Shall We Go to Otsu?
Chapter 18: First Aid
In which Kenshin remembers the beginning.
Her words stung. They seemed to come out of nowhere—he had thought they were having a pleasant evening—and he had no answers for them. Nor did he want to have answers. His work was so private to him that the idea of talking about it with anyone was incomprehensible to him. He'd never even "talked about it" with Katsura. At least, not beyond that first interview.
Everything had happened so fast.
On his way down the mountain, as he fled his master, he'd begun to wonder where he would go. For several months, he had listened with increasing interest as the men in the marketplace talked over tea and saké and noodles, at first astonished to learn that the land was split by civil war, and then bewildered at the profusion of factions. There were dozens of "sides," with alliances shifting daily, it seemed. He'd known nothing of the system of government under which he lived, and so these whispered, drunken, or otherwise impassioned conversations fell on credulous ears. He had the luxury—or disadvantage, depending on how you looked at it—of coming to his beliefs with no preconceptions. In the end, he'd settled on the Choshu faction as the most correct.
But now, finally on his way, how to get in? He had heard that there were training facilities scattered around the outskirts of the city, and he determined to visit each until he found one operated by his chosen party. How long could it take?
Even he was surprised by how well that strategy worked. At his very first stop, a guard had challenged him with his business, and both his answer—the equivalent of "Choshu, please"—and the fact of a sword being carried by a seeming child had landed him in front of a man claiming to be the master of the camp. Kenshin was not sure he should believe him. The man didn't carry himself like his former master, so the two faced each other with mutual skepticism.
Despite this, Takasugi, at least, had recognized a kindred heart of fire and, after watching the boy demonstrate his abilities, he'd fired off a message to the Choshu leader. He told him to come prepared to return with a new recruit.
That is how the new-minted shadow assassin came to find himself, that very first night in the City, lying on a used futon in a room crowded with strangers, soldiers older and worldly-wise, and sworn to a new master. And if he'd understood his new master right, he was to play a critical role in the revolution. His mind whirled, swamped with the day's events. He was a single fateful day away from the only master he'd known, the only home he could remember, but he felt a widening chasm already separating him from that life.
He'd thought he could put her words out of his mind, but they churned in his mind, and he began to realize that he could not remain in the cabin with her this night. He changed back into kimono and hakama, and picked up his sword. He had his hand already on the door, but stopped, and turned back. He laid her futon out next to the fire. He didn't know why he did that. Then, just as he slid back the door, she appeared in the opening carrying the tea tray. He stepped a large step back and to the side. She hesitated, but then entered, and he exited behind her, sliding the door shut between them. He picked up his sandals and sat on the edge of the porch to don them quickly, then headed out for night kata.
The quick glance he'd had of her ruined face as he swept past her struck him as hard as her words.