Chapter 9
Disclaimer: I do not own Rurouni Kenshin, but the character Midori is mine.
"Myoushu!"
She watches in shock as the strange man lunges at her master. She watches as her master takes to the air to avoid the deadly thrust. She watches, her heart shattering, as the man abruptly changes his forward thrust to an upward thrust, impaling her master through the chest.
She slices frantically through her own attackers, desperate to reach her Myoushu. Blood splatters on her face; a man's severed arm flies behind her. She pays no attention to any of it. Her body is protecting itself of its own accord.
She finds herself standing over her Myoushu's body, her blade dripping blood into the scarlet puddle surrounding him. A man tries to grab her; she cuts off his head, shoving the corpse away from her master before it can collapse upon him. There is smoke lying heavy in the air; they have set fire to the house and stables. Myoushu's horses scream as they burn.
"Your master is dead, slave," a cold voice breathes from behind her as she slowly falls to her knees at her teacher's side. She ignores the voice, reaching out the hand that is not holding her katana and taking her master's limp hand in her grasp.
"He was executed for his indecisiveness and his cowardense. He refused to protect the Shogunate rule and was therefore deemed a traitor to Japan. We of the Shinsingumi know well how to deal with traitors."
Faint pressure is applied to her hand as her dying master squeezes gently.
"Kawaii sukoshi baka," he rasps, a pained grin flittering across his face. A drop of water splashes on his closed eyelid, and Midori realizes that she is crying.
"Noroi chuuko jin," she whispers, and then, more softly: "Otou-sama."
Raiden Wakahisa opens his black eyes to meet those of his Midori, whom he loves more than anything else in the world.
"Do not weep for me, otome," he breathes. "Know that I am proud of you. Know that I love you more that life. Live long for me, and find happiness."
His eyes begin to close; Midori lifts his swiftly cooling hand and presses it to her bloodstained cheek.
"Aishiteru wa," she whimpers, planting a kiss to the frigid skin.
"Aishi…teru…yo." And he quietly breathes his last.
She clutches the corpse's icy hand, heedless of the men standing around her, heedless of the gaping slash across her back that is turning her white training gi deep red. She pays little attention as someone circles around her master's body and crouches across from her.
"Look at me, girl," that same cold voice demands. Slowly she lifts her head to meet a pair of yellow eyes that regard her with smug justification.
"These men will escort you to a safe location. You will not take your katana; if you attempt to fight you will be subdued. Do you understand?"
"What is your name?" Her voice sounds odd to her: empty, dead, like the body lain out before her.
Those yellow eyes narrow. "Why do you ask such a question?"
"I want to know the name of the man who killed my master. I want to know who I will be seeking vengeance against."
He stands, sneering down at her as the men around her laugh cruelly. Without a word he turns, and leading maybe half the remaining men, begins to walk away.
"What is your name, hitogoroshi?!" she calls after him, dropping the corpse's hand and springing to her feet. The men still around her visibly go tense.
Without stopping or looking back, the man replys in a bored tone that sets Midori's senses on fire with anger.
"Hajime Saito, leader of the third squad of the Shinsengumi."
Myoushu, would you be proud of me now? Would you love me now?
Midori let the question float through her mind, knowing that she would never have an answer. Her Myoushu was dead. He had died fourteen years ago today; he was gone and would never come back.
And now her life was being turned upside down again.
Sitting on the banks of the river that had become her refuge, staring blankly at the as-yet bloody water, she felt hollow. Empty.
Betrayed.
I tried to kill my best friend because I was ordered to.
That was it. The answer she had sought for ten long years. Himura had not been overcome by bloodlust; he had not gone crazy; he had not grown tired of her; it had not been some wild accident.
I was ordered to assassinate Zetsumei Kurohyou of the Ishin Shishi; my friend Midori; my kabu.
Orders. He had turned his back on their friendship, put a blade through her chest, and left her to die on orders. Midori could not even bring herself to wonder exactly which of their many superiors wanted her dead; she had a big enough headache as it was.
She looked up from her knees, squinting to shield her eyes against the setting sun. She had been sitting here since dawn. She should go back. Running a tired hand over her face, Midori struggled to her feet. She would go back long enough to collect her satchel, and then she was leaving. She had what she sought.
She trudged wearily through the streets, ignoring all she passed. She felt ill; her chest ached strangely, her skin was feverish, and there was a disquieting ringing in her ears.
Why did I say his name? The question has been circling in her mind for hours. Midori had only spoken Himura's name twice in their time as friends: last night, and twelve years ago as Himura sobbed into her lap.
. . . unless the sky collapses upon us or I fall in love with you, whichever comes first.
"Fuck," she muttered. Why had she said his damned name? Obviously the sky was not falling down around her, but she didn't love him. Truly. He had betrayed her! She had spent ten years suffering horrible pain in her shoulder and nightmares because of him. She didn't trust him like she once did. She did not love him.
Then why have you been avoiding him all day?
She was not avoiding him. She had just needed air. Midori was accustomed to going weeks without being around people; weeks without speaking a single word. As of today, she had been a guest at the Kamiya dojo for four weeks. She was simply unused to the presence of so many people after so many years alone. She had taken today for her own; that was all. She was not avoiding Himura.
You cannot even convince yourself of that.
At the moment, Midori dearly wished that the small voice in the darker corners of her mind would just shut up.
Stop running away from the truth. You love him. You, Midori, are in love with Kenshin Himura. You've been in love with him since that first time you said his name; since you were raped and he didn't shun you; since you declared that you would turn traitor rather that slay him. That's why it hurt so badly that he tried to kill you; that's why his betrayal stings so deeply.
"I. Do. NOT. Love Himura," she hissed, balling her hands into fists at her sides as she stomped down the road. The dojo was in sight now, and as she drew nearer, the hairs on the back of her neck stood on end. Cautiously, Midori leapt the side walls instead of entering through the gate, and was somewhat surprised to see Himura and the Kamiya girl standing in the entryway to the training dojo. Kaoru looked somewhat uneasy while Himura looked tense and…furious. He was absolutely furious.
As she crept nearer the large hole Sanosuke had created in the training dojo's wall, Midori realized with a rush of adrenaline that there was someone else in the room. Yahiko-chan and…someone else. Someone…familiar. Who was it?
Himura was speaking, and the unknown presence – a man – was laughing.
". . .you never resorted to dirty tricks like these. You're no longer the man I acknowledged as a true warrior: Hajime Saito, leader of the third squad of the Shinsingumi!"
Midori stopped breathing; every cell in her body went into lockdown.
"The Shinsingumi?!" Kamiya exclaimed.
"Then this is the guy! The one who's after Kenshin!" Yahiko blurted out; his voice was disturbingly close to the voice of Saito.
Dark chuckles resounded in the dojo's tension-filled air, as the sound of a sheath clattering to the floor rang in Midori's ears.
"I was afraid that your sword had become rusty, but I didn't think that your brain would be this rusty as well."
A cold sweat broke out all over Midori's body at the sound of that voice. His voice.
"'Akumatsu was a dog'? A weakling like him couldn't even begin to fill the role of a dog. We of the Shinsingumi know the strength of Battousai the Manslayer better than anyone else. However, you had trouble today, even against the likes of Akumatsu. Being a wanderer who doesn't kill has obviously made you weaker, Battousai."
One who does not kill? Midori thought, missing the words of Yahiko-chan and the Kamiya girl as this new piece of information was digested.
Himura's voice, when he spoke, was just a hair shy of lethal.
"As long as I have the strength of a wanderer to protect the people in my life, then that's good enough for me. I no longer need the strength of a manslayer, of a murderer, that I do not."
He must be pissed, Midori mused privately as she listened to Saito continue speaking, talking of battles she knew nothing of; I haven't heard him refer to himself as 'this one' since I arrived. That must be some sort of record.
"What do you know?!" Yahiko-chan suddenly shouted. "Kenshin was there helping people, that's why no one got hurt and everything turned out all right! Kenshin was there to protect everyone, you creep!"
A snort followed this speech. "Is that so? Then what about Zanza, the fighter for hire? If I had wanted to I could have broken him immediately."
Midori's anger grew as Yahiko-chan exclaimed, "You did that to Sanosuke?"
"The real Battousai would have seen that right away. As you said: ten years was enough for some people to become rotten. Drowning yourself in this false sense of justice; a wanderer that doesn't kill. How can Battousai the Manslayer protect people without slaying others? Have you forgotten? Aku soku zan: slay evil immediately. That was the one truth about justice that we had in common. It's unbearable for me to see you standing there as the man you have become, Battousai!"
There was a pause; Midori instinctively tensed for an attack as she waited for Himura's reply. When it came, it was in a hard tone.
"It doesn't matter what you say to me. I have no intention of ever taking the life of another person ever again."
"I see." There was a definite smile in Saito's words. The sound of sock-clad feet sliding into position had Midori's heart racing. "Then I shall deny you your entire false existence."
Midori was panicking. What should she do? Protect Himura, or stay out of it?
"What's wrong, Battousai? Are you going to allow her to feel my Gatotsu as well?" Saito was mocking him, the bastard; using the Kamiya woman's safety as a bargaining chip to force Himura to fight.
With one ear, she registered that Himura had taken a full step forward before stopping abruptly.
"You must not worry," he soothed, his voice suddenly a lot more gentle. "This one will be fine, Kaoru-dono, that he will."
Midori couldn't keep the scowl off her face as she listened to Himura reassure the girl. The girl murmured something very softly in return before Himura moved away. The two warriors slowly circled each other, as the sun sank fully behind the horizon and the dojo was bathed in darkness.
She knew what would happen as soon as Saito launched himself at Himura. She knew that Himura would go up to avoid the attack, using one of his own attacks from the air. She knew that Saito would then surprise him by changing the forward thrusting move into an upward thrust. Saito would skewer Himura, and Himura would be helpless to stop him.
Which is why she was across the room as fast as thought, leaping in front of and bashing into Himura in midair to move him out of the way so that she could take the blade for him.
The well cared for katana cut straight through skin, muscle, and bone to emerge from her back and lodge in Himura's shoulder with the sickening sound of metal against flesh. Despite the near blinding pain, Midori couldn't help but grin at the astounded look on the face of Hajime Saito, the man who had murdered her Myoushu fourteen years ago today.
Blood welled up in her throat, and it was with great pleasure that she spat a glob of it directly in Saito's face. The next moment she had been flung off the blade to land in an undignified head against the dojo walls.
"Kabu!" Himura was out from under her and by her side in an instant, a hand on her elbow to help her; scowling, she wretched her arm away from him and lurched to her feet unassisted. Looking down to inspect the damage, she could not control the slightly deranged giggles that burst from her mouth in a fountain of blood as she realized that her new wound was a mirror image of the scar she carried from Himura. Ah, so the fates have a twisted sense of humor, do they?
The wound, though serious enough that she would soon become light-headed if it was not treated, was not immediately life threatening. Unlike Himura's attack of ten years ago, this attack had not been meant to kill. Saito had not been aiming for any vital organs; he had simply wanted to wound Himura. Midori summarily dismissed it and reached up to yank her sheathed katana off her back. Looking around for Saito, she allowed a demented grin to spread over her face as she locked her cat-like green eyes with his wolf-like yellow ones.
"Hajime Saito," she drawled. Her voice sounded wrong even to her: cold, raspy, deadly as a naked blade. "Wolf of Mibu; murdering bastard. How nice to see you again."
Saito said nothing; one hand rose to his face to wipe away her blood, and the sane part of Midori's brain registered that it was gloved. Saito was wearing a police uniform.
"What's wrong, wolf?" she taunted, slowly unsheathing her blade. "Cat got your tongue?"
Saito's eyes narrowed imperceptibly. "You are Zetsumei Kurohyou; the Death Panther among the assassins of the Chosu clan's Ishin Shishi. It was reported that you were dead."
"I am dead," she spat at him, flinging her sheath away and tightening her grip on the hilt of her katana. "And so shall you be, very soon."
Still grinning manically, she moved to go towards him.
"Kabu, no!"
"Get out of my way, Himura!" Midori snarled, leveling her blade at the redhead as he flashed between herself and Saito. Blood sprayed from her mouth as she spoke, staining the air before her crimson. Himura, she noted, seemed to be bleeding quite a bit from his own injury; it was much less severe than Midori's, but would still need to be tended soon. That was, of course, assuming Midori did not have to kill him to get a piece of Saito.
"Kabu, you cannot fight him! You are injured! Let me –"
"Your services are not required, komori," she hissed at him. "You will move. I will kill him. End of story. Get out of my way."
"Midori –"
Her arm connected solidly with Himura's face, taking him by surprise as it propelled him across the room. Before he could interfere again, Midori lunged at Saito, blade poised to strike his midriff. He in turn lifted his own blade, blocking Midori's attack. He bore down hard, using his superior height and weight to force her back. She leapt away agilely, landing in a defensive crouch on the dojo floor. Her eyes scanned her enemy's body.
Look for the weak points. Attack those first.
Neck.
She feinted to the left before springing to the right, her katana ready in her left hand. She cut upward towards the juncture where neck and shoulder connected. The clang of steel against steel rang in the dojo as Saito again blocked her attack, although this time less successfully: by angling her blade slightly, she was able to slice a deep, bloody line across Saito's shoulder as she again leapt away.
Saito did not seem overly concerned with the blood staining his uniform. Instead, he leveled a narrow-eyed gaze at Midori, a frown etched in his face.
"I am not here to fight ghosts," he sneered, even as he crouched in an offensive position. "My fight is with the Battousai, not his pet cat. However, if you continue to attack me, I will of course be forced to defend myself. Unless you wish to die more permanently, I would advise you to lower that blade."
"Such a pity we never crossed paths during the Bakumatsu, Saito," Midori hissed, ignoring his warning as she prowls in a loose circle around him; his eyes followed her every move. "I would have taken great pleasure in playing with you awhile before I killed you. However, these are more civilized times, and there are innocents present; so I suppose I will simply have to be content with piercing that black heart."
She stopped her pacing and crouched as well, her blade angled in front of her defensively. "Do your worst, wolf. I swore an oath of vengeance against you; perhaps today I will see it fulfilled."
She was prepared when he lunges at her; she was not prepared when a blur came between them, dropping down as though to sweep Saito's feet out from under him. Saito, it would seem, was waiting for this occurrence; a swift kick launched the blur towards Midori, who was pushed into the wall by it. A burning pain lanced through her newly injured shoulder, forcing a hiss through tightly clenched teeth.
She went to stand, only to be restrained by a bruising tight grip on her uninjured shoulder.
"Midori." The voice is rough, slightly unstable. Frustrated, she glanced over at Himura, about to demand that he release her at once. One look at his eyes froze the words in her mouth.
His eyes were deep indigo flecked with gold.
Something is different with him, Midori realized. Something is wrong.
"Are you alright, Kenshin!?" the Kamiya girl rushed towards them, hands stretching out in front of her in her distress for Himura. "Kensh –"
She stopped abruptly, drawing her hands close to her heart. Midori, looking more fully into her face, noticed how pale she had suddenly grown. For a moment, Kaoru seemed to hesitate, not certain if she wished to advance.
Must be the eyes, Midori mused, returning her gaze to Himura. He, in turn, was glaring across the room at Saito; there was a look in his eyes that sent a new wave of adrenaline and anger surging through her blood.
The damned bastard thinks to interfere in my fight!
"Stand up," Saito snapped; it was unknown whether he addressed Himura or Midori. However, it was Kaoru that moved, rushing forward to plant herself in front of the two warriors; she braced her feet and threw her arms out to the sides, as if to shield them from Saito with her body.
"You're in the way," Saito informed her in a level, bored voice. It was clear that he did not find Kaoru Kamiya to be worth his time, even to kill. She had been judged by those cold yellow eyes and been deemed insignificant.
Midori jerked away from the quiet Himura and stood. Reaching forwards with her right hand, she gathered a fistful of Kaoru's pretty kimono, staining it with her blood in the process. She then yanked backward hard, pulling the girl back and slamming her into Himura, who had risen with Midori.
"Stay out of this, girl," she commanded coldly. "Your wooden sticks are useless here. Let the komoroi baby you while I give you more reasons to hate me."
She had turned back to Saito as she spoke, confident that Himura would move the girl out of harms' way and protect her. That should keep him occupied while Midori dispatched Saito. She blocked them both out, preparing to engage her opponent once more.
That, doubtlessly, is exactly why she was unprepared for the blade of Himura's sakabato to make contact with the back of her neck.
Her consciousness left her before she hit the floor.
"Kabu…my kabu…I'm sorry…"
It was so dark; where was the light? Why had the light deserted her?
"I know you must hate me…I wish I could make you understand. I wish you could know the feelings of my heart…don't leave me, kabu…please…stay with me…"
How could she understand someone else's heart when her own was broken?
"Koishii…"
Midori fought against the darkness, fought to see the light that was hidden from her. Slowly, ever so slowly, she forced her eyes to open.
She was lying wrapped in blankets on a futon in a dimly lit room. Her entire body ached; she was shivering with the cold. No, that was wrong; it shouldn't be so cold. It was spring. Why was she cold? Why was she injured? Where was the voice that had whispered to her in the darkness?
"Come back…" she rasped, feeling as though her throat was ripping to pieces.
"Kabu?"
Turning her head even slightly was like self-inflicted torture. Blinking back uncharacteristic tears, she managed a weak "Himura?"
A warm hand was pressed lightly to her forehead; Himura's concerned face swam hazily into view, his scarlet tresses tickling Midori's cheeks. She tried to speak, but he shushed her gently.
"You have a fever, kabu. Do not strain yourself. Lay still."
"It's so cold, ninjin," she whimpered, and she didn't have the strength to stop the hot tears that boiled over her eyelids and cut wet trails down her cheeks. Gentle fingers wiped them away, a calloused thumb stroking circles into her cheek. "It hurts, ninjin. Everything hurts."
"I know, kabu," he murmured softly, his own eyes glassy. "I'm sorry. It will get better, I promise. Megumi-san is taking care of you. It will be alright."
She felt the blackness looming, felt her eyelids become heavy.
"Don't leave me alone," she whispered, the plea thick in her voice.
"I will never leave you, kabu. Rest now. I will stay with you; I promise."
Her eyes slid shut again, and she sank back into her nightmares.
She is nude, tied to a support beam, in a dark room that stinks of sake. She doesn't know how long she's been here, or what became of her blades. Her katana and wakizashi have been forcibly removed from her person, as have her clothing.
A shoji is thrown open in front of her, and she blinks quickly to force her eyes to adjust to the sudden light. Men carrying lanterns file into the room, lining the walls behind and to the side of her. Finally a man with empty hands steps into the room, closing the sliding door behind him with a snap. He grins sadistically at her.
"Zetsumei Kurohyou," he sneers, advancing upon her position. "Are you prepared for tonight's entertainment?"
She doesn't answer; she never does. She wonders what the 'entertainment' will be tonight. She is glad that the man addressing her did not bring his whip: it is one used on slaves, with nine thick strips of leather to cut into a person's flesh, aided by the tiny glass shards sewn into the leather. Her back still screams in agony from her last session with the damned thing.
Sometimes they simply beat her, assuring her that all she has to do is scream and they'll stop. She has yet to make a sound. Sometimes they take turns forcing themselves upon her, sweating and grunting against her prone body like animals, dirtying her insides with their essence. They tell her their names; demanding she call them out as they flood her, threatening retribution if she fails to do so.
She bites her own tongue hard enough to draw blood; then waits until they have withdrawn from her before spitting bloody saliva in their faces.
Only once have any of them forced her to her knees before them, commanding that she soil her mouth for his pleasure. She bit him; dismembered him; she later learned that he bled to death from the injury. No one has tried that particular trick again.
Her captor slaps her across the face. "Answer me, woman!"
She bares her teeth at him in a fierce snarl.
"This arrogance is why you are here, woman. It should not be the codename of a woman that is feared by our enemies! It should not be a woman who is allowed into Katsura-sama's presence! A woman should not be permitted to carry a blade as if she has a right to call herself samurai! You think to rise above your proper station? Then as men, we have a responsibility to remind you of your place."
Ah, yes. This is the real clincher of the entire ordeal: these men do not work under the Shoganute. They are members of the Chosu's regular army. Men who should be her allies are debasing her in this abandon hotel because they are jealous of her fame.
As if she asked to be famous for the murder of hundreds, of thousands.
Midori tenses as the man steps forward and places his hand on her cheek. An almost apologetic look comes to his eyes; he seems to struggle with his next words.
"We are not bad people, woman. We do this for your own good. Some day you may thank us for this. Some day you will come to understand."
Slowly, almost reverently, he leans over her and presses his mouth to hers in a kiss. He deepens it instantly, forcing her mouth open so that he may explore with his tongue. When she does nothing, he brings a hand up to tangle in her dirty hair, wrapping the other arm around her sickly thin waist to pull her closer to him as he ravages her mouth.
When his shoulders relax, Midori abruptly snaps her jaws shut, clamping down on his slimy tongue before the son of a bitch can retract it.
He screams. He screams and flails and punches and kicks, but Midori refuses to release his tongue. When at last five of his companions rush forward and manage to pull him away from her, he lets out a high-pitched wail of agony as his tongue parts company with his mouth.
Midori spits it, along with a mouthful of blood, at the now sobbing man's feet.
For the first and only time during her captivity, Zetsumei Kurohyou speaks.
"So that you will not again be tempted to spout such foul lies," she explains, a bloody, demented smirk blooming over her battered face as blows are rained down upon her by the man's companions; and the man himself slowly chokes to death in front of her, drowning in his own blood.
Zetsumei Kurohyou's twisted laughter is the last thing he hears before he is claimed by the abyss.
Review and tell me what you think please. And yes, a lot of the dialogue is borrowed from the anime. Please see the disclaimer.