Double-edged Sword
This story has elements of Highlander, Rurouni Kenshin, and Peacemaker, at least. Maybe a few other things. I don't own any of them.
Double-edged Sword
Okita Souji patiently breathed in and out, in and out, while his doctor tapped and thumped his way across Okita's thin chest and back. The man was listening intently, but as to what he expected to hear or what it was supposed to sound like, Okita had no idea. He could feel the need to cough building and ruthlessly suppressed it for as long as he could. He barely got a cloth to his mouth before the spasm ripped through him, doubling over with the intensity of the effort and the pain of strained muscles in his chest. The doctor merely listened at his back.
"Listening to your cough is as important as listening to your breathing. You should not try so hard to stop it," the doctor admonished as Okita, spasm over, wiped his lips and carefully folded the bloody sputum into the center of the cloth so that it would touch neither hands nor clothes. He would burn it later.
"I know," Okita said, cheerfully. "But after years of suppressing it, it's hard to let it go without a fight."
The doctor merely harrumphed and went back to tapping and thumping. After consulting his notes and making a few more, the doctor released his patient.
"It continues to progress, Okita-san," the doctor said as Okita shrugged his kimono back onto his shoulders and adjusted his obi. "There is much damage already, so you probably won't notice any change. A little more tired, perhaps, or night-sweating more frequently."
"Oh, that's all I need," Okita joked. "I already sleep more than a cat, and I keep having these dreams of swimming the Tama. I haven't made it across yet."
The doctor smiled, lightening an otherwise gloomy-appearing face. Okita-san's good humor in the face of his disease was as admirable as his service to the Shogun. His service wasn't a thing anyone was declaring from the rooftops, now that the patriots had moved into Edo and the shogun had resigned, but those who knew, admired him. It was a shame to see this disease strike one so young. Okita was only in his middle twenties, though his high-arched, curved brows over wide grey eyes gave him a look of perpetual curiosity and innocence that made him seem younger. The wasting of the disease had made his face and body thinner, and that added to the youthful appearance, but the calluses on his hands, the breadth of his shoulders, and the muscle that hadn't yet been eaten away attested the truth of his reported skill. The only lines on his face appeared to be ones of smiles and laughter. How anyone had gotten through five years in the upheaval that was Kyoto and come out smiling was something the doctor couldn't fathom.
"Well, keep swimming," he said, bowing. "I will see you again next week unless you need me before then. If you don't feel up to coming here, send me a message and I'll come around."
By the time Okita stepped into his geta at the door, he'd folded three more cloths into his sleeve. The coughing was the worst, in his opinion. So messy. He always wondered if he'd succeeded in wiping all the blood from his lips when he'd greet someone after an episode. Then he'd have to carry the cloths in his sleeve until he could get them home and burn them and he always worried about them opening up and sliming his clothes. Why couldn't he have contracted a neater fatal disease?
He snorted and grinned at his own thoughts, unworried that anyone seeing him might worry about his mental capacity. If it was a fatal disease, did it truly matter if it was neat or not? He'd have been better off not to contract one at all, but he had no idea where the rogai had come from. As rampant as it was in both Tokyo and Kyoto, it could have come from anywhere. He did miss the medicine Hijikata had given him when he was still with the troop, though. It had helped control the coughing better than the stuff he had now, but he'd used it up and he had no idea where Hijikata was. With Kyoto lost after Toba-Fushimi, they had re-grouped in Tokyo and headed towards Kofu, but he had only made it to Tama. By that time, the rogai had come on so strong that he'd returned to Tokyo and he hadn't heard from Kondo or Hijikata since. Those weeks in Matsumoto's hospital had isolated him from the rest of them. Maybe it was for the best. He certainly didn't need to pass the disease on to anyone else. Still, he worried about his comrades.
As he walked down the lane towards the road, he thought again that he should have taken a kuruma instead of walking from his sister's home in the guesthouse of Uekiya Heigoro's estate. The man, an old family friend, had been kind enough to give her family quarters there so she could be closer to him while he was in the hospital. Now he had space in a little detached room near the garden that kept him near to them but not crowded in. He'd left it that morning in cool, damp fog, looking forward to a little exercise. It had been enough to make him a little over-confident of his strength. Now he knew he'd be exhausted by the time he got home. The sun was shining brightly and the temperature had increased dramatically. The lane was shaded by a row of cherry trees on either side, but their effect was limited in the heat of the day.
'And not a cherry to be seen, for all the blossoms were so thick,' he thought, scanning the leafy branches that met overhead.
"Okita-san, how are you today? I was hoping to see you."
The voice was accented and the words stumbling, but the meaning was clear. Perhaps too familiar, but at least the man tried. Okita pulled his eyes down from the trees and focused on the European man who had stopped in front of him. Both bowed and then shook hands, each uncomfortable with the other's way of greeting.
"Konnichi-wa, Bon Burunin-sensei," he replied to the tall, blond Dutchman, aware that he had mangled the other man's name as thoroughly as Von Brunin had mangled his Japanese. Well, he was trying, too. "I am as well as always; thank you for asking. And you?" He spoke slowly, knowing that Von Brunin's knowledge of Japanese was limited and that clarity in speech was more important than speed. The Dutchman was actually doing fairly well, considering he had only been given permission to come to Tokyo six months previously. Okita didn't know how long before that that the man had landed in Nagasaki, but it hadn't been too long. Still, his vocabulary was impressive, his grammar coming along, and his sense for Japanese decorum non-existent.
"I am well, thank you. Did you see Matsumoto-sensei?"
"Not today. I saw his assistant, Ishimori-sensei. The rogai is progressing, he says. I don't feel any different."
"I am sorry I didn't have a chance to see the examination. I will confer with him later."
Okita made a noncommittal noise. He knew Von Brunin was in Japan to share Western medical knowledge and treatments for the disease they called 'tuberculosis' – an unpronounceable name if ever there was one – but Okita was uncomfortable when the man was present for exams. The conversation always seemed to be about swordsmanship. Von Brunin was a self-professed master of foil, epée, and saber – whatever they were – and was almost intrusively interested in Okita's sword style and time with the Shinsengumi. They were simply things Okita didn't want to talk about. If he said something to that effect, Von Brunin always brushed it off as using a common interest to get Okita's mind off the examination, but there was just something that seemed…off. After years spent trusting his instincts, Okita wasn't inclined to ignore them now.
"…most of the supporters of the shogun appear to be evacuating as the patriot troops get closer. It looks like they are getting ready to march to Aizu, which makes sense from what I understand. Isn't that a shogunate stronghold? Are you leaving the city as well?"
"My sister's family is leaving tomorrow," Okita said, focusing again on the conversation. "I will stay. It is too much trouble and I am not worried. What will happen will happen, and I would rather be at home."
"Yes, that is very understandable, in your condition. I must be going now, but I will stop and visit later in the week if you don't mind the company. I'll send word ahead, though. If you don't feel well enough for a visitor, it is okay to tell me 'no'. I won't feel slighted."
"Thank you. I may feel better later," Okita replied.
Von Brunin continued towards the hospital and Okita watched his long-legged, energetic strides with a little envy. He'd walked like that once, but that time was past and there was no use crying after it. Resolutely, he turned and slowly, ever so slowly, made his way home.
xxx
For most of the next day, the house was a-bustle as bags and bundles were carried out to carts. The children dashed about, the older ones helping and the younger ones generally getting under foot.
Okita sat on a cushion in the garden, idly tossing pieces of his midday rice ball to the koi in the pond. He'd already said goodbye to the family, but he was aware that his older sister, Mitsu, wasn't happy with his decision. He always teased her that she'd practiced her mothering skills on him before she had a family of her own. She'd been happy when he'd come home again, although not happy with his illness, and it was hard for her to let him go again. His disease had put her into full mothering mode. He knew when Mitsu approached, but pretended not to notice until she was close. Then he turned a smile on her. She would have looked the picture of a fine Japanese matron except for the tied back sleeves, the wisps of hair that had started to come undone and straggle into her face, and the crinkle between her brows.
"Don't you have better things to see to? You're behind schedule as it is."
"Oh, Sou-kun, are you sure you won't come with us? I will worry about you here alone."
"There's a girl to cook and one to clean, the gardener, and the gate-minder. I'm hardly alone. Ishimori-sensei would come running if I called, and the new Dutch doctor, too. I may actually end up with more company than I want! I'll be fine, Mitsu-ne-sama."
"But the armies are coming, too. What if they set Tokyo on fire? You can't run…"
"I'll flag down a rikshasa. Guaranteed they'll be running." Okita grinned. "And maybe I'll see some of the guys. Have you heard anything about Kondo-san?"
Mitsu looked even more worried, if that was possible, but all she said was, "No, no one I've talked to knows anything. Please come with us, Souji."
Okita shook his head.
"I'm staying here. All Uekiya-san's people need someone to look after and I need to catch up on my beauty rest. All these years of fighting have taken their toll on my looks. I'll never find some nice girl to take me off your hands if I don't get better-looking."
Mitsu ruffled his hair, pulled back in a loose, high topknot that the younger samurai favored. She had to admit it looked more dashing than the oiled and twisted tail fastened over a shaven pate that the older men labored over. Then she leaned over to hug him and kissed his forehead.
"I'd hold on to you forever, if only I could," she said fiercely, into his hair. "Please take care of yourself. Eat more; stop feeding it to the fish. You'll never get stronger if you don't eat right. I told Makiko-chan to make sure you do."
Souji rolled his eyes. Makiko-chan loved to feed others almost as much as she loved to feed herself. She carried so much weight on her frame, her breathing was harsher and more labored than his. She'd be after him constantly, now that she had permission.
Before he could say anything, four-year-old Taro dashed around the corner of the guest house and ran down the path to the koi pond, weaving his way among the stone lanterns and shrubs. His little sister, Etsu, followed more slowly until she finally saw her mother and uncle. Then her brown eyes sparkled and she tripped along in her little wooden geta with enough noise to seem like she'd grown a few more legs.
"Mother, Father says we're ready," Taro was saying breathlessly. "Are you sure you're not coming, Uncle Souji? We can move some of the bundles."
Okita laughed. "Yes, I'm sure. I shouldn't like to re-arrange the bundles you've worked so hard to pack."
"It's no bother, really," Taro said earnestly, and Okita's grin broadened. Of course it wouldn't be for Taro; he wouldn't be doing the work.
"No, I've just told your mother I'm staying here. Come give me a hug so you can be on your way. This will be a grand adventure for you."
He hugged both children, carefully turning his face away from theirs. Von Brunin said his disease was passed from his lungs by his breath. He would not risk breathing on them.
Mitsu hugged him also. He had to reach up to hold on to her since she didn't kneel and he didn't think he could stand up. He was stiff from so much walking the day before. He wasn't used to that much exercise anymore.
"Mata ne," she choked, tears hanging from her lashes. He tightened his arms for a moment, then let her go as he felt his lungs begin to seize. He fumbled in his sleeve for a cloth with one hand and motioned her down the path with the other. She didn't need to be told. She picked up Etsu and took Taro's hand, leading them away as Okita coughed hard into the cloth. She was too far away by the time he quit to hear his whisper.
"Sayonara."
xxx
Von Brunin sent a note around a couple of days later, suggesting a visit. Rain had set in the morning before and was on and off, just enough to keep Okita from venturing too far from the house. With nothing to do but eat and sleep, he was feeling much better than he had after the exam. While he would never have said so to his sister, it was more restful in the guesthouse without her and her family constantly coming to visit or check on him. There was only Makiko, plying him with food several times a day, and the gardener who mumbled to himself as he raked the paths and cut the dead blooms off the flowers. Makiko's food was as good as her portliness suggested, but he had never been a heavy eater and he knew she was disappointed that she couldn't coax him into eating more. The koi benefited from his attempts to make her feel better. The gardener didn't bother him at all, and he never saw the cleaning girl or the gatekeeper. The former only cleaned his room when he wasn't in it, and the latter rarely left his post. All in all, Okita was a little bored, so he sent a note back in the affirmative and had Makiko make sushi and tea for him and his guest.
Von Brunin arrived with a gift of sweets from one of Tokyo's finest confectioners and a couple of bottles of plum wine guaranteed to make the sugar level in their bodies skyrocket. He managed to beat another squall, but just barely, so as the rain poured down, they sat on the engawa and enjoyed the misty garden and the food. The doctor was in a Western style suit, as usual. Okita didn't know much about Western styles, but the material was smoothly woven with no gaps or slubs, so it was quality. It did look hot, though. He, personally, hadn't bothered to change his dress. The yukata he wore was lightweight and cool in the sultry heat. The doctor had seen him in similar clothes many times, so it wasn't like he expected anything else.
Their conversation was simple, often digressing in odd directions as they sought the correct words. Von Brunin encouraged Okita to correct him so that he could learn more. As the wine flowed, so did the laughter over their mistakes.
"Your home is nice," Von Brunin said, gesturing toward the rain-damp garden.
"It's good for the soul, although it doesn't belong to the family. We rent from a friend."
"I must ask, what are the rocks for?"
Okita grinned. He'd seen the man looking at the three rocks placed on the planks near his right hand; curiosity had finally overcome him.
"That is for the cat, if it comes."
"You don't like animals?"
"I like animals a lot – in fact I had a pet pig at one point – but this is a black cat. It comes every day and sits and stares at me, and then it walks away."
"So it's annoying cat."
"It's a black cat," Okita repeated, but it was obvious Von Brunin didn't understand the distinction, so he had to explain. "Black cats bring a message of death to those with rogai, and although I've known for quite a while that it's coming, it's very rude to be reminded of it by a cat."
"Ah, now I understand. Black cats are not good in many cultures. Worse to kill it, I think, though."
"Oh, I don't want to hit it. I just scare it away. It doesn't belong here."
"Does it belong to the wheelhouse near the bridge? That is a pretty place. The trees are very large."
"The what…? Oh! The watermill. That's what that building is. I suppose it may belong there. It's useful to keep a cat at a mill. The place is beautiful, but the children are afraid of it after dark. It is funny to creep up on them when they peer at it through the slats of the fence. Then you say something commonplace, like 'Good evening!' and they jump and scream."
"Why is that?"
"It is haunted. There are foxes there, and people believe tanuki as well."
"Tanuki? I don't understand that word."
"You have seen the statues at the restaurants? They look like the raccoon dogs with hats and purses."
"Oh, the statues with the big… I don't know the word." Von Brunin made a motion at his crotch and turned his palms up together like he was holding something large and round in his hands.
Okita laughed, coughed, and laughed some more. Somehow it was extraordinarily funny.
"Testicles, yes. Tanuki are spirits that takes on many shapes, often that of the raccoon dog. The raccoon dogs have very big ones and the statues exaggerate that quite a bit because in some of the stories, the tanuki use them as drums."
"Sounds painful."
Okita snorted a laugh and almost spilled his wine. "They are known to be tricksters, jolly, absent-minded, but the wise don't make them mad. They like to eat and they love sake but they never have money, which is why the statues show empty purses."
"Sometimes they have a handful of leaves. Do they somehow make it look like money and then it changes back to leaves after they've gone?"
"Yes."
"We have stories of little people who do that, too." Von Brunin thought for a minute, then said: "What if I were to tell you that there were people who look just like you and I, who, if they die a violent death before their time, come back to life? Then they live again, fighting each other, and they can die over and over but it will never be final until someone cuts off their head?"
"But why would they fight each other?" Okita asked. "Why not just go on living and enjoying life? Having families and playing with their children, traveling the world, learning things, eating candy… That last one is really important." He grinned and popped another sweet into his mouth.
"Because when one cuts off another's head, he gets all their energy, all their power, all their knowledge. And they fight each other until there's only one left and he gets…"
"Yes?" Okita leaned forward in spite of himself.
"Everything."
"Everything?"
"All the knowledge, power, and ability of all the others. Everything."
Von Brunin looked so serious, so intense, that Okita stared at the man for a moment. Then he started to laugh, slapping his thigh.
"Oh, Bon Burunin-san, that is a great story! You really pulled me in. I wish Mitsu-san's children were here – they'd love that story. Think of the possibilities."
The laughter prompted a coughing spell and Okita covered his mouth with a cloth but his eyes twinkled over the edge. Von Brunin looked disgruntled.
"It could be true," he said.
Okita wiped his lips and folded the cloth automatically.
"How could it be? I've never heard anything so far-fetched. What would one do with all that? Is this a Dutch folk tale? We have tales of youkai who turn from animal form to human form; I like those stories, too, but they are only stories."
Von Brunin seemed to force himself to smile. "I think I have heard some of those."
"I like the funny stories best. Oh, and do you know the one about the seven lucky gods? Being a soldier for a long time, I've always had a thing for Bishamonten, but since the rogai, I've been thinking I should have paid more attention to Hotei. Not that I'll ever be fat, but healthy would be nice."
"But what if you were one of them? The Immortals, I mean," Von Brunin insisted. "Wouldn't you like a chance to live forever?"
"With bad lungs? No thank you. My plan was to be reborn with a better set and start over."
"They would heal. Any scars you already have, you would keep, but your lungs aren't scarred over yet. They are open wounds, so they would heal and you would be healthy again."
Okita shook his head and chuckled. "You got it all figured out, haven't you? I've been called 'oni' before, but really, I'm not that special. With my family's indulgence, I thought I was for a long time, but I'm not. Lucky, perhaps, but not special."
"I wouldn't call getting tuberculosis 'lucky'," Von Brunin snorted.
"I never said good luck or bad, but getting through the war so far and some of the opponents I've had, well, that's lucky."
"Not skill?"
"Skill, too. But lucky to have a natural ability to do what I need to do. The Tennen Rishin Ryu is a strenuous school with some really explosive moves. They come fast. Then you put that up against someone like Battousai, whose sword style is also explosive, and a lot of time, you're just trying to stay ahead of him and get something in without letting him get something in on you. Sometimes it's luck more than anything else. We never did hurt each other seriously."
"I don't know your Japanese sword styles, but I have admired some of the swords I've seen. There's that one shop down the road from the hospital…"
"Yes, I know which one you mean. They have beautiful swords there. Not as good as my Kikuichi Norimune, but good."
"That is your sword?" Von Brunin gestured towards the room behind them, where Okita's sword rested on its stand.
"Yes."
"Would I be able to see it? I promise not to touch. They say a man's sword is his soul."
Okita stood to get it. When his hand wrapped around the handle and once again felt its weight as he lifted it from the stand, it felt as if he'd come home. He imagined holding a lover would feel like this. He hadn't realized how much he'd missed holding it, and how he felt like something that had been missing had been returned.
He returned to his place and pulled the sword partway from the saya so Von Brunin could admire it. He wasn't foolish enough to just hand it over.
"It is beautiful. And it looks expensive. Is it a family heirloom?"
"No, my family is richer in name than in goods. This is a gift from someone who appreciated me being around one night. Maybe someday I will tell you about it, but not today."
"Would you feel up to showing me something of your sword style? You don't have to if you are tired; you said your style is very energetic."
"It is, and not suitable to be doing here. It has stopped raining; we could go to the park near the watermill. It is not that far."
"Oh no, I wouldn't want you to over-exert yourself."
"I've had plenty of time to rest. I feel much better today." In truth, now that he'd touched the Norimune, Okita wanted to swing it again. He wanted the wholeness that came from moving through a kata and concentrating on nothing but each move, finding perfection and peace there. Who knew if he'd ever feel strong enough to do it again? Maybe it was only the wine and sugar giving him the strength now, but if it was, he'd take it. Just once more.
It was getting late, but the weather had more to do with the variable lighting than the hour. With a storm coming on, the staff would be huddled in the kitchen, the most solid room in the house. The two men let themselves out and crossed the road into the park-like area beneath the massive trees lining the river. A light mist was rising from the water as the storm front brought cooler air. There was a faint rumble of thunder off to the west, but Okita didn't expect to be out long enough for it to catch up with them. Just a slow run though one or two of the kata to show Von Brunin what Japanese swordsmanship was about.
After he ran through the first kata, Von Brunin surprised him by producing what he called a Spanish saber and showing him some of the moves he had learned from his boyhood fencing master. They traded techniques, explaining why they were developed, finding many similarities as well as gaping differences in the moves. Both were so engrossed that they didn't note the storm moving closer. When Von Brunin suggested an easy sparring match, one style against the other, Okita agreed. While the exercise did bring on more coughing, he'd been taking it easy and wasn't too tired. They'd been standing and talking more than moving.
It started playfully, with wide, sweeping strikes that a beginner could fend off. If Okita had thought about it more and hadn't been lightheaded from too much wine and not enough sushi, he might have realized earlier that it wasn't going to remain that easy. Both were excellent swordsmen and both were competitive. It wasn't long before they were trying to trick each other and the pace began to pick up. After about ten minutes, Okita held up a hand.
"I think that's about enough," he panted. The panting was interrupted by coughing, but he was panting again as he wiped his mouth.
"I don't think so," Von Brunin said, stepping in and swinging, forcing Okita to block.
"No, really, I'm ready to stop. I can already tell I'm not going to be good for anything tomorrow."
"You won't need to worry about tomorrow."
The Dutchman stepped in again, swinging harder and faster. Okita fended off the blows as best he could. Strange how much clumsier one got when one was tired.
"What are you doing?"
"You're one of us – I can feel it. I can make you Immortal."
"I don't want to be!"
Okita blocked again, then ducked around one of the trees. Von Brunin was quicker and waiting around the other side, forcing Okita into more desperate blocks. Okita could feel the pressure building in his lungs.
'Oh, not now! Not now!'
It was difficult to keep his eyes open while coughing that hard, almost impossible to track the opponent who circled him like a wolf after prey. He was supposed to be the wolf; that's what the Shinsengumi had been called in Kyoto: the Wolves of Mibu. But he knew how it was when one of the pack was sick and the rest weren't around. The weak didn't survive. He wiped his mouth on his sleeve and kept his sword up, a kind of panic clawing at him that he hadn't felt in a sword fight since he was a raw beginner. He shoved it back into a corner of his mind. There was no time to indulge in that.
Von Brunin's thrusts were quick, the slender blade of his saber almost invisible in the odd pearly light. Okita's arms felt heavy and slow, his chest tight and throat constricted. The narrow skirt of his yukata hampered his moves. He coughed again and spat blood onto the ground. His eyes caught on the spot as it blossomed with more blood, shining with silver. His eyes focused closer, on the silver. On the blade that had slipped between his ribs without him feeling it.
He dropped to his knees, then crumpled sideways, rolling onto his back and staring at Von Brunin through long, dark tunnel as the Dutchman stepped back. Then he faded out of sight entirely.
xxx
"Souji! Hey, it's Souji-kun! You made it!"
"We knew you were coming, but I thought it was going to be the disease that would get you."
"Yeah, time to pay up, boyo."
Okita stared around him. All he could see was fog, white on white. No park, no trees or river or watermill. He turned a slow circle but the view didn't change.
"No here! We're over here!
"Do you suppose he can't see us?"
"We can see him!"
It sounded like Todo and Harada, with their usual boisterous antics.
'But they died last year.'
Oddly, neither was the first figure he saw emerging from the fog.
"Kondo-san? Is it you? What is this place?"
Kondo's smile was as broad as ever.
"Yes, Souji-kun, it's me. And these two pests as well."
Harada and Todo also appeared from the whiteness, jumping on him to give their usual rough welcome, only this time they went right through him instead of bearing him to the ground.
"What?"
"That's weird."
"How can you be here but not be here, Souji-kun?"
"I don't know. I don't even know where 'here' is." He looked down. "Uh, Sano? Your arm's still in my gut."
Harada pulled his arm back, looking embarrassed. Kondo looked troubled.
"Heisuke may have something, Souji. If the Dutchman is right, you may not be meant to stay."
"Stay where? Here in a fog?"
"A fog? No, this is a garden."
"Nice one, too, but don't step back or you'll fall into the koi pond," Todo warned helpfully.
Okita automatically looked behind him, but there was no sign of a koi pond. No sign of ground, either.
"All I see is fog."
"Well, when I came, I walked right into the garden."
"Me, too. No sign of fog."
"That's why I think the Dutchman is right. I walked into the garden, too, but Souji-kun can't see it, so maybe he's not like us," Kondo said.
"But wait! Those two died last year. Kondo-san…" Okita was distressed at the implication.
"Oh, yes. Me, too."
"The Emperor's orders – didn't even let him commit seppuku. Just lopped his head off. Quite rude, really." Todo sliced his hand across his throat and waggled his head.
"We're dead?" Harada asked. Todo cuffed him. Okita noticed that the blow, and subsequent ones between the two of them, appeared to land.
"Kondo-san…"
"It's okay, Souji."
"No one would tell me anything."
"It's okay, really. I wouldn't have wanted you to be distressed. What bothers me is, what does killing you get the Dutchman?"
"Oooo, Souji-kun, he's after your sword."
"Yeah, did you see his eyes light up when he saw it? Greed, pure greed."
"Wait, you could see that?"
"Well, we don't watch all the time, but we knew the date was coming up, so we were keeping an eye on you."
"Yeah, and you shoulda looked at his face when you brought out the Norimune."
"I don't think it would work well with his sword style," Okita said. "He's fast with thrusts, but he's not a slashing kind of a swordsman. The Norimune would be too heavy for that style. I think he only uses the edge of the saber when he sees a big opening."
Okita rubbed his chest, which he finally noticed was starting to ache. Funny, he hadn't felt anything the whole time he'd been here. Not a cough, not anything.
"He's not the right kind of swordsman now," Kondo said slowly. "If he's right with that story he told and he kills you now, he'll get your knowledge. He'll get the Tennen Rishen."
"Well, that's just wrong. No one should get a sword style without sweating blood over it," Todo said hotly.
Okita's chest was hurting more, but not like it did when he coughed hard. This was an irresistible tug in the center of his chest, pulling him backwards.
"Don't let him have it, Souji." Kondo's eyes looked troubled.
"Yeah, he's not your friend."
They were fading from sight and hearing, but Okita held Kondo's eyes for as long as he could, promising silently, until they disappeared completely.
xxx
The first breath tasted so sweet. Okita held it and savored it for a moment before letting it go and greedily sucking in another, deeper, feeling his chest expand like it hadn't for years. When he opened his eyes, Von Brunin straightened from the big cedar he was leaning against.
He approached from Okita's right, standing near his side and smirking. Lightning made a sudden halo around his head, turning his hair to momentary fire. It was followed almost immediately with a deep, rumbling boom. The pearly light from earlier was gone, replaced by a dark clarity. The storm had overtaken them while Okita had been out.
"I told you that you were one of us. I could feel it, dimly, but the buzz was there. Sadly, there can be only one."
He raised the saber over his head, preparing for the beheading stroke. Okita, veteran of a thousand split-second decisions, simply lifted the tip of the Norimune and sat up abruptly, using the momentum to shove the blade under the Dutchman's rib cage. It missed the heart, but pierced diaphragm and lungs and sliced through arteries and veins as if they were no more than the finest silk threads.
Von Brunin's expression was stunned as the saber fell from his nerveless fingers, and he collapsed as Okita scrambled to his feet. The Dutchman tried to speak, but the words merely gurgled in his throat.
"You've asked a lot about the Shinsengumi since I met you," Okita said, grey eyes merciless. "I never wanted to say much because I didn't want to put my friends at risk now that it looks like the Patriots are winning, but I will tell you our motto: Aku Soku Zan. I trust that needs no explanation."
A rolled bamboo mat would have made more resistance than the muscle and bone the blade sheared through, and Okita had been able to cut through a bamboo mat with one stroke since he'd been a teenager. The force of the blow made the head roll a few feet from the body.
The storm broke with howling fury. The wind whipped leaves off the trees and twisted off branches, the trees groaning under the force of it. Water poured from the sky, streaming sideways as if the river had lifted into the air. Shingles and shutters from the old mill popped into the air and the waterwheel spun madly. Thunder and lightning were a constant stroboscopic boom. Some of the lightning blasted the big old trees and some stabbed into the river, but it also repeatedly struck directly on Okita.
It was energy of the kind that lifted every hair on his body and expelled the new-found air in his lungs into a raw scream, but it was pictures and emotions, too. He saw experiences he'd never had in places that looked alien to him. Impossibly flat land with long walls holding back the sea, sometimes involving fields of flowers that went to the horizon. There were cities of stone block buildings along narrows streets, men in starchy foreign clothes, and women in fluffy, wide-skirted dresses that made them look like peonies in bloom. Then the scene shifted and he saw vast desert encampments of goat skin tents, bearded men in flowing robes, and women in shapeless skirts and robes that hid every hint of shape or form. Then it shifted again, and again. He saw acts that horrified him, intrigued him, and embarrassed him. Through all of it, he knew without question what it was about and where. Over and over again, he saw what Kondo had suggested: that Von Brunin made new Immortals whenever he could find them, and then ruthlessly took their heads and their Quickening to add to his knowledge and power. When the storm finally abated, he lowered his flung-back head and rapidly blinked the water out of his eyes, focusing on the head on the grass, washed clean now of blood. He stared at it as he pulled a clean cloth out of his sleeve and wiped down the Norimune's blade. At this moment, clean mattered more than dry, although the rain had washed off most of the blood. He would clean and oil it properly later. He slid the blade into the saya and tucked it back into his obi. Finally, he moved forward.
"You really were slime, weren't you?" he asked, picking up the head by the hair and looking at it for a brief moment before flinging it into the river. A few nudges with his foot and the body rolled down the embankment, joining the flow of water with a splash that could barely be heard above the drumming rain. The saber followed. Then Okita threaded his way between the trees, wondering if he could get the gardener to start up the bath without causing too much commotion.
xxx
As it turned out, he had to wait until morning for his bath. Nothing could induce the servants to leave the kitchen even though the thunder and lightning were gone and the wind had abated. The only thing left was a steady rain. Okita had gone back to the guesthouse and stripped out of his yukata while still outside, using it to rub away mud and grass and the last of the blood. He'd dried off on the engawa and redressed, then carefully took the Norimune apart and gave it a thorough cleaning and oiling. Then, truly hungry for the first time in a long while, he finished off the sushi and plum wine and went to bed.
He woke late the next morning. Makiko had come by and left rice balls and tea, clearing away the previous evening's mess, and he'd never heard her. The tea was tepid when he tried it, but he drank it anyway and ate a rice ball. He was feeding the second one to the koi when the gardener came by to tell him the bath was ready. It was while he was soaking that he really thought through the previous evening's events.
No one would believe this miraculous recovery. Some, like Mitsu, would be overjoyed. The rest of the world would look at him with suspicion. There were memories of those kind of events in his head. Not everyone Von Brunin had killed had been a newly-made Immortal. Some of them had been around for centuries, falling to the Dutchman over one mischance or another. He could see and feel the experiences of those others, as well as a vague sense of satisfaction that someone had finally put an end to Von Brunin's brutal Game. Until he figured out what he was going to do, he was going to have to pretend, for the benefit of staff and doctors, that he was still sick. How he was going to fool the doctors, he didn't know. He didn't know what they'd been listening for, or if he could imitate the sound. Or lack of sound. He should have asked Ishimori-sensei what he heard.
When he got back to his room, his futon was still spread out and instead of folding it up and putting it away, he stretched out on it. He'd pushed the shoji back and a nice breeze swept through the room. The storm had temporarily pushed away the summer heat. Somewhere in his contemplations, he fell asleep again.
A scratching noise on the shoji woke him. The cleaning girl…what was her name? Namu? Nazu? Wait, that was it…
"Nezumi-chan, what do you want?"
"I'm so sorry, Sir. There's a tall scary man here to see you." Her voice was almost inaudible.
"A tall scary man? Did he give a name?"
"No. He has a long face and gold eyes and his bangs hang like this…" She put the heel of her hand above her forehead and wiggled her fingers in front of her eyes.
"Ah, I know who that is." He coughed for her benefit. "Send him in."
He quickly stowed several of his cloths in one sleeve after she left, retaining one in his hand, and forced himself to cough long and hard several times. He couldn't get it to sound as wet as it had been, but he could make some truly awful gagging noises. It reminded him of pretending to be sick to get more of his sisters' attention when he'd been lonely as a child.
Okita held the cloth near his lips as Saito entered the room, returning his comrade's bow with a nod.
"Sorry I can't get up," he said, voice raspy from the forced coughing.
"It's not necessary. I thought I'd stop in on my way to Aizu." Saito folded himself onto the cushion near Okita's futon, sitting in formal seiza style, as always.
"Are they fighting there now? My sister's family just left for there." Okita's concern wasn't faked.
"Not yet, but there will be soon, I think. Matsudaira-sama is not giving up." Saito reached for his cigarettes, paused, and let his hands drop empty onto his thighs as Okita went into another coughing spasm.
"Sorry," Okita mumbled from behind the cloth, wiping his lips and folding it the way Saito had seen him do it for the last couple of years.
"It's getting worse." It was a statement, not a question, made flatly. The kind of clinical observation that never gave away what Saito really thought about anything. "Are you seeing Matsumoto-sensei?"
"I was, but I think he's gone on to Aizu now, too. His assistant, Ishimori-sensei, is still here, and there was a Dutch doctor, too. Last time I saw him, he said he was going to head back to Nagasaki and then maybe home. I think all the fighting spooked him." Okita's face gave away nothing. He forced himself to cough again, closing his eyes when he was done, feigning more fatigue than he felt. There was an idea here…
"I'm so tired of this," he whispered.
"Nani?"
"The coughing and not being able to breathe. It hurts now, all the time. I can't hardly crawl to the garden…" With any luck, the gardener wouldn't tell Saito that Okita had walked to the furo that morning. "I can put up with a lot, you know, but I'm just so tired. I want it over."
Saito didn't look surprised. Okita made himself cough again.
"Do you want me to help? I would be honored to second you," Saito said calmly as Okita tucked the cloth into his sleeve and pulled out a new one.
Okita gazed at his friend, considering. Second? No, that would never do. Seconding meant lopping off his head after he'd slit his belly open and that would mean good-bye new-found Immortality. That wasn't exactly what he wanted. Now that he had a second chance, he wanted to enjoy it. He wanted to sort through the images and feelings the Quickening had left and understand the kind of people the man had killed and where he fit in all of it. He was still trying to figure out what image belonged to whom in his head, but he knew that he was still himself. Okita Souji hadn't been diluted by all those others. In some ways, he felt stronger.
"No," he said slowly, as if the idea were almost too tempting. "I can't do it that way. It would upset Mitsu-san too much. She'd think she should have stayed, or that she could have prevented it somehow. She already feels bad enough about leaving me behind." He forced more coughing. It really was starting to hurt. Was it possible to undo the healing that Immortality had brought? "It needs to look more natural, like the disease finally won."
"I could smother you like an unwanted puppy," Saito said dryly. "Or drown you in the koi pond, but I think your gardener might have something to say about that."
Okita laughed, coughed hard, and lay back, smiling and trying to recover his breath. It was easier than he let on.
"That means dropping me off the bridge is out, too."
"Propping you up in front of a piece of artillery…"
"Rolling me under a speeding carriage…" Okita grinned and remembered to cough. Saito didn't normally take part in this kind of foolishness. It was good to see him unbend a bit, whatever the reason.
"None of which look natural. You might have to do it on your own," Saito said.
"Except smothering. I don't think I could hold my breath long enough. Could you smother me, Saito-kun?" Okita was suddenly serious. Saito answered him the same way.
"If you truly wanted me to."
Okita believed him. Saito's nerves were unmatched. He'd done every distasteful service the Shinsengumi had ever asked of him without twitching. If it had to be done, Saito could do it. The problem was, could Okita? Even though it seemed the best solution, could he really let someone kill him? Could he, in fairness, ask that of Saito? He remembered standing behind Yamanami at his seppuku, wielding the sword that took his friend's head and stopped his suffering. How he'd cried later, alone, for what he'd had to do. Could he do that to Saito? He looked into his friend's narrow amber eyes, read the calm there, the readiness to do what was necessary, the unflinching steadfastness.
Yes. Saito could handle it better than anyone Okita knew.
"Please," he said.
xxx
Okita pushed the door of the crypt open slowly, peering around the edge. The shrine was silent, only a couple of dim candles lighting its vastness. All the mourners and family had finally left after the late night funeral. He closed the door softly behind him, flicking the last of the cotton from his ears and nose into the space behind. He was sure there was more in places it wouldn't be polite to look right now, but he'd deal with it later. Shinto was all about cleanliness and as he'd had occasion to learn during his time with the Shinsengumi and more recently, there was nothing clean about dying.
Soft-footed, he started for the door, zori in hand. They'd been placed into the coffin next to him, but he walked more quietly without them. In a nook near the door, he set them on the floor and stepped into them, then quickly untied his hakama and reversed the lay of the front of his kimono, lapping left over right. He retied the hakama and stepped outside. He would have to get different clothes. They'd dressed him in funerial kamishimo: kimono, hakama, and kataginu, all in pure white linen. He would have preferred his Shinsengumi uniform, but that wouldn't have gone over well. After a moment's pause, he tipped the slanted top of the offering box to open it up and swept the interior, coming up with a handful of coins.
"It's only a loan. I promise to pay it back when I can, hopefully in a day or two," he said aloud, bowing reverently toward the interior of the shrine. There was money in his room. He'd collect it along with his clothes and sword.
He walked easily through the night. Few were out, but he could still hear the distant sounds of music and talk, punctuated by the occasional shout. He was glad now that he'd had that little talk with Mitsu about burial arrangements, as uncomfortable as it had been. She hadn't wanted to talk about it, but his years in Kyoto had made Okita a realist in things of a practical nature. He'd known it was only a matter of time before the rogai won. What Mitsu had had in mind was a rather elaborate funeral and then cremation, but Okita knew the family budget would be wiped out by anything grandiose. He'd told her simply putting his body in the crypt would be enough, and that he'd had enough of things burning in Kyoto. After it was clean, it could be moved elsewhere. Now he was glad he'd dissuaded her. He wasn't sure even an Immortal would survive burning after death.
How disappointed he'd been to wake up in the family crypt without the Kikuichi Norimune at his side, though. Without any sword, in fact. Even his Kiyomitsu Kaga would have been nice. It wasn't as functional as it had been before the tip broke off during the Ikeda-ya incident, but without any sword at all, he was feeling decidedly naked. When he got to the estate, he was surprised to see it filled with light and people. He'd thought Mitsu would come home alone, or perhaps only with her oldest son as escort, but apparently the whole family had returned. He hadn't realized he'd been out so long, longer than he had been the first time. Maybe the guys had had something to do with that.
"Oh, Souji-kun, that it so bad of you."
"Yeah, how could you use Saito-kun like that?"
"Hey, he offered to help. He just helped in a different way than he thought." Their accusations immediately put him on the defensive.
"Nice ignominious way to go, too."
"You could've gone out much more bravely."
"You think it's easy letting Saito-kun smother you? Ha!" Okita snorted. He'd done the best he could to lay peacefully and let it happen, but he knew, as Saito bore down on the cushion over Okita's face and light started to bloom in spots behind his eyes, that he had grabbed at one steely wrist, arching his back. By that time, it was reflex. He didn't actually have the strength to get away from the relentless pressure.
He'd argued with Todo and Harada for quite a while, longer than it had seemed, apparently. They were the only two who had shown up, and wouldn't say anything about Kondo or any of the others.
He hung around the neighborhood most of the night, but the estate never really settled enough for him to want to chance stealing inside. As dawn started to show in the east, he knew he either had to find a place to hide, or some way to disguise his clothing. There was no way he'd go unremarked dressed the way he was, and the little bit of money from the offering box wasn't enough for clothing. He quickly walked around several nearby blocks, finding a saffron-colored scarf hung up on a bush but nowhere to hide. He ended up returning and sitting under the bridge near the estate where he could keep an eye on the activity there, alternately dozing and wishing he had something to eat. Next time he had to stage his own death, he was going to plan it better. The best he could do was wrap the scarf around the neckline of his kimono so that the outfit wasn't completely white. The little bit of color wasn't much, but it was better than nothing.
It was afternoon before there was any activity. A rikshasa pulled up in front of the gate and Mitsu came through, carrying the Norimune. He followed at a discrete pace as they left. There seemed no logical reason for her taking it with her, unless she was getting it appraised. That was entirely possible. But she didn't go to a sword shop. The rikshasa stopped in front of a monument maker's stall and Mitsu climbed out to deal with the proprietor. Okita stopped at a nearby noodle stand, his stomach rumbling from the enticing scent, watching as the rikshasa man trotted away. Mitsu obviously hadn't told him to wait. It took Okita a minute to figure out what was odd with the scene, and then it hit him.
When she climbed out, she didn't have his sword in her hands and she didn't reach into the seat to get it. Okita began running, ducking between people while keeping his eye on the rikshasa. He was oblivious to the commotion in his wake as people stopped to stare at him and noticed the white clothes. All his attention was focused on the rikshasa. Once he got ahead of it, he raised a hand to flag it down. When it stopped, another man tried to barge in front of Okita. A moderate-level samurai, from his dress, and arrogant in a distracted kind of way, but that meant nothing to Okita.
"Excuse me, but this man stopped for me," he said, flinging out an arm to block the other's way.
"For you? Who the hell are…" The samurai stopped speaking and his eyes bulged. "No! No, take it! Stay away from me!" He turned and pushed his way through the crowd.
"Was it something I said?" Okita asked the rikshasa man lightly, stepping over the pole and climbing into the vehicle. Pressed against the back cushions was the Norimune.
The rikshasa man shook his head. "Not what you said, Lord-san, but maybe your clothes? At first glance, I too, thought you were dressed for death." He picked up the poles and looked over his shoulder at Okita for direction.
"That shouldn't be a frightening thing for a samurai. It is a family tradition that we dress this way when we visit our ancestors," Okita laughed. "Please take me to Sensoji Temple."
It might be a little risky to go back to the place where he had been entombed, but Okita wasn't too worried. Sensoji Temple was always a busy place during the daytime and it was easy to get lost in the crowd. Plus, it wasn't too far away, which was good. By the time he paid the rikshasa man, there wouldn't be much money left. It was odd, this feeling of having to watch his money. He hadn't had too many needs that the Shinsengumi hadn't taken care of, and the pay was regular. What he hadn't sent home to Mitsu to help her family had easily met his need for sweets and toys for the children with whom he'd played.
When the rikshasa stopped, Okita stepped out, picking up the sword and sliding it through his obi before paying the man. Mitsu would be devastated at the loss of the weapon, but he was glad to have its weight at his side again. The rikshasa man didn't even blink.
He started up the road towards the main gate, intending to give his thanks to the kami for allowing him to recover his sword. The road was lined with shops and the shops were crowded with people, mostly pilgrims buying mementos or offerings, or items of clothing to replace what had worn out on the pilgrimage. There were also food stands selling noodles, rice crackers, rice balls filled with bean paste, and sweets. Someone was cooking tempura somewhere, and the smell of hot oil hung heavy in the air. All around him, people talked and children played. A drum provided background for the plucking of a samisen.
'I'll never take it for granted again,' he thought, waiting in line to buy a rice ball. "Not money, or my sword, or my health, or anything."
Two children caromed off his legs while he stood, one falling to his knees. The other, older, stopped and turned, his eyes growing huge as he saw the sword in Okita's belt.
"So sorry, Lord-san," he babbled. "My brother is clumsy and neither of us see well. We have to meet our mother at the gate and we are late."
"It's okay," Okita said, lifting the younger boy to his feet and dusting him off. He wondered just how many excuses the older boy could come up with if he wasn't interrupted. "You're not hurt, are you?"
Mutely, the little boy shook his head.
"See, no harm done. You'd better hurry, though. Your mother will worry if you don't show up soon."
The boys took off again, the older pulling the younger by the arm.
"That was very kind of you."
The speaker was a middle-aged man, standing behind Okita in line. From his dress, he appeared to be a businessman, and a successful one at that. His shrewd black eyes sized up the young man before him and he nodded once.
"It was nothing."
"You are modest as well as kind. Forgive me if it is too forward of me to ask because I don't know your circumstances, but would you be interested in employment? I have goods that I need to ship to Nagasaki and I am looking for men to guard them. You look to be the quality of man I want."
"How do you know I'm not with one of the armies?"
"Because if you were, you'd be with your unit either in Aizu or on your way there. That's where the fighting will take place next. But war or not, people need to be able to cook, eat, and stay clothed, and those are the kinds of things I provide. I take only the best and I pay well. I don't think I've read you wrong."
Well, here was opportunity staring him in the face. Hadn't he just been pondering how to get a job?
"Thank you, um…"
"Kurotaki Shunichi. Does that mean you'll take the job?"
"Yes, thank you, Kurotaki-san."
"Fine. You can meet me at my warehouse tomorrow morning and I'll get you oriented, Mr…"
"Okita..." Crap, he hadn't thought of what name he'd use. He finished with the first one that popped into his mind. "er…Saizou." Great, he'd just named himself after his pet pig. Although kami only knew where Saizou the pig was now. He'd probably been made into tonkatsu long since.
Kurotaki's eyes widened a bit.
"You wouldn't be related to Okita Souji, captain of the Shinsengumi's first unit, would you?"
"Uh, cousin. Somewhat removed on our fathers' sides."
"He's famous in the Kyoto area. Never got to meet him, but heard a lot about him when I was there. I'd like to meet him some day."
"Hmm, too late. He passed a away a couple days ago. It's why I'm here, actually. The family crypt is in the Temple." Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew Harada and Todo were howling with laughter, if they were still watching…whatever it was they watched to know he was coming. That still weirded him out. He should have asked them more about it. Then again, their disapproval of him on the last meeting had been strong and he was sure his robbing of the offering box was another point against him. They'd probably never speak to him again. If he died again.
"Oh, I'm very sorry to hear that, and sorry for your family's loss. He must have gone down fighting."
Okita fought off the temptation to break into hysterical laughter.
"No, rogai, actually. We're not sure where he picked it up, but he had it for a couple years. His death wasn't really unexpected. Something of a relief for him, I'm sure."
"Oh, yes, yes. Still, such a shame. Well, it looks like they are ready for your order."
After both had ordered and were comfortably seated on one of the benches near the stand, Kurotake said, "You do have other clothes, right? That outfit won't last long with the kind of work I need done."
"Um, actually, no. I'd planned to simply come by and pay my respects and head up to Aizu. It's where the rest of the family is gathering, and my possessions are already on their way there. I don't have an obligation to join them, but it seemed as good as anyplace else right now."
"With war about to break out again there, I think I'd chose a different direction. Why don't I advance you a bit on your salary and you can get something more serviceable?"
"Thank you, I really appreciate that. I should have thought to save out something a little more ordinary for travel, at least, but I'm sure you can imagine, we've all been in a bit of disarray."
Kurotake left him with the warehouse address and a small bag of coins. Okita didn't peer inside until after the man had left, and when he did, his eyes widened. The amount was substantial, enough to fit him out if he was careful and he could pay back the shrine. He was determined to add a little more, as thanks. Maybe prayers to Fukurokuju were in order.
He was lucky, and in this new life, it was all good.
Owari
Author Notes:
I originally posted this on the Rurouni Kenshin pages because I personally don't see Okita quite the way he's portrayed in Peacemaker for this story and I thought that since his character in the RK universe is so vague, he could be whatever I wanted him to be. I also thought that since I mention Battousai, maybe the RK pages fit. Besides, this Saito is RK's squinty-eyed, spider-banged Saito, not PMK's "I see dead people" Saitou. Honestly, it was a bit hard to classify. The story didn't garner much attention there, probably because Okita isn't very well-known in the RK universe, so I decided to take it off those pages and re-post it here where he is better known and maybe has a bit of a following. This idea has been kicking around in my head for a little while and I've been delaying it while working on "Caged" for RK, but Okita suddenly demanded I pay attention to him.
Saizou the pig, of course, comes from Peacemaker, as do Harada and Todo. Kondo is…um…Kondo. He doesn't follow any pattern, really, except how I saw him after researching him a bit. He's a bit more, shall I say, thoughtful than he seems to be in PMK, though I could be reading him wrong there. Or maybe being dead has sobered him up a bit. Mitsu really was Okita's oldest sister. I didn't find out anything about her children, so I had to make them up. Von Brunin is my original character.
The Kikuichi Norimune is a matter of historical debate. It would have been a very expensive sword and beyond the Okita family's ability to purchase. There's no way of knowing what sword Okita used after Ikeda-ya, since that sword was lost after his death. I can't refuse a sword with a name, though, so I made it one he was gifted with and the family's loss was his gain. I've seen reference to it as "Kikuichi-monji Norimune" and that may be a more correct moniker for it, but it's a bit of a mouthful so I left it in shortened name form.
If I've messed up with any cultural or medical issues, I apologize. It's hard to find information about that era that explain those things. I claim artistic license.
And lastly, maybe, I'd intended this as a one-shot, but since I don't quite know when to shut up (you didn't notice, right?!) there is a possibility that if Okita starts talking to me again, there may be more. If you like it, let me know. If you think it's awful, let me know that, too, but politely. I love feedback of the non-flammable style. Your honest critique makes me better. Thanks. And now, on to the "What is she talking about?" section…
Vocabulary:
-ne-sama – a suffix denoting affection for an older sister
-sensei – suffix meaning "learned one"
Aku Soku Zan – Kill Evil Immediately (loosely)
Battousai – master of the art of drawing the sword – the Rurouni, Himura Kenshin, who fought on the patriot side of the war
Bishamonten – god of warriors
Engawa – porch or veranda
Fukurokuju – god of happiness, wealth and longevity
Furo - bath
Geta – wooden clogs
Hakama – garment with either a pleated skirt or a wide-leg trouser form
Hotei – the fat and happy god of abundance and good health
Kami – gods, benevolent spirits
Kamishimisho – formal samurai wear, kimono, hakama, and kataginu
Kata – series of movements in martial arts meant to display perfection in each movement
Kataginu – sleeveless jacket with exaggerated shoulders
Kimono – clothing, things to wear
Konnichi-wa - hello
Kuruma – now the word for "car", it originally referred to carts pulled by animals or people
Mata-ne – casual good-bye, like "see you later"
Nani? – what?, huh?
Obi – belt
Oni – evil demons
Owari – end
Quickening – in Highlander, the life force, knowledge, experience…in short, everything an Immortal is
Rikshasa – more commonly called rickshaw, a 1 or 2 person carriage pulled by people
Rogai – literally "coughing and consuming" the Edo era name for tuberculosis
Saya - sheath
Sayonara – more formal good-bye, with more finality
Seiza – formal way of sitting on one's heels with tops of feet on the floor, big toes crossed, knees together
Seppuku – ritual suicide
Shoji - screen
Tama – both the river (Tamagawa) and the town along it
Tanuki – raccoon dogs and shapeshifters, as Okita explained
Tennen Rishen (Ryu) – Okita's style of swordsmanship, taught to him by Kondo
Tonkatsu – fried pork cutlet
Youkai – monster demons
Yukata – informal kimono of light-weight material
Zori – straw sandals