For War is Kind ~ Prologue
Freezing rain knifed through the pine trees, soaking the packed earth of the forest path. It had been pouring steadily since late afternoon, the most recent storm in a long, wet autumn, but even this icy rain was preferable to the snow that had been threatening to begin for nearly a week now. Occasionally, a flurry would spiral down to break the monotony, dusting the forest floor with a fine coat of white, like morning frost in the middle of the day.
But stubbornly the weather clung to the last threads of fall, and as soon as the rain started again, the snow never lingered long.
Fifty were soldiers on the road to Kyoto, about fifty in total. They were a shabby company in frayed and patched crimson coats, stained with mud and soaked to the skin. Once, it might have been unusual to see people out on a night like this, but seven years had come and gone since the first fighting and broken out and by now there had been plenty of opportunities to become accustomed to the sight of men in uniform. Though they had been on the march for some time now, their spirits were high. Their ranks buzzed with conversation of the kind that did not come easily to hardened veterans, but was natural for those new to battle.
Sagara Souzou felt fortunate that they should be blessed with such high spirits tonight. It was late and he was weary; it was chilly and he shivered. Mud sucked at his boots, drawing each step in to the ankle, releasing it reluctantly, with a sound like a kiss. But even now, he couldn't keep away the tiny smile that kept returning to his lips every time he let his guard down.
Often, he could go along time without thinking about it, but then it would hit him again all at once: all of this belonged to him. These men, his comrades; their sleepy good humor; the good news they carried with them; the weapons they so rarely had to unsheathe. This was his legacy.
"Captain?" A timid voice came from the level of his elbow, followed by a tug on his sleeve, and Sagara looked down into the boy's dark eyes.
"Yes, Sanosuke?"
"Are we almost there?"
"Almost. Are you tired?"
"Only a…" Sanosuke trailed off, swallowing a yawn. "A little."
Sagara gestured to a point just beyond the crest of the next hill where the low-hanging clouds were stained with a dull yellow glow. "See those lights? That's where we're going."
"That's not so bad," Sanosuke said. His smile brightened, and the rain seemed to recede a bit before it. "I bet you can even see it once we get over this hill."
Without any more warning than that, he bolted.
"Sanosuke!" Sagara tried to protest, but already it was too late; the boy was gone.
Sagara could have laughed, but it wasn't right for a commander to betray emotion so easily. It was improper for him to show too much. So he bit his lips until he reached the top of the hill, where Sanosuke was waiting for him in the dry shadows beneath a willow tree.
The boy sprang to his feet as Sagara approached, pointing down the slope. "See? I was right."
Through the rain, the Kyoto city gates were visible, open and welcoming as familiar arms.
"So you were," Sagara said. "Now, why don't you run ahead and find us somewhere to stay?"
"Yes, Captain." Sanosuke bowed smartly, and then he took off again, sliding a little on muddy downward slope. Once, his feet threatened to go out from under him, but he caught himself, and the wind blew scraps of his laughter back to Sagara's ears.
It would be another twenty minutes, the captain guessed, before the mud beneath their feet gave way to paving stones. When compared to all the walking they had done the past few days – and all the sleeping on wet pine needles – that was nothing, and Sagara was glad he had decided to march them the rest of the way into town tonight.
He had done the right thing.
Nothing much frightened Sagara anymore, save that he would steer these men under his care wrong. They had given him command of these troops as though it were a trivial matter, and perhaps to them it seemed that way, but Sagara could not agree. He knew that this was anything but trivial. The Sekihoutai hadn't seen much combat in the six months since its formation - nothing like the bloody battles Sagara himself had seen while he carried a sword for the Revolution - but what they were doing was more important than war.
He believed that; it wasn't just something he told the men on rainy nights like this one. What they carried with them now was peace. Resolution. Proof that even governments were transitive, and even Emperors weren't infallible.
Compared to that, fighting was the trivial thing as far as Sagara was concerned.
The captain shook himself from his thoughts, glanced around, and was surprised to find Kyoto's walls towering above him. At his back, he could hear relieved laughter, sighs and groans as his men stretched their weary limbs, but before he could turn to join them, someone called out to him.
"Captain! Captain Sagara!"
He turned to meet Sanosuke as the boy reemerged from a side street.
"I found us a place," Sanosuke announced, beaming. "It's called the… The Aoi-Ya. That's it."
There was something about that name that struck Sagara as familiar. But he had heard a lot of names over the last five years, and he couldn't remember them all. He said it again to himself: Aoi-Ya. It had a warm sound, rolling and soft. Sagara could tell already, it would be as good as his men deserved, and more than they had dared to hope for.
He ruffled Sanosuke's hair affectionately. "Good work. Show me."
The inn the boy had found was only a few blocks from there, tucked away on a quiet side street and shadowed by gardens that glittered in the rain. As Sagara ascended to the porch, a slender woman with long black hair slid the panels open. With one hand, to indicate the rooms that had been set aside for them.
Her hair was down, her yukata bound hastily around her waist. Sanosuke had obviously awakened her from a sound sleep.
Sagara felt a brief, acute stab of pity for this woman. She looked like she hadn't slept soundly in weeks. He knew all too well what that felt like, and he tried to meet her eyes, offer her a quick, reassuring smile.
She looked away.
Sanosuke lingered a while about the entryway while the others wandered deeper into the inn. Sagara recognized the boy's expression at once; he was waiting for something. All it took was a few more words of praise, and a friendly clasp on the shoulder to convince him to be on his way.
The men withdrew. The sound of their boots on the tatami faded and their voices dulled to indecipherable murmurs.
And then Sagara realized that he was alone with the woman who had shown them in. He watched her carefully as she turned away from him, taking in the proud straitness of her spine, the determined set of her jaw. She moved slowly, and it occurred to him all at once that she was in pain.
The way she carried herself was unmistakable.
Sagara lowered his eyes. "I appreciate you letting us stay."
"It wasn't as though we had much of a choice." Her voice was even, without an edge, despite the venom implicit in her words.
"No. I couldn't blame you, for not wanting us here."
By then she was walking away, and he followed her a few steps. "My men are exhausted. We've been on the road for weeks."
"I can see that." She took a side door into the kitchen, hair swaying behind her like a pendulum as she moved. "You'll all catch your deaths if you don't stay somewhere, right?"
"It's possible." Sagara stopped in the doorway, letting his shoulders relax. Her voice hadn't been so forbidding just then. Or maybe it was just his imagination.
"I have to take care of them," he said. "The best I am able. Try to understand."
The woman's back was to him, but he watched her shoulders flex as she worked at something he could not see. Her movements were old, practiced, as if she had long ago learned the most efficient way of going about the task and she was loathe to waste any energy doing it any other way. Without looking at him, she said, "you're lucky that you're not like other soldiers."
"I don't know how I'm supposed to take that," Sagara admitted.
She turned back, and held out a white saucer of sake to him. Sagara took it appreciatively, sliding his thumb along the curve of the bowl. He could feel the heat, even through his gloves.
"Thank you." He took a swallow, savoring the feeling of the warmth going down. He drank again, more deeply the second time, and passed the saucer back.
She made not move to speak again, and so Sagara tipped his head to her in thanks and went out once more into the hall.
He knew now that he was exhausted. There hadn't been much doubt before, but he hadn't felt the sleepiness then, not when he was around people; when he was still moving, determined and single-minded. He stifled a yawn against the back of his hand.
Then he froze mid-step, his hand still pressed to his lips, the yawn dried up behind it. Sagara could feel that there were eyes on him, like two coals pressed against the nape of his neck, just where skin became visible above the collar of his uniform. He turned, slowly.
Shadowed like he was, Sagara could barely make out the young man's face. A ray of moonlight spilled through the open screen behind him, haloing him in pale silver without actually illuminating his features.
Just like a ghost.
Sagara's lips parted, but before he could speak the stranger said, "You're with the military."
"Yes." Sagara attempted a smile, but it was brittle as old leaves, and it blew away just as quickly. "I am."
"This inn has a good reputation," the stranger said. "It doesn't need any trouble."
He stepped forward, just once, but far enough to cast the light across his features a little differently. At that moment, Sagara was rendered speechless. He couldn't even be surprised that the stranger's feet had made no sound on the wooden floor when he moved. For there was something about the boy's blue eyes that pierced Sagara's heart. He was laid open by the restless energy in them, and pinned in place by that same force.
"It was not our intent to cause any," Sagara said, as soon as he was certain he could speak. "We'll be gone in the morning."
The stranger's lips twitched; they were delicate as a doll's but as stern as a general's. "I'll have to insist on that."
"Really?" Sagara said. Suddenly, and for no real reason at all, Sagara found himself biting back a smile. The stranger was young; older than Sanosuke but still a boy. He was just a child, sneaking around in the shadows after all the lights had been extinguished. Sagara couldn't be blamed for laughing.
"And who might you be?" he asked.
The stranger narrowed his eyes, long dark lashes catching stray moonlight and splitting it in slats over his cheekbones. "I want your men out of here. By dawn."
Sagara watched him turn to depart, and he raised his hand to the stranger's receding back. "My name's Sagara. Will you remember it?"
The boy said nothing. A shadow at the end of the hall swallowed him up and he was gone.
