Authors Note: FOR THOSE FAINT AT HEART, THIS CHAPTER MAY BE TRYING! Just so you know…

^_^ I thought it would be fun here to delve into Aoshi's childhood. Really. How much do we know about him? Forgive me if there IS something explicitly explained related Aoshi's childhood included in the series…I haven't had time to read them since last summer, and a lot has been forced on my brain since then.

****The names Esthappan and Ammu are taken from the novel "The God of Small Things" by Arundhati Roy. Had to read it for my world lit class and LOATHED it. Figured I'd better try and get SOMETHING out of it – hence the use of her characters' names. (Though I must admit I found her use of language F-AMAZING! I just thought the plotline was useless and bizarre.)

Chapter Fourteen

Of Banbibi and a Pocketbook

Aoshi let his eyes trace the words of the letter again. The parchment, thin and yellowed, was lighter than a fall leaf. It glowed golden in the candlelight. Hugging his limbs closer and keeping the cup of tea in one hand to feel its warmth, he sighed.

"It would be a shame, if anything were to happen to Misao. Unfortunately, I fear it may should you continue to pry into the business of Haru Namataga. I could have slit your throat and hers in hardly a moment, but that aforementioned gentleman has staid my hand with a generous amount of money. I have been waiting for such an opportunity to harm you for years now Aoshi-chan. Alas, Haru only asked me to watch you closely, and I must assure you that I would have gone ahead and killed your darling already had he not paled at the idea. The weakling loves Misao dearly. Pity. For I know it would have all but killed you to see her dead.

As yet, I may have to ignore my employer's commands. He is a fool. I am sure you find him so as well, in what ever capacity it is that you know him (it must not be a friendly one, for he dislikes you very much! Oh! What hate-filled eyes he reserves for you! Those are eyes like a samurai's!). As yet he preserves you as much as your little girl. Perhaps he only wishes to wet his blade with your life, rather than allowing me the pleasure.

Ah! Even though you have thought me a monster since we were children, our hearts beat to a similar rhythm. Yes, you must think him a fool, for I too feel that he is.

You always were the better onmitsu. I have had a hard time of finding you, brother. The fates have been kind to me! For how slim is the chance that Namataga-san hired me out of all the men lurking in the underworld of the city? I cannot wait to meet you again. It has been so long! And when we see each other, I will be waiting for you with an embrace. Hopefully when my blade finds your heart then, it will already be stained with the life of your love."

Of all things! He threw the letter aside in disgust and held the tea cup with both hands. On top of everything else, now he had to deal with a lunatic! And worse yet, a lunatic he thought he had shaken years ago! He had hoped – no, prayed to a thousand different world deities – that his brother was dead.

Only to find that now the man was haunting the Aoiya and threatening its residents.

The same man that was the cause of his presence at the Aoiya in the first place. The man who had ruined everything, and also the man who had brought him to Misao.

A God. A Devil.

His brother.

If it had not been for Shinzai, Aoshi would have been living near Tokyo. Their father had been a good man: well respected and honored in the community. He had been lord over several vassals, but he worked in the fields as much as the peasants under him. He had insisted the Aoshi and Shinzai do the same. Because of this, he had been viewed as progressive and a champion for the poor.

Right up until his youngest son had son had slit his throat in his sleep.

Aoshi felt his face flush. He had not been able to stay his brother's hand. Shinzai had been bigger than him, even then. The shame that he had hidden away so long ago returned with a vengeance. He had not been able to protect his father, or his mother. As the eldest son, he had failed.

Worse, when the men came in the morning, under duress and grief, he had given Shinzai what he really wanted. With a shaky, cowardly hand he had signed the papers that gave his inheritance – his only foreseeable future – to his twelve-year-old brother. Evil, apparently, was something that existed even in the young.

The tea cup shattered as he threw it to the side. In the next room, Okina snorted in his sleep but did not wake. Aoshi felt the wave of nausea hit him almost too late. Scrambling for the door, he made it out and onto the porch just in time. Underneath the stars, he emptied his heaving stomach.

Perhaps it had all been for the best. The Boshin war was already begun, and Japan was feeling the first bouts of turmoil. Within a year, his father's land and home would be destroyed as the peasants under his brother's cruel rule (they were slaves by then) took advantage of the chaos. Shinzai had supposedly been killed as a result of the whole thing, as Aoshi would hear later.

So much for that.

The Oniwaban had been Aoshi's savior, of course. With the hell that the nation was becoming, Kyoto was not a safe place for any child. Had Okina not found him, he would have died soon after he left his father's house. Shinzai had staid to live off the spoils of the land that was then rightfully Aoshi's, and Aoshi had escaped to the streets of Kyoto under fear of death. Halfway across Japan, he had felt he'd be safe. But of course, the world was bigger than his Father's house and grounds, and he found himself in a city filled with turmoil. The country was being ravaged by a civil war between the emperor and his Shogunate.

He was at a Sake House looking for work when Okina found him. The old man – not so old then – had swaggered in with a woman on each arm and demanded drinks all around. It was he who had seen the promise in Aoshi's limbs, well muscled from hours in the field. He had also seen the killer hiding in the eyes of the young-boy-not-quite-a-man gawking at him from beside the proprietor.

Aoshi would remember the way that Okina had brushed the women off and made his way across the room until the day he died. Leaning over (Aoshi had been short then), he had smiled and asked softly.

"Well, you've the eyes of a warrior, haven't you? And of an urchin." He had stood up and looked the sake man in the eyes "If you weren't planning on hiring him, I certainly will."

The proprietor had just been glad to get rid of Aoshi. "Bah! You can have him! In fact, I'll pay you to take him. Free drinks for you and the ladies!"

And so Aoshi was sent spiraling away towards a new future. There was a year of training which proved his natural skill and ability to learn quickly. By the time he had been a part of the Oniwaban for a year he was already the best there was. He helped to defend Edo Castle with the elite. He had loved that life and the glory he was offered. The heat of the battle and the feeling of a sword in hand were much better than working on a farm. He had actually thought for a time, that he was lucky Shinzai was such a bastard.

"Awake at this hour?" a sleepy voice stirred him from his thoughts.

Startled and feel his gorge rising again, Aoshi wiped his mouth with the back of his arm. "M-misao? What are you doing out here? I made sure your door was…" he trailed away.

Her eyes lighted on the mess he had made, and then flickered over his face. She ignored his question. "Are you all right?"

"Y-yes, I just –"

"No need to explain." She climbed up beside him and sat with her legs over the edge of the porch. "In fact, I'm not sure I really want to know."

A little bit of the tension between his eyebrows was released. Wearily he assured her "no, you really don't."

"Then lets not talk about it." Gazing up at the moon, she shrugged and looked at him from the corners of her eyes. "Tell me a story."

He could see in the pale silver light from overhead that she had been crying. Ghostly streams painted her cheeks and her eyes looked a little sunken.

"About what, Misao-chan?"

"India." She whispered a reply without hesitation. "I think that's where you left off."

So she was back to that! He almost said no. Something inside of him shrunk back, with claws outstretched and fur standing on end. Enough unpleasant memories were plaguing his thoughts – he really didn't want to start thinking about Raku.

But no…perhaps thinking about something other than his brother for a little while would help clear his mind.

Besides, he would have an excuse to be near Misao. It wouldn't be so bad, would it?

"All right then," he sighed, "India it is. But come inside. It's cold out here."

"Yes!" Misao pumped one fist in the air and got to her feet. Her face was spilt with a nearly contagious grin.

"Let's go inside."

There came a long, awkward pause. Aoshi, who had already started in, stopped and looked back at Misao.

She was standing with one foot raised off the porch and her head titled to the side. Her cheekbones were dusted red.

"Are you all right?"

"Inside? As in, inside your room?"

Raising both eyebrows, he nodded once.

Misao considered this.

"Well, let's!"

As he turned and brought a hand up to hide his mouth, Aoshi was pleasantly confused.

The bubbling feeling in his chest, the aching of his ribs, the stretching of his cheeks as his lips curved into a smile: all these things he hid from Misao. They were things he had gone a long time without experiencing.

Suppressed laughter, he decided, was almost as good as the way meditation made him feel. Real laughter he could only imagine, but the experience was no doubt better than –

Well, he probably shouldn't think about it.

…..o…

A candle was lit. Misao crept through the Aoiya like the Oniwaban-shu she had once been and made them tea. Aoshi gathered together his thoughts and sat with his legs folded beneath him. It was late, but he would be able to tell her what he wanted to about his travels quickly if he mapped it out properly before he began.

And so he did.

When Misao finally reappeared with two cups of tea, he took his and watched as she sunk down onto his bedroll.

Well now, he thought, I suppose I had better keep my distance.

"So," Misao spoke, "you had the run-in with the snow-beast-thing and returned to the inn and got a letter a few days later that told you Raku was in India?"

Aoshi was proud she had remembered – and glad. It meant he wouldn't have to explain too much of what he had already told her. For goodness sake! It seemed like it had been years since they had talked about his journey. How long had it been? Five days? Six? Seven? More? He wasn't sure that he himself would have been able to pick up anywhere else than at India. To have to back-track would have been a disaster.

"Indeed! We had a little encounter with the yeti. And afterwards, we headed down through the foothills and towards the Sundarbans."

Misao watched him, sipping her tea with his blankets drawn up around her. Her gaze was unwavering. He sat on the floor beside the bedroll with his legs folded beneath him, eyes lowered, and mouth barely opening as he spoke. He wanted nothing more than to be beside her – perhaps with her head upon his shoulder, her arm around his waist, or even her palm spread wide across his chest to gently warm the scarred flesh there.

He heard his voice catch and had to clear his throat. Misao didn't seem to notice the effect she had on him.

He couldn't blame her – after all, he was talking about man-eating tigers. That wasn't something one heard spoken about everyday. And besides, he was finally telling her about the lace mangroves. If there was anything on his journey that he would remember forever, it was those mangroves, and the monsters that hid beneath their bows.

…o….

The Sundarbans were the largest mangrove forest anyone knew of in all of Asia. It stretched for hundreds of miles along the coast of India, and for thousands more it pushed its way up into the continent: a deep swathe of green pouring onto the land from the depths of the ocean. The trees had confusing roots that intertwined like lace and stitched themselves into and out of the water – thick threads coated with bark, scarred by wind and waves. Aoshi was amazed by them at once. (And secretly, they made him think of Misao, but he did not tell her that sitting in his room in the Aoiya).

Liu was the first one to warn them to be cautious. Men in these parts, he said, wore masks on the back of their heads to make sure they were not attacked from behind.

When Aoshi asked what sort of things the local men, and themselves, would not want to be attacked by, Liu told him about the tigers of the Sundarbans. By the time Lie was done, Aoshi found a little girl clutching each of his hands.

"He will protect us!" Aiko assured her younger sister in a whisper, glancing up at the ex-okashira.

Botan was skeptical, of course. One tiger might develop a taste for human flesh – but the whole lot of them? That was impossible. He chided Liu for listening to child's tales, and told the girls they were being silly as well.

But even as Botan rambled on, waving his hands about and asking Chizuru if she had ever heard so much nonsense in her entire life, there was a short cry near where the stood.

An eerie silence fell over their motley group. Takia whimpered and buried her face against Aoshi's side. Chizuru stepped closer to Liu.

Botan trailed away, hands frozen mid-gesture and his words fading into half spoken, throaty tones.

Moments passed and a low keening bubbled up from the underbrush. It was a moan filled with agony. Aoshi gently brushed the girls away and pushed them towards their mother. Together, he and Botan drew their swords.

"Stay with them." Aoshi's words were directed at Liu, whose eyes were narrow and grave. The hefty man rested a hand on Chizuru's shoulder and replaced Aoshi as the girl's pillar of protection.

Without a backwards glance the two Oniwaban melted into the patchwork forest of sunlight and leaves. Dodging, ducking and slipping around obstacles, they were no more than wraiths of energy and shadow. With swords clutched by their calloused hands and their feet, arms, legs, souls ready to be used as weapons at the slightest command, they were still not prepared for what they stumbled upon in the middle of the nearest clearing.

Blood was spattered like raindrops: oozing down tree trunks and pooling in the hollows of the earth. Botan, who had left bloodshed behind with the Bakumatsu, gagged and brought a hand before his mouth. Aoshi let indifference harden his heart, and stepped forward. A man – or what remained of one – lay spread on his back. The poor soul no longer had a middle to speak of. Where a face had once been, something from a nightmare remained.

Sitting beside the body, with a maw shining red, was a large and very pleased looking tiger.

The eyes of two killers met. As Aoshi made his way toward the beast, it read his intent and roared so fiercely that the very trees seemed to shake with awe and fear.

But even as it leapt at the warrior before it, its doom was set. With ease, Aoshi slew the cat, rending its head from its body. It fell with a crash, heavy tail curling up like the legs of a crushed spider.

Botan, who had been bent over vomiting onto the leaves at his feet, cleared his throat. "Well, I've had quite enough of India. You, my friend?"

Aoshi did not hear him. Even as he had killed the tiger, he had seen something huddled against a tree at the edge of a clearing. Trembling, it was hidden beneath a crimson-splashed white cloth.

Closer inspection revealed a small boy cowering and weeping in terror. With some gentle prodding, Aoshi managed to get out of him that the dead man was the boy's brother, and that a small village lay a half a mile to the north, just outside of the forest.

The boy was sure the tiger had attacked because his brother had not made a proper offering to Banbibi: the tiger goddess.

This, of course, all had to be learned from Liu. Once Aoshi and Botan had picked up the boy and brought him back to where their friends were waiting in terror, Liu had interpreted the child's babbling words. Aoshi was beginning to wonder if there was a language his new friend didn't know.

Once in the village, the boy led them to a small house where they were greeted at the door by an older man and woman. They were his mother and father, and they received the news of their eldest boy's demise. As the woman fell to weeping and clutching at her younger son, the man invited Aoshi and the others to stay. His voice sounded tired and wavered as he spoke.

Aoshi, Botan and Liu conferred. The note they had received concerning Raku's whereabouts was cryptic and vague. With no immediate plans and night drawing on, they decided it was best to accept the offer. The old man looked pleased and thanked them profusely.

"You have saved our family by saving our son, and we have nothing to repay you with but our hospitality. You honor us by staying."

Aoshi, who understood a thing or two about honor, accepted the thanks on behalf of the group with silent understanding and a nod.

Though they had agreed to spend just that night in the villagers' house, they staid much longer. Chizuru and the girls enjoyed being in the company of another woman again after traveling so long with 'boorish men'. The boy's mother – Ammu – taught them how to cook the finest Indian cuisine around, and often they would stay up late into the night gossiping and drinking tea. Aoshi, Botan and Liu meanwhile, spent much of their time searching for Raku. On occasion, they repaid the boys father by doing chores around the house. Aoshi even taught the boy – Esthappan – quite a few ways of defending himself, should he ever come face to face with a tiger as his elder brother had.

Days melted into weeks, and weeks morphed into months. The sky filled with more and more heavy-bellied clouds every day. One morning, Ammu informed them all that the monsoons would soon be upon them. Monsoons! Aoshi had nearly forgotten about that hassle.

So it was with teary good-byes that they left the village and started onwards once more. Rumors brought to them by other men in the village who were traders told of important Japanese men in Delhi – 1000 miles away. This and the impending ominous weather were enough to set the weary travelers back on their way.

From nearby Bangladesh, they took a train. Glad to be back in the shadow of civilization, Chizuru and her daughters found it in themselves to ignore their feminine sensibilities, which shuddered at the crowded and dirty conditions of the train cars. The spicy Indian food eventually got to them, and they had to take turns running the latrine in the next car. Even so, their spirits could not be dampened. As they passed through the station in Kanpur, a short and shifty sort of fellow came onto the train to tell them that they were on the right track (in more than one sense). Delhi was the place to go – they would find Raku there. Leaving a piece of paper with an address scrawled across it in a startled Liu's hand, the man had disappeared once more.

Delhi was by far, one of the most confusing places Aoshi had ever been to (excluding England – but that story was for another night. Who had ever heard of a holiday like Christmas?). After they reached the station there and got off the train, they wandered around the streets for hours before the same man who had met them in Kanpur melted from within the shadows and told them with a devilish grin that he would lead them where they needed to go.

It was as they rounded the next corner that several men burst from hiding places and seized them.

Now, Aoshi had been in worse situations. Standing in the gathering twilight, hand on his sword hilt, a thousand possibilities dashed through his mind. He could go along with the men until they reached wherever it was that Raku was hidden. Then again, there might be even more men there and Raku could end up being somewhere else entirely. The Japanese men had already seen what Aoshi could do in Tokyo. Why would they lead him right where his friend was, where he could break the others AND Raku out?

Smiling and shaking his head, he asked the man holding his arm if he enjoyed pain.

"No! What sort of question is that?"

"No?" Aoshi asked. "Well then, I shall be kind."

The man raised one eyebrow. That eyebrow remained in that position even as Aoshi ran his blade through the man's heart, killing him instantly.

Very soon, Aoshi's friends stood rubbing wrists and arms where rough hands had once clutched at them. Sweat glistening on his forehead, Aoshi sheathed one kodachi and scooped Takia up with his now-free arm.

They fled into the night, but not before Aoshi searched the little man from the train. Pressing Takia's face into his shoulder he knelt and rested her on his knee. He then rooted through what gore was left of the man until he found a little leather pocket-book.

Snorting, he informed everyone that Raku was no where near India, relatively speaking. Before picking Takia back up and standing, he wiped the pocketbook and his bloodied hand in the dust of the street.

"We are leaving for Arabia at first light."

The secrets that had been mingled with blood and flesh were laid bare in the moonlight.

Raku was in Mecca.

…..o….

Misao was snuggled deep beneath Aoshi's blanket when he finally finished. Her eyes were half closed. The tear-stains on her cheeks had faded and been replaced by a healthy flush. Shifting once as he finished speaking, she reached over and brushed her hand past his knees. Then she closed her eyes and no longer stirred. The blanket moved up and down with each breath she took.

The door onto the porch was glowing gray with early dawn light. Bones creaking with exhaustion and disuse, he crawled over and slid it shut. Stealthy as a cat he turned then and gathered the sleeping Misao, blanket and all, into his arms.

It would be better for both of them if she was not found in his room when the rest of Aoiya woke.

On his way down the hall, he passed Kenshin. The swordsman, who had always been an early riser, did not question him. Instead, he gave Aoshi a serene smile and nodded once.

When Misao was safely on her bedroll, Aoshi rejoined the once-manslayer. Together they went and took a walk in the garden.

Men who were once enemies could be friends, though Aoshi would never have believed it.