Ch 9: Mercy
It's been a while. Hope you are all safely indoors and riding out this storm!
I found my first job EVER and there's been a lot of pressure from others who doubt I can do what I do at such a young age. Haters. Lol. But I'm off today so the story continues! ^_^
If y'all thought Mitsunari was mean then- he's about to get meaner now. Be warned. It's the price he pays for power.
It happened too fast. One moment, her soul is pierced by festered eyes of one rent asunder from this world, and another, she falls deaf to an ear-splitting scream that has the Ishida general sprinting back.
She's blind to his darting into the waters and dashing the corpse far from her person.
Numbness is all she feels to his efforts to get her to look at him, to stand.
"He's dead! Listen to me- do not. DO NOT breathe like that!" The Ishida general barks over the pounding of his heart and her screams, but to no avail.
A vigorous shakedown does nothing for short bursts of her tachypneic vocal abuse.
"Stop this instant!"
The movement of his palm as it threatens to arc across her pallid expression doesn't even register.
The screams…
The cries…
The struggle…
Somewhere in the Ishida general's combat paradigm is a protocol treatment befitting men who fall victim to fear, stupor, shock. If everything did not fall to deaf ears, Ran might have heard her rattled breathing and Mitsunari's vulgarities under his own breath. A frustrated utterance rumbling in his chest as his palm falls to her hair.
He would never admit it, but alas there is no denying
…
this is no battlefield
…
she is no soldier.
If not for her catatonia, Ran might even witness a quality only a handful of warlords in her time are capable of as his hand gradually it eludes her, even when his traitorous hand strays its course to stroke her hair.
His throat clears. "…it is fine," he mutters, her screams melting into sporadic sobs, "cry if you wish."
He clears his throat once more- this time, to erase the foreign remark. His hand betrays him to run its rouge course again, reducing sobs to whimpers. Heart rate returns to baseline in the backdrop of ebbing waters and crispy cold, but he's certain it isn't hers. Her breaths fall and he loosens his grip expectantly when his charge becomes a sudden deadweight in his arms.
The moment becomes a small eternity and the world slips into a deafening silence; save for an obscenity that snips the air.
"Che."
The air, it was suffocating, as loops of smoke corkscrewed into the air.
She was on the ground; the thick, iron of gunpowder invading her nostrils. The world drawn perpendicular to her vision.
A tall figure enters her central vision, barking orders she swears are nothing but slurs. Red flashes blossom distantly against the grey skies as more movement tracks hazily across her retina.
Something sudden, like a clap of thunder pierces her eardrums, shoots through her nerves and rumbles deeply in her chest. Her breathing arrests, but it isn't the sound so much as the hazy figure in the distance kneeling on a puddle of crimson as the world grinds to an abysmal halt.
No
…
This couldn't be
…
A deep gasp as Ran ricochets from slumber.
She pans around, noting panels of wood and hay strewn out on the concrete floors.
It had been a dream, albeit a bad one.
A sigh escapes her as she continues to survey the area. Opposite where she slept, a crackling fire dried her beige furisode on an antiquated tsuitate with-
Her eyes dilate, arms flying to her chest, clawing at the covers over her thin inner kimono layer. But it's not a cover, at least not in the strictest sense…
She wanders down as her fingers catch hold of the purple silk, embroidered with white, floral motifs. Ran never figured the pupils on her eyes could expand any further, but they did. Her hands twist around her collar.
Did he…
A deep scarlet claws at her neck before she scans the abandoned chamber again, noting the ceremonial bell on loops of rope attached to the ceiling. This was a house, maybe a shrine? It seemed plausible given where they had stopped.
Stopped? Ah, yes, her mind catches up to speed as the image of rotting flesh and empty eyes met her between ripples of snow water. A shudder resonates down her spine. It had been too late when control fled her body, and she surmised some time must have passed as moonlight streams in from an open doorway just beyond the fire where her belongings were placed.
Her feet feel oddly cold as they carried her outside. Fingers grip silky fabric in her hands as she approached the Ishida general, perched on the descending stairs. A flurry of frost blasted their way and she concedes it's no surprise why her feet had felt so cold. But the cold spiraling from the heavens did little to faze the young samurai despite his seat on the steps in nothing but armor. His steel orbs started fixedly at the full moon, as he maintained his unflinching posture.
"Mitsunari-dono," her voice enfeebled by the day's activity squeaked out.
No answer.
Ignoring the slight, she walks up to him. "I am most grateful for-"
"You may show your gratitude by being more cautious in the future," he snaps with a half turn of his head.
"…moushiwake arimasen deshita," Ran mumurs, hanging her head, and her apology is so soft she wonders if he heard.
He pivots his head back to the skies.
Silence.
"…you must be cold," her hands fumbling with the silk overcoat as she swallows her pride, "here, your-"
"There is no need," comes his miffed reply, eyes unflinchingly affixed to the full moon. "Leave me. Go."
A frown mars her countenance. Winter claws deep into the crevices of her thin garment.
"But it's so-"
Slight turn of his head. "Did you not hear? Leave!" he snapped.
Ran clenches on to his overcoat, lower lip upturned. A sharp inhale.
"No," she replies firmly, though it probably echoes through the hollow woods no more than a whisper.
" . ?" The gunmetal glare of his eyes challenges her soft, brown orbs.
There's a shiver racing up her spine screaming self-preservation, but she persists. "I-I cannot comply. If Mitsunari-dono falls ill on account of me, the men of the Ishida army will suffer."
There's barely enough time for her swallow the lump in her throat. "I shall remain here with you."
Her fingers sting as they brush away snow on the steps, but her bottom is promptly spared a similar fate when Mitsunari sneers. There's a string of muttered words but she only makes out "stubborn" when the Ishida general treks by.
A grin appears for a victory however small, and she sighs a breath of relief, shuffling after the disgruntled samurai into the enveloping warmth.
She places his folded overcoat by his side before taking her seat opposite him by the hearth.
"Ah, sou desu," Ran recalls, reaching for the lacquered basket, "douzo." She shuffles closer, extending the offer of onigiri, but Mitsunari averts her gaze. Ran draws a blank as the Ishida general cranes his neck away.
A silent gasp escapes her lips.
The familiar shade of crimson invading her fair countenance sends her scrambling for her kimono. The collar is packed tight against her neck before returning to the hearth to salvage what dignity is left after her indecent debacle.
She mouths a formal apology, praying the hearth's auburn glow would disguise her blush. Completing the bow, Ran makes out a grunt of approval while Mitsunari's silver gaze, sharp and clear, remains fixated on the crackling flames. A cursory glance of missing onigiri curves the corners of her lips. Secretly, she wonders if all warriors were as fast as the one before her.
The onigiri is cold, but it will do. She makes short work of the first one to remedy the gnawing hunger, but hesitates on the second. Another glance at the static male- nothing. She sighs inwardly.
"I...I grew up in a village on the Western bank of the Sendai river," Ran blurted out, not sure why she was telling him this, but it was better than the crushing silence.
The suffocating silence ensues- her cue to continue.
"It was a small village, a peaceful one," finding her voice, "we didn't have much, but everyone was happy."
Memories of the warm sun, laughter, a gentle breeze that could lull one to sleep.
She had been happy.
A voice so sweet, it serenaded and swayed a sea of purple….
"My mother used to plant Irises. A whole field of them, and she said they deserved extra care for having the courage to grow in a world of difficulties."
The ends of her mouth curl.
"And for the next few days, I remember I used to feel them in my hand fluttering against the wind."
Her lips fell back into a line. Like irises, all that live will someday come to past. A howling wind sweeps by outside, infiltrating cracks in the derelict temple.
"One day, I returned from my studies, and the village elder told me…" she held her tongue, "…I…I never understood how my mother left this world so abruptly."
The smell of damp earth against gray skies. A concrete cold made sharper by falling rain on stone.
A deep breath as hands fisted sleeves of her kimono.
"But the elders took care of me," forcing a smile. "I continued my schooling."
The fire crackled, and she maneuvered another piece of wood into the hearth to combat the cold.
"I studied medicine there until Sensei told me to travel over to the eastern front and tend to the injured." She paused. "But I've never seen a soldier until the day I met Mitsunari-dono and the army. I have never seen a body, like the one today…" Her arms wrapped around knees, shivers racing up her spine.
Mitsunari spares a furtive glance when her eyes close.
Never had she seen so much blood, such high caliber of unadulterated violence. The extent of injuries Ran treated were a far cry from her humble texts, and even more so, the ones she could not save from death's grasp served as a reminder the ugliness of war. A scourge of civilization, forged by greed and hate, and refined by ingenuity of man that threatened to destroy its very creator.
"War is not for the weak," came his curt reply.
She glances over, noting Mitsunari's sharp silvers that remain fixated on the glow before them. His form- one knee up with o-dachi cradled between sinews of his neck and shoulder- is still, poised and perfect; a product of his military milieu.
But it hadn't always been this way. It could not. Surely, in the past, however long ago, he had been wild, reckless and maybe even…
Her soft gaze against the amber glow as corners of her lips lifted.
…untroubled.
"Sakichi arrived in my care, tall and thin, but to remember those days… such a long time ago. That child would always accompany me to the market to confront vendors of foul play with my money. That boy is quick to learn, but he is different. Sakichi was quiet, he never played with other boys in the castle, and not once did he misbehave."
Ran sighs inwardly. She supposed some individuals are innately serious and precocious. A grimace.
"That one time. The castle guards who approached me angered Sakichi. It happens all the time, a man accosting the lady of his interest, but little did I know that Sakichi would confront them. I received a summons from the Castle's Captain of the Guards concerning the matter. Later that night, I found Sakichi washing his injuries."
Knuckles fist kimono fabric underneath her sleeves. It had been an unfair fight- at least two men against one child! Her eyes trail back to him, heart palpitating in memory of the conversation with the older woman.
"Ara, you misunderstand. After I scolded him, Sakichi handed me bandages for the men. He confessed they would need it more than him."
A ghost of a smile cast over corners of her lips. Ah, she supposed some things never truly change, but there had to be some vestiges of youth sacrificed to develop this paragon of war stationed before her.
"The summons was to inform me of Sakichi's training initiation. They said a boy who could best four of his soldiers was not to be wasted on civic court duties. That day was the last day he accompanied me to town. He was only 14 when charged with leading the platoon of the very men he had confronted prior. From then on, he lead campaigns. His men began to think him invincible, even a demon, but alas…"
The forlorn gaze of eyes wrinkled by trial and time, resurfacing from her memories. Eyes that have seen war from the likes of which Ran could have never imagined.
"…Sakichi paid the price of power in blood and fire. He was born with the brave blood and noble spirit of a samurai, but to think the times called on him to become one. Such a loss for a boy of his talent and intelligence. All that would not have been, if not for war."
The howling wind clawing its way indoors through cracks between doors, whistling through the corridors.
"War is a waste of youth," she counters, straightening her posture.
The silvers of eyes confront her soft ones. She could-no, should look away. But his gaze locked on to hers with such confrontational intensity. There was no room to doubt. No time to distance herself from a claim he demanded she explain.
"If there was no war, the young need not die and the elderly be spared their tears. I have wondered why there IS war." She breathed deep.
"Mitsunari-dono, have you imagined a life WITHOUT one?"
A cold sneer as his eyes break away.
"You know nothing of this world. Wars are fought so Japan can become a stronger nation. War exists so the weak like you can live on about your complacent lives. Do not speak as if you understand, peasant," he spats with such venom it leaves her mouth bitter.
Her brow furrows, her mind flooded with images of those lost to a cause they probably never understood or fully believed.
"War is a terrible misuse of life! Have you never dreamed of peace? What would be if not for-"
"What would be is a lie!"
She winces at the thunder of his voice.
"How dare you rebuke me with dreams- delusional falsities meant to ease your suffering! This nation will fall to ruins under your pretentious notions. War can only be won by the strong and merciless, not the weak and their pansy dreams."
Her gaze falls to her fisted hands. "Teachings of your late Lord?"
The crackling of wood under fire. "Hn, and if so?"
Ran exhales nasally. "It is true I cannot fight as you do. I will never be one to hold a sword. I fear war. I fear violence, destruction and death. I am…weak." She blinks furiously to combat the pain welling up inside, her voice dropping low on volume and high with conviction.
"But war will NOT be won by the strong and merciless, but by the strong and merciful. Only then will it end."
A deep swallow. "Mitsunari-dono, please forgive my insolence. It is as you say, I know little of this world."
She folds her hands together before herself, bowing low- not daring to meet his eyes.
"The night draws late. With your permission, I wish to retire."
He grunts an approval to her relief and she excuses herself immediately, more to shield her face than to escape his penetrating glare.
It isn't until she retreats to her bed of hay that the tears fall, and the strangest thing- she knew not why. Maybe it is out of pity for the young man within paces of her who's once pristine values of justice and moral rectitude were being martyred to cynicism and obsession. Or perhaps that she'd never thought to see the innocence of youth murdered by a life of violence and power. That is the price, no?
But the pain, it's real and it haunts her sleepless mind
…
It was the pain from knowing that there was nothing she could do to save the young man who had saved her life
…
twice
…
from himself.
tsuitate- japanese screen, wooden, short and square in stature
moshiwake arimasen deshita- fancy apology term for "I am sorry"
I'm conflicted whether to center or left align my words. What do you think? What seems to be easier on the eyes?
This chapter took me forever to carve out. Future chapters ought to be easier! :3
PM if you 've any questions.
Truly yours,
Gravism