Punctuality had never been her greatest strength, so she found herself walking home late; the spoils of her shopping trip (tofu, rice, dried fish, cabbage…) slung haphazardly in a heavy bag over her right shoulder.
Yasuko had lost track of time at the market.
Again.
Unfortunately, it seemed to be becoming a bad habit, and heaven only knows how upset her husband would be if he found out she wasn't taking utmost precaution in safely traversing the warring city. Any idiot would know that the streets of Kyoto weren't safe for a woman walking alone after dark.
Looking behind her, she quickened her footsteps, focusing on the squelching sound her sandals made with each step on the cold ground for the lack of anything better to do. She was almost back to her family home, back to safety.
So deep was her focus that she almost walked past without stopping, without noticing that anything was amiss. But at the last second, she saw the flash of red out of the corner of her eye and turned around.
A body was sitting propped up against the wall of the building; eyes closed, blood oozing from a deep wound on his chest and spreading out like the veins of a spiderweb onto the stones below. His mouth was open, just a sliver, and Yasuko thought (but wasn't exactly sure) she could hear a low moan emanating from within his gullet.
The normal reaction, she supposed, would have been to scream and run, but instead she found herself staring—her eyes drawn to the corpse as if the two of them were the only things left on earth. She hated it; the morbid fascination…it made her feel guilty, unclean, somehow…responsible. It was ridiculous, feeling this way—she knew that it was not her fault in any way, shape, or form, she was simply an innocent bystander who happened to be the first to come upon the scene of someone's fresh kill; but the feeling was there—she couldn't let it go.
But then, impossibly, the cadaver opened its eyes (blue, BLUE, the same color as her mother's favorite kimono), and lunged forwards towards her as a terrible gagging sound filled her ears.
It's come back to life! It was dead, but now it's back; a hungry ghost, a soul from the other side seeking revenge!
The panic lasted only a second, then the rational part of her mind regained control and she realized that the man was still alive, injured but alive and struggling for breath, flighting to live.
It didn't matter who the man was—a Shinsengumi (though he wasn't one, not dressed in blue and white, she realized with relief), a Choshu, a Shogunate solider, or just an ordinary citizen; Yasuko knew instantly she had to at least try to help. Watching him die would be torture; that's not who she was, what she stood for. Neither would she just walk by, pretending she hadn't seen him. It was too late for that.
The grocery bag was dropped forgotten beside her, and she fell to her knees at his side. With no medical training, and only a small amount of skill with a needle and thread, she really did not know what to do. She couldn't stop her hands from shaking with nerves as she pulled aside his kimono to expose the wound.
Surely he won't survive this, she thought to herself, realizing that she could see the glimmer of bone amidst the flood of red.
The voice crashed into her world like a falling star.
"Hey, woman!," it said sharply from behind her, causing Yasuko to nearly jump out of her skin. The killer! In her panic she hadn't even thought about examining the scene to make sure she was alone, and he had remained somehow hidden in the shadows. Stupid! Stupid! A fatal mistake!
"This someone you know, little miss?"
She wanted to scream, No! No! It wasn't someone I know; I was just walking by and stopped to try to help! I have two young sons and a husband to go home to, stop; please don't kill me! She wanted to beg for her life, wanted to grovel and cry, wishing for a reprieve, for mercy, for anything.. But it was too late and the blade was already at her throat, bearing through the soft flesh of her neck.
The world spun red, but as she fell she caught just the slightest detail. Blue. Blue and white. Moutains and air; Triangles stitched in neat little rows.
Shinsengumi.
-x-
The placid sight of moonrise could not have been more at odds with the cacophony of the Kyoto streets. A woman was
crying somewhere far away; her plaintive mews barely audible above the ripples of honest laughter from the tavern next door; men loudly shouting about a gambling debt; a neighbor boy arguing politics with his grandfather. Kenshin listened more deeply, tilting his head out towards the night. By angling his ears just so, he could judge the distance of even the most miniscule noises.
Somewhere in the city, someone was dying. Blood was weeping from a glimmering sword unto the dirty cobble. Drip. Drip. Drip. The noise drifted away with solemn finality, barely even there to begin with. Was it really there? He pretended it wasn't. Gritted his teeth and pretended, like he was Kogoro, and ignoring others' suffering was something he did every day. He felt badly for blaming Katsura so deeply, but lately Tomoe's voice had been haunting his every waking hour and it was easier to blame someone than blame no one.
Katsura's words from years ago came back to him: Blood can forge life; death pays for peace. And peace is certainly a precious thing; isn't it, Kenshin?…
Kenshin turned his face away from the city air and hid his nose in his scarf, wondering if this progression of ghosts would be the rest of his life.
When he closed his eyes, he tried not to think of Tomoe.
It was the first time in weeks Katsura had asked him to work, and he wasn't even sure why he accepted the request. Maybe part of him deep down still cared about ushering in change, about the revolution, but he wasn't sure. It was important work. As a free sword of Choshu, he had been asked to serve as guard tonight for a decisive meeting, a meshing of great strategists and historical rivals from the military domains of Choshu and Satsuma. He understood that, if they worked out an alliance, it would be a vital step towards gaining the upper hand against the forces of the Shogunate and the Shinsengumi. Of course, the specifics of such a meeting were kept far above him, but he wanted to know, wanted to help. Anything to end this mess of bloodshed and death he had gotten himself caught up in.
The building was one that Choshu had used before, a nondescript abandoned dojo on the east side of Kyoto. Kenshin did not anticipate trouble, but one could never be too sure in such volatile times. His blade was ready at his side, diamond-sharp and ready to howl.
On the other side of the doorway stood a second guard, a man Kenshin did not know, dressed casually in dark gray with red trim, with two blades tucked into his belt. Kenshin went out of his way to ignore him, for no reason whatsoever except for the fact that he was angry and depressed and didn't want to talk to another human being, especially one he did not know. Kenshin could sense the warm glow of his chi, deep and calm like a vast windless ocean.
The other guard ignored him right back, an expression of sleepy boredom painted on his face like a mask. At least he wasn't staring; most footsoldiers couldn't take their eyes off his crimson hair and cross-shaped scar. Kenshin was glad; if the man had recognized him as Battousai and said anything, he might have snapped and done something he would have regretted. It seemed odd that another guard should even be necessary—was Battousai alone not enough? Apparently the meeting was vital enough to warrant extreme overkill in terms of security.
Ten minutes later and the players had finally begun to arrive.
Kenshin stared emptily at Kogoro Katsura as he passed through the doorway, astonished that this man was the same person who had recruited him from Hagi two long years ago. How young and innocent (naïve!) he had been…
Closing his eyes, Kenshin remembered that day like it was yesterday; the bitter taste of tea in his mouth at Kogoro's residence, the fear in his stomach as he thought about the blood he would spill. And spill he had. Enough blood to paint the streets red, but not enough to slake the thirst of the Revolution, which kept barreling along with the force of an earthquake. Would it ever be enough? He doubted it. When Tomoe's eyes flashed up in his skull again, he shook his head and tried to block it out.
The Choshu leader looked like he had aged a decade; lines of heavy stress ran like faultlines across Kogoro's forehead. He didn't acknowledge Kenshin as he passed, but kept his head down. Kenshin was glad. The other leaders did the same as they followed him in, apparently not wanting to draw attention to the legendary former-hitokiri Battousai, even if most of them knew precisely who he was. Takasugi Shinsaku and Yamagata Aritomo walked in next side-by-side, talking to each other in quiet whispers. Ito Hirobumi, a man whom Kenshin recognized by sight but did not know well, followed behind, dressed elaborately in Choshu red and white. These four were cornerstones of Choshu military, all men whom Kenshin valued with respect and admiration. Idealists, all of them. People who wanted to sculpt an era of peace and advancement out of the chaos of the Bakumatsu. People who cared about the future of Japan more than they cared about their own lives.
But the next quartet of attendees was the most important; Saigo Takamori and Okubo Toshimichi of Satsuma, the two men walked with the same gait, as if they knew each like brothers. Saigo stood, a beast of a man, towering above Kenshin's frame and brimming with powerful chi. He was red-faced and balding, well over twice Kenshin's 16 years. The other man had to be Okubo Toshimichi; also tall, but thin and wiry, with long limbs sure to give him a good reach with his katana. His hair was pulled back into a tight, dark bun. They both ignored him as well; this time Kenshin doubted they even knew who he was. It was nice to be anonymous for a change.
The final set was Sakamoto Ryoma and Nakaoka Shintaro, another pair of close friends—this time from Tosa. Sakamoto in particular was the driving force behind the treaty, as a neutral party who had no stake in the Satsuma-Choshu rivalry, he had worked to bring the two factions together in what promised to be a tenuous agreement. Kenshin knew very little about them, besides their names, but his admired especially Ryoma's warm eyes and confident stride.
The door slammed behind them, and the meeting began. Kenshin was left with nothing to do but listen to the outcry of the ailing city and try to ignore the lingering scent of white plum perfume.
-x-
Ikumatsu set a tray filled with eight cups of tea down in the center of the table, each cup emitting a trail of warm vapors that, for some illogical reason, set Katsura Kogoro to thinking of dragonsmoke. Appropriate, he thought, slyly; as the eight men present represented the dragons of his division; the fiercest and most noble of the Choshu-Satsuma leadership. And this alliance is just the magic needed to turn the smoke into flame.
It was risky, bringing them all together under the same roof. If the Shinsengumi had somehow found out his plans, and descended upon the building in force like a pack of hungry wolves, the conflict might end that very night with a Shogunate victory.
In the end, though, he had decided that the risk had been worth it. All great successes required an inherent amount of hazard.
For what it was worth, Katsura exercised as many precautions as he could. That meant utilizing not only the former Battousai Himura Kenshin, but also his current hitokiri Shishio Makoto (a man only Shinsaku of his inner circle even knew existed) as guards and gate keepers to keep any uninvited guests out. While some of the Choshu hierarchy were older and out of practice with the sword, more habituated to giving orders and devising strategies than to cutting down men left and right—Katsura knew that the youths could fight at the highest level. It only made sense that he set the doorway with his two most deadly weapons.
If the Shinsengumi were going to interrupt their meeting, they would face no fewer than ten swords unwilling to go down without a fight. If nothing else, it would certainly provide a bloodbath.
Initial pleasantries and introductions were exchanged, though in reality everyone here knew every face sitting around the table. The introductions seemed like meaningless formalities, part of the necessary dance done to ensure no important parties felt insulted. However, Katsura understood that the niceties were actually important here; hundreds of years of violent history stood like a ten-foot thick wall between the two domains, a wall that Sakamoto Ryoma was trying to tear down with a stone hammer and his bare hands. It was a goliath task, and Katsura needed this alliance to materialize.
The dragon-smoke tea was helping, warming the men's bodies and spirits from the early spring chill. Among beverages, Katsura regarded tea secondmost only to sake in the ability to strengthen the bonds of compassion and friendship.
He felt Ryoma's eyes on him; staring with piercing clarity, as if judging to see whether Katsura was up to the challenge. Ryoma was a puzzle; a political mastermind; an intellectual; a man of few words. To be perfectly honest, he intimidated Katsura. A good man to have on his team, but what exactly were the motivation that drove this man of Tosa so hard to unify Choshu and Satsuma? Was he simply that much ahead of the game politically?
But enough of him… Looking towards Saigo and Okubo, Katsura straight-away turned the topic of conversation towards the important subject at hand. He chose his words carefully and somewhat slowly, hoping he would not come off as sounding unintelligent or, even worse, overly proud.
"The fact that you leaders of Satsuma have heeded our summons and came peacefully to our headquarters shows us that you hold at least some interest in our ideals, in the prospect of an alliance." His smile felt forced.
Saigo answered, his voice surprisingly delicate for a man of his size. "Don't get me wrong, Kogoro. I'm never going to like you or your Choshu scum. You think far too highly of yourselves, with far too much misplaced ambition. Too stupid-proud." He stopped speaking and looked around as if he wanted to spit on the floor before sighing and continuing.
"But, these are not normal times. As much as it pains me to say it, Sakamoto is right in trying to bring us together, and us at Satsuma have came to see you Choshu men as the current lesser of the two evils. The Tokugawa regime has proven itself to be an incompetent leading party; Japan under them has withered in stagnation a thousand levels below the Western powers. At this rate, our great nation will be doomed to domination by some European power! A colony! A slave state! We must retain our identity! The Tokugawas have lost all sense of Japanese pride, corrupted by their own possessions and the easy lives they have led. Restore the power of the Emperor, I say! He's guidance is assuredly more wise than Tokugawa's who cares only of his house and his wealth. Change must come, and, dare I say it, an alliance with Choshu is a small price to pay for winning back our freedom."
The Choshu side of the table was smiles almost all the way around. Only Shinsaku, who held such strong feelings of resentment towards the Satsuma crew he would never succumb to reason, didn't look pleased. His silence was the best outcome they could hope for from him; Katsura was pleased enough he wasn't standing on the table and shouting obscenities at Saigo and Okubo. He struggled to stay calm. It was coming together!
"Exactly!" exclaimed Ito, audible from amid the bubble of excited murmers. "Let us grow, let us develop, but as Japan! Tokugawa is failing us, and must go. We can promise numbers," said Ito, "numbers and passion! And some of the best swords you've ever laid eyes on! The very best Choshu has to offer."
"And in exchange, Satsuma can use its trade connections to import more modern weaponry for both of our uses. It is a win-win situation." Saigo was intelligent, of course he could see exactly how badly Choshu needed western firearms.
Of course, the details of the agreement didn't solidify that quickly or easily. The eight talked into the night, sharing ideas and fears, making plans of conquest, and simply enjoying the company of others that more-or-less shared the same political views. Eventually the tea was passed over for sake (the good stuff, from Katsura's personal supply), and the four Choshu became eight, a grand coalition of Choshu, Satsuma, and Tosa.
The alliance was forged.
-x-
Ten after midnight, and he found himself gagging on the sake he poured for himself as if it were poison. It made Kenshin think about his master, the things he would say about being ill at heart. How sickness of the spirit would eventually manifest itself as sickness of the body, a dislike for sake. It would have been easier if he were really sick. Find a doctor; treat it; get better or get worse. Stagnation was hell.
His disease was incurable, that much he was sure about.
Why? Why couldn't he just return back to the inn he was calling home after the meeting had ended? He never should have let curiosity get the better of him; it was a mistake to follow the noises he had heard down a path several blocks away. No one had cleared the bodies away yet.
She looked like Tomoe.
Not just a slight resemblance, either. To tell the truth, she could have been her sister. Her twin.
Her neck had been hacked so deeply that her head was nearly severed from her body, but not even that could hide the mortified, accusing look in her eyes. The ugly war claims yet another victim. Another body, a man's, lay by her side.
It was impossible to determine who was the perpetrator. Shinsengumi? Shogunate? Choshu? Perhaps that new assassin Katsura had told him about… At least Kenshin knew that it wasn't by his hand, at least not this time, but really that didn't help the way he was feeling. Even though he was no longer acting as hitokiri, he was still a killer; the next corpse would likely be caused by him…
Why WAS he involved in this ugly war, he wondered again. To usher in an era of peace and equaliy; to change the world; to protect the poor and the weak. How was this helping? In order to change society, people had to die. Those who opposed Choshu wouldn't just give up and lay down arms without a fight; the revolution had to be fought for the changes to be actualized. Was it worth it? If he didn't fight, the world wouldn't change, peace would never come, and the lowly poor would continue to be exploited and denied rights. If he did fight, innocents like this woman (like Tomoe!) would continue to die; blood would be on his hands and the hands of his comrades. There was no correct answer. Nothing seemed worth it. Everything choice he could make was wrong.
Just thinking about it made Kenshin's head ache. He took another deep sip of the sake and tried to pretend he wasn't weeping.