Chapter Eleven

Duel

The Aoiya was warm, quiet and dark, filled with the thick scent of hickory smoke and lilies. Misao lounged in her room and watched birds sweep by outside the paper screens. They were all male finches, sparring and twirling around in the dusty earth. The afternoon shadow puppet show was quite amusing. What they would go through for their plain little brown and feathery women!

Misao had the Aoiya to herself for the day. Hiko had slid out before dawn, just before Omasu awoke and came to fetch Ochika. How funny it might have been if the two lovers had been caught red handed! Ochika had already made herself presentable though, and was waiting.

The two older women left as the sun spilled into the streets. They were off to make final arrangements for the wedding and get supplies to finish the red kimono. Emiko was going to meet them, which meant they would be out all day.

Misao had made Okina and Aoshi some breakfast, but the former muttered that he was meeting the "boys" downtown at Shirabeko. Aoshi ate a few bites before offering a similar excuse and leaving. She knew he had only eaten to make her feel better. In any case, she knew that they would also be gone until dinner.

But still, an entire day to lounge around and act very un-lady like was all hers. The old day clothes she used to wear were a little tight, but still fit well enough. Before too long, she planned on going to the dojo and practicing a little. Almost a year since she had been in there! If Aoshi could see just how out of shape she was now. All that he had taught her – it would make him cringe to see how much she had forgotten.

Oh Aoshi! Misao found her thoughts drifting to his story. She had never known he could be so eloquent. The first night, his words had been hesitant, his sentences choppy…but the second night, his voice was more musical. When he spoke, the world became like a painting of a thousand hues and shades. Bright, fluid shapes danced before her eyes and she found herself in distant lands rather than the Aoiya.

She had forgotten how angry she was supposed to be.

She had forgotten how to be angry at all.

Oh! How could she be? He was back, after all. The excuse he offered was valid – she would never wish Aoshi forget his friends for her selfish sake. Safe in Kyoto, that was how he had left her. If there had been any chance that she would encounter danger in his absence, he probably would not have gone.

And he went to help Uncle Raku. Misao knew she would have done the same. Especially if Raku had two young daughters who needed protection. She was starting to find the fact that Aoshi would sacrifice his life for the two little girls rather charming.

Heat rushed to her cheeks. She was falling in love all over again. A pang of guilt made her bring a hand to her chest, but the fluttering of her heart put an end to that. One day. She could sit there and think about Aoshi for a while in the warmth of the afternoon. Haru would never know, and as long as she didn't act on it, what harm could it be?

None, she was convinced.

Indulging in a happy sigh, Misao smiled to herself and ran her fingers through her hair. Early afternoon was melting into three o'clock, and all was right with the world. The birds' chatter was a pleasant background noise, and even as Misao heard the door slide open far away in the kitchen, she remained sitting with her legs curled under her.

After a moment, she found herself on her feet, head cocked and listening. No on should be home yet! So who was coming into Aoiya?

As if to answer her thoughts, Haru's voice filtered through the stagnant afternoon air "Hello? Okina-dono? Omasu? Ochika? Misao-chan?"

For half a moment, she felt caught. Had Haru read her mind and her unfaithful thoughts? It felt like it! Heat of another kind made her blush with shame.

Then as soon as it hit her, it was gone. Even as she took the first steps towards her door to go out and greet him, an old familiar feeling spider-webbed through her limbs.

Mischief. She wanted to make mischief.

Grinning, all guilt forgotten, she exited the room tip-toed down the hall.

It was as easy as breathing to make her way down the hazy, silent halls. Hand here, foot there, watch the squeaky board in front of Omasu's room. A jump to the left and another few steps before –

Pressed flat against the wall, she brought a hand to her mouth to stifle a giggle and peered around the corner.

She was startled by what she saw. Haru was standing just outside the kitchen and listening. His Katana was drawn, and a short man stood at his side.

The newcomer made her uneasy immediately. There was something calculating about his eyes. He was heavyset and had a single eyebrow crawling across forehead in much the same way as a wayward caterpillar might. His bare feet, like two plump sweet rolls, were covered in dirt. A small nose made for a pinched face. When he spoke however, his voice was like silk, slithering down through her ears and into her belly. She barely suppressed a shudder.

"Pity. I had hoped we might meet that fellow here. I really wanted to see you beat him senseless. That would teach him to not to sit around in tea shops and listen to conversations that are not his own."

Haru was distracted "You should have told me that he was there when you met your men."

"He looked like a waif at best, I'm telling you. He didn't exactly seem like an ex-okashira. If he even is one."

"Oh, he is." Haru seemed satisfied with the silence of the house, and he sheathed his blade. Standing up straight, he brushed a gloved hand past his brow "Misao has told me plenty of times."

"You know, I wouldn't be surprised to hear that she's shared her bed with him before. From what you tell me, every other word out of her mouth is his name."

A look came over Haru's face that puzzled her "Well, then she has."

"You're a better man than I. I'd kill the whore."

"Well, I am not you, and I suppose that's good for her then. Come now, let's take a look around."

Haru glanced in her direction, and she jerked her head back around the corner, trying to keep her breathing even. What was going on? Why was he saying things like this? Who was the strange man? He had seen Aoshi at a tea shop? When had all this happened? Misao was confused, and a deep ache was settling into her chest.

Haru was a good man, so why was he here in the Aoiya with such a disreputable character? Why had his sword been drawn? Had he planned on hurting Omasu or Ochika, or Aoshi? She thought they were getting along! And certainly he would never raise his hand to a woman. Tears began to prick at her eyes.

Gulping down a few breaths, she calmed herself and leaned around the corner again. Haru and the man were just disappearing down the opposite hall. It led to the dojo, Aoshi's room, and Okina's room. What could they possibly want down there? Trying to remember everything she had learned from Aoshi and the others of the Oniwaban about stealth, she began to follow them. They were certainly up to no good.

Despite being out of practice, everything felt right. Her feet were where they should be; her arms, her hands, her entire body was taut and ready for an attack. The world seemed clearer. Sounds echoed around her skull, amplified and ringing. She felt as though the soles of her feet weren't even meeting the wooden floor. Turning herself over to her surroundings, she continued to listen to Haru and the stranger talk, moving ever closer.

They were in Aoshi's room.

"He seems very neat. It doesn't look like there's a single mote of dust in here. His bed roll looks untouched. Maybe we should go check your woman's room. Maybe his really hasn't been." The stranger chuckled.

"He's got a couple books in this drawer. This one is a history of Europe. Ah-hah! This one looks like a journal."

Misao stopped just outside the door and listened intently. Aoshi didn't keep a journal.

"No, this writing is too nice to be his. It's a woman's. Each entry is signed Chizuru."

Misao heard the books hit the floor and frowned.

"Here Haru, some letters. The most recent one is dated about a month ago. 'Dear Da and Uncle'. Hmmm."

"Let me see." There was a moment's pause "It's in a child's hand writing. Ah, look here. It's signed Aiko and Takia at the bottom. Little girls hmmm? Does Aoshi have children no one knows about?"

Misao titled her head to the side. A letter from Raku's daughters?

"No, he's uncle, I'm sure. The letter in itself is no good. We might be able to use the little girls for something though…"

"I doubt it. They're post-marked from London. That's an awful long way to go to make him cooperate. Besides, they're little girls. To go after them would be going much too far."

A nasty chuckle "You are too kind Haru."

Silence.

"I don't see anything else in here. Maybe we should check the old man's room."

Misao's mind was feeling fuzzy. Nothing was making any sense. She considered going in right then and confronting them, but then she thought of Haru's drawn blade.

But he wouldn't hurt her. Taking a deep breath, she steeled herself. The only way to go about this was demand the truth.

Just as she went to step through the doorway a hand, warm and soft, clamped down on her mouth. An arm circled around her waist. For a moment, the wind was knocked out of her and she wasn't sure what to do.

A familiar voice tickled her ear "Not smart Misao-chan. Together now."

The hand removed itself and Misao stood up straight, gasping a little. A hand found its way to the small of her back, sturdy and comforting. For a moment she reached around behind herself and gave the hand a good squeeze.

Aoshi returned the favor and she glanced back over her shoulder. His face was drawn and weary. She wondered how long he had been there. He always had been the best at going undetected.

Misao shook her head, and they stepped into the room together.

…o…..

"Ah! Here is the waif. He looks much better now! And he's with your woman! What did I tell you Haru? They were probably in her room the whole time."

"Hold your tongue!' Haru dropped the letters and glared at the man. The paper drifted down and landed on top of the two books. "Ah! Shinomori-san. You're looking well this morning. And Misao! Absolutely ravishing as usual."

"What are you doing in here Haru?" she tried to make her voice sound cold, but it only shook. Tears threatened again "What is all this mess?"

"Ah! Well. I came looking for Shinomori-san. When I discovered no one was home I came in to look for him. He's quite a slob I guess."

Misao noticed the bed roll was thrown aside too. A bouquet of roses was lying in the corner. It looked trampled. Her throat felt tight. Did Aoshi have a lover so soon, or had those been for her?

"You know that's not true Haru."

"Come now Misao, calm down." Aoshi spoke this time.

"Calm down?" She rounded on him "He came here to fight you!"

From the corner of her eye, she saw Haru stiffen "Misao, how long – "

"Long enough! I heard everything. Fighting him, taking revenge out on little girls – "

Aoshi's features hardened "That's not very much like a police officer, is it Haru? I would be sorely disappointed to hear what Misao's saying is true."

Haru's eyes flashed. "Misao does not know what she is saying. It would be best if she remained silent."

"As all women should be!" the stranger cut in and wove his way between the two men, like a snake "Come now gentlemen, let's not argue in here. Perhaps we should take it into the dojo. Have a little duel. That'll settle your tempers."

"That sounds like a wonderful idea, eh Aoshi?" Haru hissed his words.

"Absolutely."

"And!" the stranger continued "As a prize the winner can have a kiss. At least if Shinomori-san here wins, you'll know whether or not he's been sleeping with her. A lover's kiss is always deeper."

Haru's smile took on a grim twist. "Well then, shall we Aoshi?"

"We shall."

Misao found tears streaming down her face faster and faster. How dare they! How dare the three of them talk about her like this, ignore her like she wasn't even there! And why did the other man keep insinuating such a terrible thing? She was Haru's fiancée! She would never ever actually betray him, no matter how strong her feelings for Aoshi were. It was beginning to seem though, that Haru had no qualms with betraying her, and that felt worse than anything.

The tranquil afternoon was spiraling into disaster. She wished for a moment that Okina were there. He had had plenty of experience calming down men whose tempers were flaring – nonsense spats were not allowed among the Oniwabanshu.

But here she was alone. Aoshi and Haru would surely kill each other.

And she could do nothing to stop it.

….o….

Haru and Aoshi took their places at each end of the dojo, inspecting their swords, giving one another glares over the glittering blades. Misao sat off to the side, a few feet away from the foul stranger. He was picking dirt from beneath his nails and watching her with a sideways gaze that made him look half cross-eyed.

"You know, little girl, I think your fiancé is in for a surprise. What will you do if Aoshi wins?"

She sniffed, and did not reply.

"Hmmph." He chuckled once and turned his gaze back to the two men "You know, I do not think that Haru will hesitate in killing your lover there. In fact – "

"He is not my lover." Misao felt the words slip out, hard as chips of ice and filled with anger.

"Of course not. That's why his hand was on your ass when you walked into his room."

She felt her mouth fell open "It was not! How dare you even suggest –"

"I think your protesting speaks for itself. He's a good looking man, I couldn't blame you."

"Sir, you are overstepping your boundaries. Okina would not approve of such implications in his household." She tried to sound as haughty as possible.

The ringing of steel as it slid from its sheath drew both their attentions forward. The man laughed "Ah, now begins the real fun. My name is Imeki, by the way. And it is a pleasure to meet you my dear."

Misao was too intent to reply, watching Aoshi settle into an unfamiliar stance. Haru seemed chagrined and took a more familiar pose. Silence settled thick and heavy over the dojo.

"Misao, if you would do the honors?" Aoshi's voice was a rumble from deep in his chest. It made her heart flutter.

Sliding to her feet, she mused. The style Aoshi was intending to use was nothing she had ever seen before. And now that she was looking more closely, his sword was strange too. It curved wickedly, the blade widening and narrowing again along the curve of the steel. Symbols not of Japan or anywhere she knew littered the liquid silver blade.

"That sword has never seen blood Shinomori-san. I do hope you know what you're doing" Haru's words were harsh and clipped, as the sound of shoes clacking away upon wood

"It is new, yes. And I know perfectly well what I am doing."

"That style you are intending, it is theoretically wild. You wish to go against my own fluid style with a style best suited for chopping vegetables?"

Misao was even more confused. She raised one arm out and called "Ready?"

Both men seemed startled. They glanced at her and nodded as one.

Hand sideways, palm facing the door into the house, she took a deep breath, and swept it downwards.

Steel met steel, and the rest of the world ceased to exist.

Immediately there were grunts of exertion on Haru's part. Aoshi was silent, eyes narrowed and filled with inky hatred. The movements he made were anything but choppy, as Haru had suggested they would be. His style was more like a dance than anything – but not similar in any way to his favored sword dance. And it was highly effective. Misao found herself torn between laughter and worry as Haru's belt fell to the floor in several pieces. His trousers remained in tact, if not a little rumpled.

Panting, he fell back "That is not of Arabia, Shinomori-san, though the blade and the beginning stance are. I am curious to know what this strange style is called."

Aoshi wiped one sweaty palm on his leg "It does not have a name."

"Tell me at least what country it is from."

Aoshi smiled and Misao felt her breath catch in her throat. A smile! But it was not the kind she was looking for. This was a viperous and cruel curving of his lips that turned his face into the mask of a monster.

"Country? This style is not from a single country…it is pieced together out of techniques from around the globe. You will not see this anywhere else but in this dojo. Now, are you prepared to continue, or do you forfeit?"

Haru's brow furrowed, and he continued to gasp.

"DO YOU FORFEIT?"

Misao jumped at the sheer fury in the words as they spilled from within Aoshi. Haru's eye widened.

"N-no. Let us continue. Misao, dear?"

A small little worm of worry wiggled in her gut. Haru was being a bastard, and he had lied to her, but if Aoshi hurt him, she was not sure she could forgive him for a second time that day…

The swords rose, and her hand fell.

The room swirled with movement. Haru and Aoshi were mere blurs of color. Now and again, there was a wheeze filled with pain, and Misao was not sure who was making the noise.

Time oozed by and the world moved along. In the dojo, three people were trapped in a single instant.

Gradually, Misao realized that Imeki was gone. In his place, Okina, Ochika, and Emiko stood at the entrance to the dojo. The three women were slack jawed, hands to their mouths. Omasu looked the palest of all. In the middle of the floor, Aoshi and Haru had reached a stalemate. Blades both countering the each other, the men stood watching each other with cold, feline eyes.

There was silence. Okina was frowning.

Then in an instant, it was over. A flash of light as a sunbeam filtering through the roof of the dojo reflected on a slashing sword and blinded each spectator for an instant.

There was a shout of pain from Haru, and a little hiss from Aoshi. As the spots faded from in front of Misao's eyes, she clenched both fists.

Haru was on the floor, clutching his wrist, but not bleeding. A small bruise was rising on his chin, but otherwise, he looked unscathed.

Aoshi was upright, sword sheathed. His eyes were empty, devoid of anything. A deep crimson gash on his right cheek spilled blood slowly onto his collar.

"Well then!" Haru snarled from his place on the floor "Take your prize. Give her a kiss!"

Aoshi did not look at Misao. He stood as though unsure where to go or what to do. A moment later, he made up his mind. Bowing, he glanced at Okina, and left the dojo as swiftly as the racing shadow of a cloud.

…0….

Misao fussed over Haru for a moment. He would not meet her eyes and murmured apologies again and again until the other three women reached them and began fretting as well.

"Oh, it looks like that wrist is sprained. Let's go get some bandages and cool water." Omasu tsked.

Emiko patted him lightly on the head "You're lucky! I've seen him do ten times worse without even meaning too."

Worried, Misao met Haru's gaze.

"I'm fine." He muttered, getting to his feet, still avoiding her gaze. "But someone should check Shinomori-san. That cut looked nasty."

Omasu gave Misao a meaningful glance "I'll do it."

He shook his head "No, it's alright. Let Misao."

Misao felt everyone looking at her, including Okina. Her insides shriveled "Really Haru, I should help you – "

"Oh, don't be silly my little Misao. Go make sure he is alright."

She tossed the decision around her brain a little. His blessing of the action was hers. She could go to Aoshi now and not look like she was favoring him over Haru. After a few seconds consideration, she realized the decision was not so hard.

Giving Haru a peck on the cheek and a thankful look, she left the dojo. She dared not look back. She already knew exactly how many people would be watching.

….0…..

Aoshi was on his bed roll, legs folded. The room looked as though nothing had ever been touched by invading hands. Everything had returned to its rightful place as though by magic. Sliding the door shut behind her, she cleared her throat. The strange sword from the duel was leaning in a corner. It seemed innocuous there; more like a decoration than a weapon.

"Aoshi?"

His back was to her. He did not move.

"Aoshi, are you all right."

Nothing.

Swallowing, she took a step forward "Maybe you should let me take a look at that cut."

Silence reigned supreme. Outside, the birds were chattering as though the world were the same as it had been a half an hour ago. Inside the Aoiya though, the air sat heavy as cream, and something had definitely changed. Misao, moving to Aoshi's side and kneeling there, felt as though she were pushing through gauze curtains.

"Aoshi," she whispered his name once. His eyes fluttered behind their lids, but he did not move. Outside the room, Omasu, Ochika, Emiko, Okina and Haru passed by. They were making a great deal of noise as the headed towards the kitchen.

"Aoshi, please speak to me." She took his chin in one hand and turned his face to her.

His eyes opened languidly, and she saw they were brimming with something like tears.

"Oh – " she murmured "What is this?"

Taking one edge of her top, she wiped the blood that was covering his right cheek in a thin red sheen. Slowly, porcelain skin appeared again, revealed by Misao's gentle hands. The wound itself, though it looked awful, was already scabbing and healing.

Misao felt one of Aoshi's hands slide over her hip and come to a rest at her back. Confusion stirred her features, and she glanced down.

"I'm sorry." His words were like the whisper of the ocean in the dead of night.

She shook her head "You have nothing to apologize for."

"I am about to."

Things spiraled out of control. Aoshi's grip tightened on her waist. Her balance wavered, and she tumbled into the front of him. Before anything became clear, he was kissing her.

It was not chaste. With one hand still on her back, he reached up and grabbed a handful of her hair with the other. Thus ensnared, Misao gasped as his tongue danced past her bottom lip. His attention lingered on that lip just long enough for Misao to melt from tense to more-than-willing. She settled against him and he took that as permission. From there, the kiss went someplace much deeper.

All the while Misao wondered why Aoshi thought he had to apologize for something that felt so good.

Of course, it ended too soon. Aoshi pulled away and, for a moment, she felt breathless and wild. She laid her head against his chest and the steady sound of his heart calmed her beat by beat. Days might have passed before she moved if he had not pushed her gently away.

Misao half-fought him, clinging to his shoulders. She found herself looking at the floor and blushing when he finally succeeded in prying her loose.

"Go now." Aoshi muttered "Your fiancé is waiting. Think of that as your last little act of indiscretion. Don't tell Omasu though. She would be very angry."

Aoshi had gotten his prize after all. Still, the kiss had not felt so cheap as a prize. Nor had it felt like something stolen. It had felt right. Not only that, it had set something trembling deep in Misao's own heart. Still shaking, she felt the blossom of forgiveness begin to bloom. What it would mean for Haru, she couldn't yet say.

…o….

Later, Misao didn't remember getting to her feet and leaving Aoshi's room. She felt as though she were floating. Fingers to her lips, she let out a shuddering sigh.

It was only as she crossed the threshold of the kitchen and started to help Omasu bandage Haru's wrist that she began to feel deflated.

Aoshi's words danced between her ears "Think of this as your last indiscretion…"

He did not mean to kiss her ever again.