Disclaimer: Kenshin, Tomoe, and Shishō are not mine. I grovel at the feet of Watsuki and the multiple huge corporations that distribute his creations. Katsura is historical. Everybody else is mine. Some lines of the dialogue early in this chapter are from RK, vol. 20.
A/N—I said that I would try to keep this realistic. In case any of you are wondering…theoretically, it is possible to shatter trees, as per the last chapter. Same principle as a singer breaking a glass (or my husband's sneeze making notes on my piano sound): if you can find the correct pitch to cause resonance in the material and hold it long enough, the vibrations will eventually cause the item to break apart. Obviously, for a human voice to do that to trees is not likely….but hey! according to Watsuki, Kenshin can do it.
Sorry it's been so long since I posted. You might want to go back and just skim the last part of Chapter 9 before you read this: the events here pick up immediately after. Truthfully, I really don't know how quickly I will be able to update in the future. But I'll keep writing! Just be patient with me, please.
Vocab:
Okami-san—landlady; hotel manager
hikyaku—express messenger
Mōshiwake arimasen—I have no excuse. I am sorry.
go-nin-gumi—five man group (the town's men are divided into 5-man groups for security and policing purposes)
Hontō ni—truly
danzai—samurai right to kill anyone that insults their honor
Shades and Shadows, Pt.4
24th day, 3rd month
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The attack on the gates had turned into a debacle. Now they were running through the streets, trying to reach some safe place where they could hide. The last two men still with him veered off into a different street. He could see smoke rising all along his left, where the fires that started during the battle had spread, fanned by the wind. He agonized over how long it was taking him to get back to the Kohagi-ya and Tomoe, but he could not go directly. He could not let anyone see him: blood covered him from head to foot, and he would be set upon immediately. It was faster to dodge and twist through odd alleys than to have to fight every step of the way. He pushed himself harder; the warm wind was blowing the flames towards the inn. He had to get there and get Tomoe to safety.
He worried about her reaction. Something had been growing between them, he thought. But he was not sure: she was still a mystery to him and neither of them was willing to speak openly of such things. Would she be disgusted to see him like this? Even after one of his assignments, he had never been this bloody. He was almost there…
He broke out of the narrow street only to find himself facing a wall of flames with coals glowing hot at their base. The mountain rose high behind them, faint through the choking smoke. The smell of burning flesh was heavy in the air, and he could make out bodies crumbling to ash. But the mountain was not Higashiyama, and there were no buildings near.
It was a Chōshū mountain, and a village burning ground. The bodies of his family were burning.
He moved closer, his heart aching with fresh grief. A dark figure emerged from the haze, the sharp planes of cheeks and nose emphasized by the flaring light, and reflected flames dancing in the black eyes: O-Ine-san. She raised a stern hand to stop his advance and hissed, "Have you come to admire your handiwork? Leave, youkai! You do not belong here!"
She will not keep me from my family! Livid with fury, he attacked, unsheathing his katana in a backhanded slash that cut her from hip to shoulder only to stare in disbelief as the gaunt face softened and rounded. Tomoe gazed at him sadly and shook her head before she crumpled to the ground. He flung the katana aside and bent to her, kneeling to cradle her in his arms. Cold seeped in and quenched the fiery heat, as the orange and gold of the flames leeched out to starkest white. Only the red of their blood-soaked clothes and the black of her hair and eyes remained as she looked up at him and breathed, "No…"
His lips shaped her name and he was wrenched with the unending despair of watching her die yet again at his hand. Her eyes widened and deepened, swallowing him in darkness. In the void, he lay helpless, unable to see, unable to move, waiting…
But all that crept in upon him in his vast, black prison was a faint chuckle of trickling water and the friendly chirp of crickets. Slowly, apprehension was soothed by the small sounds and the soft touch of a gentle breeze. His body relaxed, sinking….
…against the window frame in frustration as he glared at the girl. What should he do about her? I remember this! Tomoe! His joy at seeing her living face was tainted by the knowledge of what was to come. You must have hated me then, but I never knew. I never could read your ki—never knew what you were thinking. Everyone else was wary of him, fearful of offending him. But she had ignored his efforts to get rid of her and spoken to him as though he were a bothersome little brother.
She had stirred everything up! Okami-san and the girls; the other men; his own careful routine. And now this question! "Will you get rid of me as you did the black samurai the other night?" Did she know he had considered it? Did she know he had not been able to? That when he had looked up at her white, blood-spattered face and been drawn into those black, black eyes, his 'wall' had shuddered at the blow. I had tried so hard to cease to think, to feel, but from the very start, you made me think about what I was doing. I did not want to see contempt or fear in your eyes.
He straightened and leaned forward, momentarily distracted by the sheen of her hair in the sunlight from the window as he sought for words to justify his actions.
"You can think whatever you'd like of me…How did you come to care for me when you saw what I was? …but I fight for the new era where everyone can live in peace. I do not kill indiscriminately. My enemies are only those who bear swords for the Shogunate. How empty those words must have sounded to you. How could you live in peace when I had killed your love? I will never kill an unarmed civilian, enemy or not." ….
He woke abruptly, his own last words echoing in his head. The sun was warm on his face and bright through his eyelids: it must be late morning. How could I have slept so long?! His head was pounding, and his eyes felt heavy and strange in their sockets. He tried to open them, but could not. Lifting a hand, he found a heavy scab-like crust sealing his eyelids, but when he rubbed at it, he only succeeded in sending shooting pains through his eye at the pressure. He let his hand drop back to the ground, only then realizing that he was still on the mountain with wood and rocks digging into his back. Water ran nearby. Confused images swam through his aching head and brought a sense of dread. What was truth and what was dream? All of it was fragmented, and yet seemed so real…
Most disturbing of all was the memory of desire: desire to kill. In all his years in Kyoto—all the lives he had taken—he had never wanted to kill, but now he remembered the overwhelming urge--the longing—to sink his blade into his enemy and watch her die. With a groan, he rolled over and buried his face in his arms.
An old woman. I wished to kill an old woman! I think I remember stopping. But I remember striking, too. What have I done?! Tomoe's sad face reproached him and the words he'd awakened to came back to him: "I will never kill… enemy or not." Pleasepleasepleaseletmehavestopped! Or let it be a dream!
He lay, suffering under his burden of fear and uncertainty and self-loathing, wishing that he had died long ago with his family, or with the three sisters, or never returned to the village.
"Well, that's certainly a useful approach! Everything that you have messed up will now be instantly corrected by wishful thinking." Shishō's voice was so clear in his head that it seemed the man could be standing right next to him, glaring down at the pathetic lump he must appear. How often had he received this lecture in those first months? "Baka! Nothing is going to change unless you get your sorry self up and figure out what to do to straighten things out." Kenshin could picture his master's pointedly longsuffering glance towards the sky and reproving demand of the gods, "Remind me again why this boy was supposed to be my deshi?"
His heart was leaden within him, but just as it had then, Shishō's scathing tone dragged him out of the pit of despair, determined to prove that he was worthy of the time spent on him. He pushed himself up, sitting quietly until the pain in his head eased. I am indeed as stubborn as a rock. And as brainless. Have I learned nothing from those who tried to teach me, except how to kill? He tried to open his eyes again, but desisted when the effort pulled sorely at tender skin. He needed some way to soak them open. He became aware, too, of the burn and sting of many small wounds.
Skimming the ground with his hand, he found no water container, but a great many small pieces of wood. The image of slender trees splintering solidified in his mind. I did this. I did this…after I ran! And he had run to prevent himself from using the sakabatou on O-Ine-san! The relief of certainty helped him endure the realization that if that had truly happened, the whole village must have seen him. And the undeniable fact still remained—that he had wanted to use it.
He pulled his mind away from those thoughts. First things first: I can fix nothing as I am right now. He paused and ran his hand over the ground again, out a little farther. Where was the sakabatou? He put a hand to his head and felt the short ends of his hair: that, too, was a true memory, then. So the sakabatou had to be here.
It was not far away. He had evidently had enough sense left to sheath it, though he did not remember doing so. Using it as a staff, he pushed himself to his bare feet, tender from running an unheeding course. Standing quietly, he strained to remember what he could of what his surroundings had looked like; it felt as though his shout had cleared a fairly large space. He would have to step carefully. He cocked his head to listen for the water and began to make his slow way towards it, swinging the sakabatou ahead of him.
He fought against the oppressive recollection of another time, another unseen forest. By the time he had worked his way across the open space and through the trees and bushes down to the edge of the little brook, he was ready to rest. How long had he slept? Hadn't it been midafternoon when he was in the field? By the height of the sun now, it must be nearly midday. So, a little less than a day? Surely no more, for him to be so tired. He eased himself down on the bank and began to untie the sash of his jinbei. His fingers brushed against something soft: it was his tail of hair, tucked inside. His hair had not been cut since his family died…but now he pulled it out and held it in his hand, warm and surprisingly heavy, a tangible reminder of his loss of control.
Setting it down with a sigh, he finished untying the sash and soaked an end in the water. Its wet coolness soothed his eyes and eased some of the torment in his head, and he lay back, feeling the dappled warmth of the sun as the leaves shifted above him.
I wish that Shishō were here. He always sees things clearly. He would be harsh, and call me a fool, but he would be right. How often did he tell me that I needed to think more and feel less?
He knew he should get up and finish rinsing his eyes. He knew that he should take care of all the small cuts. He knew that he needed to deal with the havoc he had wrought in his life. But for now, he knew, what he needed most was sleep. He curled up on the bracken, sakabatou nestled in his arms, and surrendered himself to his body's weakness.
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Noriya cradled his head in his hands. He was glad to be alone in the house; he needed to think. Himura might not be youkai, as O-Ine-san so firmly believed, but the man had certainly made his life miserable. Seiji and O-Ine-san had been stirring up painful old memories ever since Himura had arrived. Manabu and Hirō had been doing their best to counter them, but after yesterday…He winced at the memory; even he had almost been tempted to believe O-Ine-san's stories. His dreams last night had echoed with Himura's inhuman cry, and a horrible vision of O-Ine-san's headless body had stayed with him all morning.
What could he do to keep peace in his village? A rift was forming… O-Ine-san was a good woman: kind to the sick, loving with the children, well-liked and respected. No one had seen this other side of her for years. The village needed her. And yet, while it would be perfectly understandable for him to resent the village, Himura had worked hard and done nothing until now to cause trouble. And it would be within his rights to kill O-Ine-san: the rumors had been fairly subtle, but yesterday she had publicly denounced him as youkai. The humiliation was not something a samurai would overlook.
And Himura was samurai. Noriya opened his eyes and focused again on the letter pinned under his elbows. He had had a sinking feeling as soon as Tomamichi told him that a hikyaku had been seen on the road to the village. He knew it was the letter he had been waiting for …and he knew what it would say; it was too much to hope that his problem would be easily solved by learning that Himura was indeed an impostor.
"To Noriya-shoya:
"I regret that it has taken so long to respond to your inquiry, but your letter was directed to my office in Yamaguchi, and I am at present in Kyoto. The letter had to be sent on, as not all of those who served me in Kyoto are known to those in Yamaguchi.
Himura Kenshin has been under my command for several years, but was recently permitted leave. He is easily identifiable: his hair is red.
His welfare is of some concern to me, and I would request that you notify me should any difficulties arise.
"Written the 18th day, 3rd month
Kido Junichirō (formerly known as Katsura Kogoro)"
'His welfare is of concern'; 'if difficulties should arise'—what should he do now? He was not about to write: "Most honorable Kido-sama, this one regrets to inform you that Himura-san has gone mad and disappeared. We do not know where he is, but we fear that he will return and kill us all." If only Himura had never come back…
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When he finally awoke to the night around him and sat up, the pain in his head was gone, and his eyes—though still a little too tender to force open—no longer felt alien in his body. In truth, though still depressed, he felt more like himself than he had in weeks.
He set the sakabatou down and retrieved his sash, scooting down to dip it once again in the water, and then rub gently at his eyes. Soon he was able to open them carefully, relieved to find that his vision was normal. The night was very dark: the waning crescent had not yet risen, so it was sometime before the hour of the Ox. More than that he could not tell, with the leaves hiding the stars.
Something small and black crouched next to a pale rock at the edge of the water. Even when he moved, it did not. Curious, he nudged it with the tip of the sakabatou, only to discover that it was the tail of hair that he had found in his sash. Reaching down, he picked it up and sat, running the strands over his fingers. In the jinbei, with his hair cropped, he probably looked as much like an ordinary villager as he ever had. Was this what he had wanted all along? Had he somehow--without even realizing it—hoped that he could return and find everything as it was before his family died? I knew when I decided to come here that things would be different, but it felt so wrong when they were…And I let my feelings take over, again. One of these days I will learn, Shishō.
He set the hair next to the sakabatou and began to wash himself, using the sash to scrub awkwardly at the sore spots. He thought some places might still have splinters embedded, but could not see well enough to tell. And he was not really concentrating on what he was doing: he was thinking back on the past weeks, seeing now how foolish he had been, and sickened by the savage urge that he had found within himself. He did not know exactly why he had finally regained some rationality—perhaps his emotions had reached such an extreme that they had burnt themselves out—but whatever the reason, he was sincerely grateful. When did the desire for vengeance on O-Ine-san eat its way into my heart? I must root it out before I bring dishonor upon myself and those that have instructed me…Have I really always hated her--until I came back, I had not thought of her for years--, or have I made her the focus of all my distress?
He sat by the rushing water, staring unseeing at the faint glints sparking its passage over rocks, as he contemplated the jumble of images left in the wake of his dreams: O-Ine-san—dead and alive; Tomoe—both beautifully alive and in that disturbing transformation; Shishō. Most recent was the series of assassinations that often replayed through his nights: the faces varied, but they had all become as familiar as his own. Each night that he saw those faces—angry, terrified, or pleading-- he wondered about the men he'd killed. They had been his enemies, but only because he'd trusted the word of Katsura-sensei; of himself, he'd known nothing about them. How many had been like Kiyosato: in the company of the wrong people at the wrong time? All the man had been trying to do was prove himself worthy of the woman he loved. Tomoe had spoken of his kindness, his gentleness. Kenshin had seen for himself how strong his feeling for her had been. Why had Kiyosato had to die? In killing that single man, he had ruined many lives: Tomoe's, Enishi's, their father's, Kiyosato's family's….How many other lives had he destroyed with each victim he had slain?
How many would have been hurt if I had killed O-Ine-san? The village needs her…but she hates me. So what should I do?
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25th day
In the dim light of the andon, Manabu watched as Honomi carefully rewrapped Rishou's wrist. It was earlier than they usually woke—either Daigo or Makio had just passed the house on the last round of their watch--, but Rishou's arm had made it hard for him to sleep. Actually, only Naeko had slept well these last two nights. The rest of them had tossed and turned, waking at every slight sound, thinking it might be Kenshin returning. A pained grunt from Rishou made his father wince. If Kenshin did return, what state would he be in? Manabu could not shake the image of those lethal eyes and the force that had brushed them off like flies. They were fortunate that Rishou's wrist was not broken, as awkwardly as he had landed when Kenshin shoved him aside.
Naeko sighed in her sleep and rolled over, and his wife tied off the bandage and moved to wake her. In the murmur of their voices, Manabu did not realize at first that there was a third—coming from outside.
"Manabu-san…"
It was so soft, he was not sure if he truly heard it, or was just imagining it. He looked over at his son, to find him staring hard at the door.
"Manabu-san…"
With a glance at his wife and daughter—would they be safe in the corner if Kenshin was not in his right mind?—and a touch to his son's shoulder as Rishou also rose, Manabu went to the door and slowly slid it open.
He cast a quick glance at the street –all the houses were still dark—before he turned to the figure keeping close to the darker shadows. Reassured by the awareness of Rishou at his back and the bo by the door, he stepped out onto the engawa. "Kenshin?"
The young man slipped into the faint light and at the first glimpse of the uncertainty on his face, Manabu made his decision and reached out, pulling him into the house. Once inside, he could see that Kenshin was dirty and disheveled, but sane. The eyes were no longer those that had haunted him: they were still tired and a faint pink, but clear and direct…and sad. The sadness deepened as Kenshin noted the women huddled in the corner and men standing in front of him defensively. His gaze fixed for several seconds on Rishou's bandaged wrist; then he looked up at his friend with guilt and dismay.
"I hurt you?"
Accepting their uncomfortable silence as assent, he fell to his knees before them, setting his sakabatou aside in order to place his hands carefully before him and bow low. He spoke without looking up.
"Mōshiwake arimasen. This miserable person most earnestly begs your forgiveness for his inexcusable behavior. Please believe that he is grateful for all the kindness that has been shown him and feels great sorrow and shame for his actions. How may he make amends?"
Manabu stared at the bowed head, shocked to see that Kenshin's hair had been cut off at the nape. His bare neck was pale and vulnerable; he seemed so small and young in his pleading… Manabu could almost believe that he'd imagined what he'd seen in the field, though Rishou's injury was mute witness that he had not. He had been alarmed at the potential for violence he had seen, and had been thinking hard the last two days. This was Shinsaku's son! He'd decided that what had happened was partly O-Ine's fault and partly his own: he had known that Kenshin was not well. He should have given him something to make him sleep, rather than let him go out in such a state. He had failed in his promise to Shinsaku yet again.
"Of course you're forgiven. Get up, Kenshin." Manabu's voice was rough with concern, and he cleared his throat. "The only thing you're guilty of is being too stubborn for your own good. We've been worried about you." He walked back to the table and settled himself. Rishou followed his lead, remarking, "I don't know if that's the only thing. We had to finish his rows, after all."
Kenshin's head came up and he regarded the other young man with disbelief at his careless tone. As Rishou sat down, his father waved for Kenshin to join them. He did not move, only stared at the two men, unprepared for their ready acceptance.
"But I hurt you! And you were afraid of me when I came in: I could feel it!" He kept his voice low, aware of Naeko in the corner.
"We were afraid that you might still be ill enough to not be aware of what you were doing." Manabu corrected. "Do you remember pushing Rishou away as you ran?"
Kenshin fixed his gaze on the floor and hesitantly admitted, "I do not remember very much of the past several days… Did I harm anyone else?"
"No. And I do not think you meant to hurt him any more than he meant to hurt me the year he struck me in the face when he was thrashing around in a fever; you were not well. My wife and I both told you to stay home and sleep, but you are as bad as your father was: once you've got an idea in your head, no one can change it. Now, come over here like I asked." He turned his head towards the corner: when she had seen that all was well, Honomi had shifted the screen so that she and Naeko could dress—and asked, "Is the tea ready?"
"Hai." She hurried over to the irori and picked up the teapot to add to the waiting tray. Manabu looked expectantly at Kenshin, who looked abashed, but stayed where he was.
"I am too dirty to come in any farther," he apologized. Manabu sighed in exasperation, but nodded.
"Naeko-chan?" he asked, without turning around. His daughter answered from where she was replacing the screen against the wall.
"Hai, Otōsan?"
"Bring a water bucket over to Himura-san. And a cloth." The young girl scurried to gather the items and set them down before their guest. Manabu waited in silence as Kenshin hurriedly washed his face and hands and feet, while his wife set the cups on the table and poured out the tea for the men. Then she and Naeko retreated to the irori to prepare the morning meal. Once the young man had finished, Manabu sternly commanded, "No more excuses. Come over here. I want to take a good look at you."
Rishou looked at his father in some surprise at his tone, and murmured, "Otōsan…" in a soft, warning voice. The older man waved off his caution. "He may be samurai, but he is my friend's son, and I promised to look after him. Through grief and hesitance, I have broken that vow. I will not fail again," he said, looking Kenshin in the eyes as he spoke.
Kenshin moved to where Manabu pointed, with the light of the andon falling directly on him, and suffered his scrutiny in silence.
"What have you been doing? You look like you ran straight through a thorn bush. Some of those cuts need to be treated…but your eyes look better."
"I was sleeping. And thinking. How much trouble have I created?" Manabu watched the thin hand--so strong!—as it nervously ran through the short, red hair. Should he ask? But he let it go, and addressed the young man's question.
"It's not as bad as it could be, but bad enough. You were going to attack O-Ine-san, weren't you?"
Kenshin's eyes widened, and then closed in distress. He gave one short, sharp nod.
"I thought so. Fortunately, everything happened so quickly, and most people were far enough away, that I don't think they realize that. All they know is that you suddenly ran out of the field to pick up your sword only to begin shaking and twisting like one possessed. Then you screamed and ran away. It scared us all. But the real problem is O-Ine-san: she got an ofuda from the priest that morning when she met him as Chūgo-kun brought her home from Sakura-chan's lying-in. When you disappeared, she told everyone that the ofuda had driven you off. The people closest to you saw your red eyes, so some have started to actually believe her. Keita-san has said that he's seen men go mad after battle and thought that maybe that was what happened, but I've been telling everyone that you were ill. Most people aren't sure what to believe; they're just worried that you may be dangerous."
"If you know that I wanted to attack her, why did you let me in? My father would not have wanted you to shelter a person capable of such a thing."
Manabu's heart ached at the anguish he saw in Kenshin's eyes. "No, he would not. But you weren't capable of it, Kenshin. As much as that woman has made life miserable for you, as sick as you were, you did not attack her. Rishou and I were too slow to stop you; everyone else was too shocked to do anything. You stopped yourself."
The red head lowered until Kenshin's face was hidden behind his still-long bangs. They sat silent until he looked up again, face determined. "And what does Noriya-san say?"
"He has said nothing of what he will do. He has only told us that you are to be brought to him if you return. But Noriya-san asked the opinions of both the Elders and the leaders of the go-nin-gumi." He raised his hands, counting off the different factors to be considered: "O-Ine-san believes you will not return, but demands that you to be driven off or killed if you try; Seiji-san, of course, likes her idea; Hirō and I keep saying that you have done nothing to anyone; Tomamichi-san, Tatsunori-san, and Junsuke-san are uneasy and undecided. And then yesterday Noriya-san received a letter from Katsura-sama ---Oh! His name is Kido now—that has him worried. He does not wish to risk offending someone placed so highly." Manabu pursed his lips as he regarded his bent fingers, considering. "I think that he will do nothing more than what is necessary to save face. He will not harm you." Looking back up at Kenshin, he asked, "What are you thinking? Do you even want to stay, with the situation as it is? Or have you just come to get your things and say 'sayōnara'?"
Kenshin replied quietly, almost apologetically, "I wish to stay. Will you take me to Noriya-san?"
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The mountain was dark against the brightening blue of the sky, and mist hovered over the flooded fields. Lights were coming on in the huts as families rose to dress and eat. He felt remarkably calm as he met Manabu-san at the edge of his yard. Not confident, certainly not justified, just…calm. As though he was finally taking a step in the right direction.
Kenshin had been ready to leave immediately from Manabu-san's house, but the older man had reasoned with him, convincing him that it would be wiser to face the shoya after his innumerable small wounds had been treated and he was clean and dressed as befitted a samurai. As Honomi had removed splinters with a needle, Rishou had protested his decision, wondering why he would choose to stay and live like a peasant, enduring the rumors. Rishou had asked if he feared that Katsura—no, Kido-sensei—would hold him to blame and expect him to commit seppuku to atone. It had made him pause; such a thing had not even occurred to him. There had been a few Shishi that had killed themselves when an assignment had not gone well, but it was by choice, not because Katsura-sensei had required it. No, that was not a concern. The reputation of his family was.
They walked the length of the street in silence. Rishou had gone ahead to tell Noriya-san that they were coming; Kenshin could see his friend now, back on the street waiting for their arrival. He had schooled himself to remember Katsura-sensei's lectures on the importance of appearance and attitude in setting the stage for negotiations, and to heed Manabu's advice on how to approach Noriya-san, but he felt the irony sorely: he, the assassin, not begging forgiveness, but acting as though it were expected by right of his samurai virtue! No matter what Manabu had said, though, Kenshin knew he would accept almost any penalty imposed by the shoya if it would allow him to move forward…
Rishou stayed at the steps to ensure that they would not be disturbed. As he ascended with Manabu, Kenshin assumed the dignity and assurance of one of Katsura's chosen guards, reshaping himself into the image he had not worn for months. At the edge of his vision, he caught sight of Manabu's startled face and cast a rueful smile in his direction before entering the house at Noriya-san's bidding.
''''''''''''''''
Himura had returned: fortunately, apparently sane; unfortunately, wanting to resume his place in the village. With any luck, once the samurai heard his conditions, he would find them unpleasant enough that he would choose not to stay. Noriya had seated himself behind his desk, judge-like, after sending Rishou out, assuming an appropriately severe expression. However, when Himura entered the room with Manabu at his heels, the shoya found himself rising to his feet—trying not to stare at the short red hair-- and bowing to the unexpectedly intimidating figure. His mind skipped back to the day of the samurai's arrival, and the uncertainty he had felt then. Should he proceed with his plan? He had come up with nothing better… But this was not the small, unassuming man he had gotten used to these past weeks. How would he react? Noriya was reassured when Himura returned his bow dispassionately: if Himura agreed to abide by the conditions, it should ease the situation somewhat. Coming out from behind his desk, he formally invited Himura to sit, kneeling in turn to face him.
"We were concerned at your abrupt departure. You seemed to be in some distress…?" Noriya delicately left the question hanging.
"Hai. I had not been sleeping well for some nights and was…not quite myself," Himura answered calmly. The shoya noticed Manabu's slight nod and stared at him, but the man merely looked back at him inquiringly. He returned his regard to Himura, who sat patiently.
Was Himura going to use his house's haunted reputation to excuse his behavior?
"I cannot give you another house."
The redhead only looked momentarily surprised and then waved the matter aside. "There is no problem with the house. --I understand from Manabu-san that my 'abrupt departure' caused a good deal of alarm. I regret any distress that may have resulted."
A shadow crossed Himura's face, and Noriya remembered the young boy who had borne so much blame, and found himself feeling guilty for wanting him gone. But how else could he return things to normal?
"There were, in fact, quite a few people that feared that… something…was seriously wrong. That it might be possible that …problems…could arise while you were "not quite yourself." You may find that you are now viewed in a rather…different…light." He had phrased his comments as inoffensively as he could, but even though Himura's expression remained unchanged, Noriya could clearly read in his eyes that he understood exactly what was meant.
"That is unfortunate. Though I do not wish to upset anyone, neither do I wish to leave yet. And you still need my help in the fields. So, what is it that needs to be done to reassure the fearful people?"
These would be the deciding moments. As Noriya matched the cool neutrality of the violet eyes, he could feel the tension; Himura had asked directly, and he would answer in like manner.
"First, someone in the village must be willing to stand as surety. If your presence here should bring any serious harm to the village, the entire family will either be slain or cast out, as the others see fit." Himura sat silent, obviously reluctant to put anyone else at risk. He had guessed right! And if it had been anyone other than Manabu who had brought Himura in, the matter might already be resolved. As it was…
"I will stand for Himura-san." Himura looked over his shoulder at the older man. Noriya could not see what passed between them, but Manabu repeated firmly, "I will stand for Himura-san." There seemed to be the faintest whisper of a sigh before Himura once again faced the shoya to ask:
"And?"
"You must leave your sword with me."
Manabu began to protest, but quieted abruptly as Himura put out a hand to silence him. Drawing the weapon slowly from his ties, Himura replied, "If Manabu-san is willing to offer up his family, how can I refuse to give up my sword?"
Noriya reluctantly received the sword, laid carefully across his outstretched palms. Respectfully, he set the blade down before him. He sat with his head down, staring at the weapon, for several seconds. It was as though they were all frozen in place for that brief time, their stillness emphasized by the rustle of movement and low voices on the other side of the partition. The die had been cast; the result had yet to be seen.
Finally looking up, Noriya warned the younger man, "O-Ine-san will not be satisfied. She will not rest until you are driven out or dead. There will still be trouble."
"Hontō ni…She is a problem. I have been considering what to do about her."
"You will not harm her?" Noriya knew that there was nothing he could do if Himura claimed danzai.
"Aa. If there is nothing further we need to discuss, would it be possible for me to speak with Yasu-baasama? I wish to ask her help."
"Of course. I will take you to her." The men rose and Manabu went outside to join his son. Noriya was curious, but asked no questions as he slid back the shoji; he would find out from Okaasan later. In the meantime, as long as he had Himura's word that O-Ine would not be harmed, he would let the samurai fight his own battles.
'''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''
Kenshin walked through the early morning, Manabu and Rishou at his sides, Baba-sama many paces ahead of them. As his eyes followed her narrow, slightly stooped back, his thoughts were still grappling with their earlier conversation. Baba-sama had been relieved to see him, and he had felt touched by--but unworthy of –the indignation she had voiced over O-Ine-san's actions and the village's acceptance of them. From something she had said, he had received the impression that Kin had been just as upset, if not more. It warmed the cold place that had been inside him for so long…at least, a little. But they did not know what he had been—that there was reason to fear him.
He had asked Manabu and Rishou to come in hopes that if he gave any sign of a relapse, they could stop him before he could cause any harm. For this moment, he was glad that the sakabatou was in Noriya's keeping.
He had explained what he wanted to do: the idea that had come to him as he thought of past enemies and past teachers while he was on the mountain. Saigo-san and Katsura-sensei had been enemies, but had agreed to talk…for the good of the country. There had been arguments and distrust and misunderstandings, but with the patient intercession of Sakamoto-san, an agreement had been hammered out. Perhaps, with Baba-sama's mediation, he and O-Ine-san could reach some understanding, for the good of the village. Baba-sama had consented to help, but had warned him not to expect it to work.
When he had questioned why, she had said that O-Ine-san would never negotiate with a demon. He had been hurt at her words, until he realized what she meant. Even now, he could not quite believe it, could not accept it: O-Ine-san truly thought he was a demon! It was a revelation to him. As a child, he knew she hated him, and he had avoided her. The year he was sold, he could have counted on his two hands the number of times in his entire life that he had actually spoken to the old woman. He knew she called him a demon, knew she blamed him for many things, but thought that it was all a result of an unreasoning hatred: what had he ever done to her? To know that her hatred was a result of her belief required a major shift in his thinking. Perhaps, if he could just speak to her…
The street was empty, and most houses empty as well, their doors and windows open to the morning breeze; he had spent long enough at Noriya-san's that everyone was up and in the fields. Voices carried on the cool air and sounded close by: he could hear laughter as they came to the edge of O-Ine-san's fence. The laughter was not from the women on the engawa; Baba-sama knelt next to the old woman, who was hunched over a grind stone, a pile of dried herbs at her side. She was speaking earnestly, but O-Ine-san was shaking her head steadily…each movement of her head in rhythm with the thrust and pull of her hands.
When Baba-sama saw that they had reached the entry to O-Ine-san's yard, she gestured towards them, and the older woman's head snapped up, her eyes fixing upon him. As her emotions surged with her sight of him, he was washed in the hate…and fear…of her ki. Baba-sama kept speaking as he moved slowly towards the steps. O-Ine-san's eyes never left his: she watched him as one would a dangerous snake. He felt her fear grow as he approached. She ceased her grinding and groped in her sash, finally bringing out a length of paper.
"You cannot come here, demon!" Her voice was quavery, and more shrill than he remembered. The ofuda rattled as her hand shook. From fear, or from age? "Leave this village alone and take your evil with you!"
Her words were brave, but her eyes stretched and stared as he set one foot on the bottom step. The hate was still there, but was being overwhelmed by her fear. Baba-sama had been right. He tried one more step, in desperate hope that if she saw that the ofuda did not trouble him, she would realize that he was no demon.
She pushed herself back, away from him. Her legs drug oddly, and he could see that they were twisted and wasted: age had crippled her. But she stopped herself. Her fear was so strong he could taste it, and her breath came in a rapid pant, but she held herself still and faced him. "You will not harm these people. You have tricked them into trusting you, but I will not let you hurt them as you once did."
How could he not admire her determination? Her bravery? She had no way to protect herself, but would die trying to protect her friends. She would fight for what she believed was true. How could he condemn her for that—was it not what he himself had done? If he continued up the steps, he might prove his point….but it was far more likely that she would die from the stress that was wringing her body. He would have killed O-Ine-san as surely as if he had cut her down, defeating his whole purpose in trying to talk to her.
He turned his gaze towards Baba-sama and shook his head. Bowing in thanks to her, he retreated to Manabu and Rishou, preparing to leave. O-Ine-san will believe that she has won this battle. But it was not a loss for me: at least I understand now. I will not lose control again. He would still have to ponder on a way to prevent O-Ine-san from turning the villagers against him. Especially after how he had behaved. But that horrible knot of hatred that he had discovered inside himself had been undone; he felt lighter, somehow.