyes. Perhaps he looked too menacing. He glanced down at his clothes again. There was nothing he could do that would make him more friendly looking. Instead, he found his way to an inn and requested a room for the night. He might as well appear to be a normal passer-through.

 

He made his way up to his room and removed his outer garments, laying them neatly across the bed. Dressed only in the loose black uniform he usually wore, he sat down beside the window and lit the lamp. From the pocket of his wrap he pulled the thin packet of papers, brush, and ink that he carried with him.

 

It wasn't yet time for the evening meal. He'd go downstairs, and hear what he could hear, when the time came. Then he would wait to see if the assassin would strike. For now, he was content to lose himself in his writing. He carefully poured a small amount of prepared ink from the vial into the bowl, dipped his brush in, and began writing again.

 

-------------------

 

“How welcome will Shinsengumi be, if they say Nobori is in it for himself?” Saitou had asked before Okita left.

 

“Probably not very,” Okita agreed.

 

“Split up once you get to the village,” Saitou had suggested. “You may be more vulnerable in a fighting sense, but hopefully you won't be fighting.”

 

Okita agreed—again—with Saitou. The younger man was oddly insightful sometimes. His troop this time was fairly small; it was, after all, only a scout troop of sorts. They were supposed to gather information, which was why they'd left their Shinsengumi uniforms back in Kyoto. They were dressed as normal, simple traveling merchants. They even had some cases of working medicines to make their disguise even better.

 

It was dark by the time they'd reached the outskirts of Hanayama. Okita paused, and let the other men gather around him.

“We'll split up now,” he said. “Go in pairs. I'll go alone.”

 

“Are you sure, Okita-san?” one of the men asked him.

 

He nodded confidently. “Of course. You all watch each other. I'll watch the enemy.”

 

They parted ways when they reached buildings, waving and calling good-byes as if they were travelers who had met on the road. They could not—should not—all be in the same inn, if possible. Okita glanced around as he walked through the town; there were very few inns, he suspected.

 

He stopped at the first one he came into and stepped inside. It was time for the evening meal, and he was greeted by the smell of warm, fresh food. He smiled and requested a room and dinner. He then settled himself at a table near a wall and out of the way, and began listening to the conversations around him.

 

“Price of rice has gone up so much…”

 

“…taxes. All those damn taxes. Wish somebody would lower them…”

 

“Nobori's said that he told the Shogunate to lower rice taxes…”

 

“And then he takes everything we have to feed that damn army!”

 

“Be quiet! You don't know where those army men are!”

 

“…crushed Akeru's hand…”

 

“…haven't seen Akemi since then, poor thing…”

 

“Found him dead, did you hear?”

 

Okita's ears slowly absorbed everything, trying to piece together conversations and events. Slowly, a picture of Hanayama since Nobori had brought his army in emerged, and Okita became angry.

 

---------------

 

“Shit!” Mieko cursed aloud as she finally dropped to the ground in the forest outside Hanayama. Traveling in the day was nothing like traveling at night, and she'd been slower than anticipated. It was already dark, and the evening meal had probably already begun. Eyes narrowed, she tried to sort through her thoughts and figure out what to do next.

 

Taking deep breaths to calm herself, she donned her now-dry black clothing, then shrugged the kimono on over them. She wrapped the obi snugly around her waist, then restyled her hair in a more becoming fashion. Satisfied that she looked decidedly female, she slipped a pair of geta on and padded gently down into the village.

 

Just go through the village like you planned. You just got in late, that's all. No need to worry so much.

 

She stepped carefully through the town, looking for a busy—but not too busy—inn where she could eat and gather news in an inconspicuous way. She was about to turn down a street leading to what she thought was the right kind of inn when something flung itself at her feet from behind.

 

“Ara?!” she cried, turning to see what had attacked her, knife already in her right hand.

 

“Tasukete,” a voice gasped weakly. Mieko's eyes widened in horror as she saw what clung to her feet.

 

A young woman, probably no older than Mieko, lay in the dirt. Her kimono was torn and bloody, her hair disheveled and wild. But it was her face that frightened and angered Mieko most. Her delicate features had been crushed—one eye was black, the other was puffy, her cheeks were bruised, her nose was broken. Mieko knelt down beside the girl to examine her injuries.

 

“Tasukete,” the girl repeated, sobbing weakly. Mieko resisted the urge to lift the girl off the ground—she didn't know how badly, or where, the girl had been injured. Gingerly she pushed aside the kimono, and the girl cried out. Mieko bit the inside of her cheek hard to keep herself from crying out too. The girl's breasts were bruised, at least two ribs were broken. She'd been raped and beaten. The old, familiar anger surged in Mieko's breast. She half-stood, still leaning over so she could lift the girl off the ground and carry her to the nearest house.

 

“Stop!” a male voice cried, from down the street where this girl had come from.

 

Mieko looked up as an older man ran up. “Nani?” she asked impatiently. “I don't have time for stupidity.”

 

“That girl must come with me,” he said slowly, eyeing her.

 

“She'll die if you—“ Mieko stopped, a vague realization dawning on her.

 

“She'll die anyway,” he said, drawing his sword.

 

“No,” Mieko said firmly, eyes, blazing. She stood over the poor girl's body and stared him down.

 

“She defied Lord Nobori. I have been ordered to kill her.”

 

“Look at her!” Mieko snarled. “He raped her…”

 

“If you do not move, I'll have to kill you too.”

 

“Does it look like I'm going anywhere?” she said coldly, feeling the knives pressed against the inside of her wrists.

 

“Then you'll die,” he answered simply, drawing his sword and charging.

 

Mieko gritted her teeth and waited for the perfect moment in the attack. Just before it landed she flipped out the knives on her arms and put them up to block. She shoved upwards, throwing him backwards. Her amber eyes narrowed dangerously as she watched him back away, startled.

 

“Didn't expect me to fight back?” she snapped, challenging him. “Not all women will bow meekly to men!” She took two steps forward, hoping to get him to charge her again.

 

“Then I'll show you where you belong!” he growled, raising his sword and running towards her.

 

With surprising swiftness in her kimono and geta, Mieko leapt backwards and to the side, drawing him away from the now unconscious girl and into a darker alley. Angrily, he prepared to charge her again, but she was tired of this. She needed to dispose of him and care for the girl. And she could not afford to get blood on this kimono.

 

Before he could even take a step forward, Mieko had flung the knife in her left hand, letting it bury itself in his throat. He gasped and fell forward, dying within a few moments. Carefully, she stepped around the blood and reached for her knife, careful to ensure that no blood touched her kimono sleeves or hem. Once retrieved, she slid it back into its strap between the layers of black cloth beneath her kimono.

 

She returned to the young woman and carefully cradled her against her body. As she carried her down the street to the inn, Mieko whispered a question in her ear.

 

“Did the Lord Nobori do this to you?”

 

“Hai,” the girl's answer was barely perceptible. “They came for our food… they took everything… my father… couldn't fight… not strong enough… took my sister… told them to take me instead… then… this…” she managed, barely able to move her hands to gesture.

 

Once inside the inn Mieko tried to tend to the girl. She set the nose and ribs and rubbed balm over the bruises, but she could not stop the bleeding. Nobori had indeed hurt her… Mieko angrily brushed the tears away from her face as she watched the girl fade, the blood never ceasing to flow and stain her legs and the sheets.

 

“Arigatou,” the girl whispered.

 

“Doshite?” Mieko asked angrily. “I cannot save you… you must know that.”

 

“Hai. But… it is better than dying in the street, or in a corner of Nobori's room.”

 

Mieko placed her hands, without a trace of blood, over the girl's. “You killed that man, didn't you?” she asked Mieko softly.

 

“Hai.”

 

The girl said nothing more for nearly ten minutes, then she opened her eyes wide and looked at Mieko. “Arigatou, tomodachi.”

 

“Sayonara, my sister.”

 

Mieko went to the window and opened it wide, so that the light of the moon and stars illuminated the pale skin of the dead girl. She looked out it, searching for Lord Nobori's house. Her eyes narrowed when she saw it.

 

“Rest assured, Lord Nobori—I will see you dead.”