Mononoke-hime Continuation

Disclaimer: Meh….this is the last chapter. Let's just skip it this time.

Chapter Twenty-eight

Ashitaka squirmed to try to find a better position on the short, scruffy grass without a rock irritably poking him in the back, but after a few minutes he gave it up as a lost cause. The meadow he and Yakkuru were camped in for the night was half a mile from the road, but Ashitaka didn't want to take any chances. It seemed the bandits around these parts were getting bolder, or perhaps just more desperate. Ashitaka had nothing more than his knife and bow and the clothes on his back, but even that wasn't enough to deter robbers and rogue samurai beset by hard times. Ashitaka couldn't waste any time trying to fight them off, but sometimes he had no choice; at least the number of incidents declined once he entered the forests surrounding Iron Town. Most bandits weren't bold enough to enter the "haunted" woods, no matter how bad things were in their own war-torn homelands. Even so, Ashitaka thought it wise to take extra precautions and stay away from the road as soon as darkness fell.

The rocks under his back weren't what kept him awake; neither was the deep hoots of a nearby owl, which quickly cowed the songs of the night birds. Ashitaka had even stopped noticing the insects crawling or flying over him. The moon was slowly sinking into the west, clear and bright amidst the twinkling stars. Ashitaka urged it on. The sooner it was light, the sooner he could set out again for Iron Town. Yakkuru pawed the ground in his sleep, grunting softly. Ashitaka looked over at the elk and sighed. He envied the beast. He could get a bit of rest, at least. Ashitaka had not known a decent night's sleep for days—weeks, now—except for short snatches here and there, on or off the road. Night after night, his dreams haunted him. Night after night, they were the same. The faces changed, but when he finally woke up in a sweat, thrashing, he couldn't shake the images of their deaths. San, Kaya, even Toki and Lady Eboshi. Others he knew, from Iron Town and from back home. Their faces were full of sorrow and suffering. The dreams became worse the closer to home he got. They were full of death, of pain. Of voices crying out to him to save them.

Laying his head back on the flat rock serving as his pillow, Ashitaka shut his eyes and tried once more to doze off. Purposefully he tried not to think of San or Eboshi or Kaya, but their images nudged at his mind behind his eyelids. San's especially. She always filled his thoughts. He imagined he could hear her voice, even though she was miles away. In his dreams he could see her. Touch her. Breathe the pine-sweet scent of her skin. But then….

He exhaled, trying to push down the awful visions that now plagued him whenever his mind drifted. He didn't know whether the scenes of carnage and death were prophetic or merely his soul worrying over his friends and his love back home. Perhaps they were linked to his powers. What was happening in Iron Town? Was San fighting Asano and all of his mercenaries? And what of his sister? His friends? Rolling onto his side, Ashitaka opened his eyes to look at Yakkuru. It would be another sleepless night. He could tell.

He pushed up his sleeve to glance at his left arm. In the pale moonlight he could see the purplish-black mark of the demon running all the way down to his fingertips. Fear and anger made it spread faster. Now the burn-like mark spread over his body as far down as his knee, but still patchy. His neck and part of his face were partially painted as well. His back and chest were completely covered. Ashitaka could only imagine what he looked like on the inside. He hoped San would still recognize him. If he ever saw her again.

The ever-present searing pain flared up again, and Ashitaka scowled. Clenching his teeth, he compromised with it and instead recited prayers for her in his head to try to calm his spirit. Whatever gods exist in heaven or on earth, please protect her, he begged. The air stirred for a few seconds, cooling the perspiration on his clammy skin. Whether it was a good omen or not, he didn't know.

All the next day Ashitaka kept Yakkuru at a good pace. He couldn't afford to run his friend to death, not matter how badly he wished for a fast gallop. Before long, the narrow road began to run parallel to the river, a sure sign that he was nearly home. Ashitaka did not halt the journey except to relieve himself. Even food became a burden. He had long since run out of his provisions obtained in Kyoto, and he didn't have time to stop and hunt properly. He made do with whatever plants and berries he could scour along the road, or small animals he could catch during the useless hours of the night. But for the most part, his stomach was empty more often than not.

The moon was setting behind the heavily treed ridge the next day by the time Ashitaka looked down to see the sprawling village of Kawashimo nestled on the bank of the river. The sky was a long way to turning light, but even now, despite the early hour and weak light, fishers and barge men were already hard at work. Women and children tended to gardens behind the village, and carts and horses passed each other in the streets. Smoke rose from the chimneys of thatch-roofed houses. It all looked very normal, but Ashitaka was puzzled. Even a fishing village would not be awake this early.

"Still, it's good to see a nice, quiet village again, isn't it, Yakkuru?" Ashitaka commented to the elk as he patted the animal's thick neck. Letting go of the reins, he began tying his straw cloak around him, masking his face except for his eyes with an opaque red veil. A good few bandits he'd come across had been spooked by his unearthly appearance. Ashitaka didn't want to frighten any of these villagers. He knew a handful of them personally, and though he couldn't stay long to chat, perhaps he could at least find out how things were faring in Iron Town. And maybe find a quick bite to eat, he mentally added as a stabbing cramp of pain hit his stomach yet again.

Yakkuru flew down the hill to the village without any prompting from Ashitaka's heels, though Ashitaka did have to haul on the reins hard to slow him down at the perimeter of the fishing village before he ran anyone down. Ashitaka was comforted by the familiar sights he'd long been without—children playing in the streets, old women sitting outside their homes mending clothes, mothers hauling water around in buckets to do the laundry or bathe a protesting child. Had it been daytime, it all would have looked completely normal. Despite the oddness of it, the village was alive, its heart beating to the age-old rhythm it had always followed. But something seemed amiss, something besides the sleepless village, and as Ashitaka rode through the wide, uneven streets, past a tannery, a butcher's yard, and the net weaver's shop, it became more and more obvious. He could see it in the seamstress's eyes when he passed her standing outside her shop. Women turning meat on spits outdoors or minding steaming pots of rice also had that tight look to their eyes. Even the children's play seemed subdued up close. Everywhere he went, slowing the elk down to a walk, people stared at him. He could almost feel their eyes boring into his back.

He steered Yakkuru past the village's single inn and was just about to turn down an intersecting street that eventually resumed the way to Iron Town when he heard his name ring out on the cool, early morning air.

"Ashitaka, is that you?"

Bringing Yakkuru around, Ashitaka noticed a plump, rather Buddha-like old man hurrying towards him. He recognized the owner of the inn immediately and lowered his veil a little.

"Shinbo, it's good to see you," he replied, smiling. He dismounted and held on to Yakkuru's reins as the old innkeeper approached him. Shinbo was not only the innkeeper, he was also the head of the village, sort of like the Oracle from back home, or Lady Eboshi in Iron Town. Ashitaka met him several months ago when accompanying a shipment of iron to Kawashimo. He knew Shinbo as a collected, capable man, slow to anger, and fair to all, even if he did drink a little too much from time to time.

Huffing and wheezing like the short sprint had done him in, Shinbo bent over with hands on his knees to catch his breath. Ashitaka laid a hand on the man's shoulder, asking,

"Shinbo, are you alright? What's going on around here? Where are all the men? I don't think I've seen more than a dozen since I arrived. And Iron Town! Is it still peaceful? Is Asano still there?"

"Not so many questions, boy! You'll wear an old man out." Shinbo straightened, his wide girth wobbling, and he motioned to Ashitaka. "Come. Come back with me to the inn. There are a few things I think we need to discuss." He turned and began to head back the way he'd come. A young woman with long, disheveled hair stepped forward to take Yakkuru away, pledging to feed and water him as well as rub him down. Ashitaka thanked her, and she led the placid elk away to the stable joined on to the inn.

Inside Shinbo's establishment, the rotund man sat down on the rug in front of the already glowing coals smoking in a pit in the center of the room, but not before offering Ashitaka a bottle of sake and raking the coals to release an extra burst of heat. Nursing a bottle of his own, he sat across the pit from Ashitaka and stared at him gloomily.

"Boy, these times we live in are enough to make a man go mad," he said in a deep rumble, punctuating the sentence with a deep swig from the brown bottle. "It's hardly safe to set a toe outside one's abode. Bad enough there's war raging all over the country, but now even the earth itself seems to be rising out of its sleep in anger."

"What has happened?" Ashitaka asked anxiously, hastily taking a few swallows of rice wine. It tasted rather bland, like it had been overly diluted. "Any news of Iron Town?"

"Asano still has your people under his thumb," Shinbo replied with disgust. "Not more than a few hours ago, a lone samurai who claimed he was from Iron Town rode in like the wind, asking for any able-bodied men to come help Eboshi and the rest resist Asano and all his toughs. I was there when he came. He sounded desperate. It was the middle of the night, but he took a good four hundred men or more with him. They were all gone within an hour." He tilted the bottle back again. "We've all been up since. Can't rest knowing that there's a war going on practically on your doorstep." He took another deep swig. "Ahhhh. There's nothing like good drink to calm a man's spirit when he's in the middle of so much suffering."

Ashitaka felt like he'd been punched in the stomach, and he set the bottle down dejectedly. So it was as he feared.

"And that's not the half of it," Shinbo continued, leaning forward, wide eyes aglow with astonishment. "The forest has awakened. Birds, beasts, fishes. They're all behaving strangely. Some of the villagers speak of seeing things. Ghosts. Monsters. Huge beats that dwell deep in the mountains, all on the move. Our trappers and fishers have been scouring the land and rivers looking for game. It's as if the animals have all up and left. Rumor has it they're all moving west, to Iron Town, led by Princess Mononoke herself!" He spat the last few words and formed a Buddhist sign for protection with his free hand then guzzled down the rest of the bottle.

Ashitaka gazed at the floor. It was all as he feared. He prayed his troubling dreams were not a reflection of reality. San had to be alive and safe! If she wasn't…..If she wasn't, he would never forgive himself. He immediately got to his feet and threw his straw cloak back over himself.

"Hey, where are you going?" Shinbo wondered, surprised, but Ashitaka quickly overrode him, asking,

"How many mercenaries are in Iron Town now?" He caught himself before he said any more. His hand closed on his sheathed knife, imagining how many of those men he would have to cut through to get to San. "No, don't tell me. It doesn't matter at any rate."

"You're planning to go fight them?" Shinbo asked, his speech slurring just a little. It was plain that he'd had more than one bottle that night. "Well, good luck to you then, Ashitaka. You'll need it. If Iron Town fails, we'll probably be next. So don't fail."

Ashitaka opened his mouth to speak, but all he could bring himself to say was,

"Thanks for the drink." He managed a small, very weak smile. No need to be worrying about goodbyes. Getting back to Iron Town—to San—was all that was important now. He felt for the hard chunk of crystal hanging under his shirt. With a nod to Shinbo, he turned and ran out the door.

Silently stalking the two chatting humans—fools they were, acting so careless in the den of the enemy—San felt cool, fresh air touch her cheeks and forehead as she rounded a bend in the tunnel. This one was an older one—the dirt smelled older. She could stretch out her arms without brushing the side of it, though she had to stoop low to keep from banging her head. Her quarry was several steps ahead of her, but completely unaware that they were being followed. They were close to the tunnel's end, and the eager feelings of wanting to leave this wretched place made her want to breathe harder. Want to vomit. But she kept her step and pulse steady—warred to keep her stomach still!—calmed the desire to dash out and be free of the close, oppressing earth. Moving carefully on her hurting leg, she lengthened her stride, bringing her dagger up. She could see a grayish light ahead, just above eye level.

"…..got me on guard duty again tonight, but I get to leave after that."

"I wouldn't complain if I were you. You could be out fightin' those rebels," his comrade answered. "Besides, it ain't so bad, sittin' around on your behind all day—at least, when no one's lookin'—all the wine you can—ugghhh!"

San pulled her dagger out of his unarmored back, ducking as the other guard cried out in surprise and swung his rifle around. She launched up on the balls of her feet and sliced across his throat, causing her leg to painfully throb. She wasn't quick enough to avoid getting any of the mercenary's blood on her, but the man toppled over with gurgling gasps. Then she spotted the first guard trying to crawl away on his belly, groaning and trying to work his voice up to a shout. Baring her teeth in irritation, San leapt onto him and curled her arm under his neck. She silenced him with one quick stroke of her knife. His body went limp under her. Panting with exertion and the heat of the moment, San sat back on the man's rump and wiped her sweat-damp face with the back of her hand. The air was so close, so stale. It was unlikely that the guards could have been able to warn anyone, but she had best be on her way before anyone else unfriendly appeared. As she shifted, her heel touched something hard. Examining it, San discovered it was a dagger the length of her forearm, tied to the man's waist. San cut it free with her own knife. Two blades were better than one, and she needed all the advantage she could get for her purposes.

At the tunnel's exit, a rough, shallow set of stairs was carved out of the dirt, about as tall as she was. She scrambled up and out into a large, cool room. She filled her lungs as full as she could with fresh air. Looking back at the tunnel—a rough hole cut into the base of the stone wall, she frowned. If she didn't succeed in killing Asano and his men, at least she had one route of escape open to her.

The guards had left candles lit in the room she found herself in. It was full of barrels and bottles, stacked almost to the ceiling. San knew the scent—it was similar to the sweet-tasting drink she'd been given during her visit to Kaya's house. Remembering the way it left her feeling later on, she shook her head. She stashed the mercenary's weapon in the belt at her waist, ready to draw it at a moment's need. Her own reliable blade she kept in hand, ready to lash out at any sight of white and red. Finding the door in the dim candlelight was a simple matter. She pushed it aside to find a hall with many other doors. There were stairs at the end of it. The hall was noiseless and pitch black, but her other senses could make up for diminished sight. It was time for the hunt to begin.

At the top of the stairs, she almost jumped to see a guard facing her. Upon a second glance, she saw he was leaning against the wall, eyes closed, slow, even breathing making his mustache twitch. San cautiously crept towards him. She peeked over his shoulder. No one else to be seen. With one deft motion of her sharp knife, the mercenary's eyes snapped open, but he lurched forward without crying out and tumbled down the stairs to land in a crumpled heap. San was slipping past him and moving along yet another hall before he even fell.

She found other guards stationed throughout the lower levels of the house. Most of them were standing guard in front of rooms or halls. None moved. A few were sleeping. When there were too many, she went around, but four more of Asano's soulless minions tasted her blade by the time San judged she reached the main level of the house, where the floors were made of wood, not dirt, and elaborate decorations adorned every wall. The house was like a maze, far bigger and more impressive than Kaya's had been. San wrinkled her nose at the stench. Humans all around. Humans drunk with wine. Drunk with arrogance. With anger. It was nearly enough to make her head spin.

Clinging to the shadows, San made her way across the floor, cautiously testing spots with her foot to determine whether they would squeak or not and give her away. She avoided the weak shafts of moonlight that shone through the paper-covered windows. Now and again, a human silhouette would appear on the other side of the windows, and she froze, waiting for it to leave before moving again. Sometimes the waiting felt excruciatingly long.

Wolf-trained eyes searching the darkness, San prowled through rooms and halls, retreating into corners whenever patrolling guards strode by with their lamps. They came at regular intervals, it seemed. When one guard passed, she quickly stole up a flight of stairs and down another hall, always watchful for danger. Just as she reached a spot where the hallway split into two directions—one way to the left and one to the right—she heard a man's muffled shout coming from below.

"Raise the alarm! There's an intruder! All men, to your posts!"

Crouching with her weight on her uninjured leg, San whipped her head back to study the intersection. Both ways she looked saw approaching lights in the distance. Heavy footfalls accompanied them. They came from below as well, nearing the stairs. There were many men coming. She could not kill Asano if she died confronting his thugs directly! San looked around quickly for some place to hide herself. There were three rooms on this corridor—two on one side, one on the other. She hastily limped for the nearest one just as the space by the stairs began to brighten and parted the doors, throwing herself in.

She closed the doors quietly behind her. Her pupils constricted to adjust to the new level of light. San whirled around, knife at the ready. Had she landed herself into an even deeper mess? When she saw her surroundings, she almost gaped. In this dim, candle-lit room were near a score of women. Some sat around in groups, others lay on pallets spread out on the floor, awake or asleep. Those who were still up all had eyes fixed on her.

"Princess Monono--!!" a woman kneeling next to a young girl, who was crying, exclaimed before one of her companions clapped a hand over her mouth.

"Shhh!!!" another woman hushed, though she, too, had wide, astonished eyes. San felt like she could lower her weapon. These women didn't seem to be any immediate threat.

"Don't tell me Asano's got a taste for feral little savages now!" one woman across the room remarked with amazement.

San heard footsteps in the hall just outside the door.

"Hide me!" she pleaded, surprised at how quickly her lips were able to make the request.

The women looked at one another with astonishment. One who sat cross-legged on her pallet reacted quickly and pulled San down to the blankets. Two other women moved towards her, one throwing a blanket over San, who lay on her side curled in a tight ball.

"Not so close together!" she heard one women hiss. "You look suspicious enough as it is!"

San heard the doors part roughly, frames slamming into the walls, and several women's indignant voices.

"What's going on here? You can't just barge in on us!"

"Hey, you guys aren't allowed in here!"

"If you're even thinking about getting any, you'd better leave now, before we tell Asano you're slacking off!"

Followed by,

"Quiet, dogs! We're looking for an intruder who's killed several of our men. Have you seen or heard anything?"

There was a quiet pause, and San waited tensely as her fate hung in it.

"We haven't seen anyone," a woman declared in a cool, calm voice. "Now leave us alone."

San lay motionless as the seconds stretched out silently. Would the guards believe them and go away? A guard's brutish voice dispelled her hopes that they were done here.

"Why's that girl crying?" he demanded.

The same woman with the cool, collected voice who had just spoken answered him.

"Because she's just found out she's pregnant, you numbskull. We may just seem like a bunch of whores to you, but we're really people with families and feelings, believe it or not."

After the third long pause, the guards must have given up, for they slammed the door shut again, and an instant later, the blanket covering San was removed.

"Thanks," her tongue fumbled as she sat up and gazed at the cluster of women standing around her.

The women were exchanging glances with one another as well as giving San dubious stares.

"In all my life, I never thought we'd be helping you," one of them muttered. The others had similar sentiments and nodded in agreement. "But we can't argue anyone who's willing to give these red-coated sons of—"

"Aki….." one of her companions said warningly.

The woman twisted her lips in displeasure. "…..these mercenaries…..a bit of payback."

"Might as well be you," a younger woman with large black eyes and a small mouth added. "We're hardly ever allowed to leave this room."

"Unless it's to go to Asano's bed," another said with hatred in her tone.

"There are guards all around us, all the time. They beat us if we don't do what they say. Poor Mayuko was clubbed till she was black and blue. And then she was sent to the mercenary barracks because Asano didn't think she was pretty anymore."

"She can't have survived their paws for long," the cool-voiced woman said softly. "Just thinking about ending up like her is enough to make a woman want to kill herself." The others nodded in agreement.

"I have to go," San said, laboring to get back up on her feet. She checked for her blades. Eyeing the women, she decided she could trust them. As far as humans could be trusted. They did have a common enemy, after all. "I'm going to go kill Asano," she announced. She was taken aback somewhat by the way the women all grew wide-eyed, smiling. Even the crying girl, being rocked slowly in the arms of one of her companions, quit blubbering and looked over at San. The collected woman—San thought her to be the leader of this pack—only looked skeptical.

"By yourself? It's plain you're injured. There are over a hundred guards in this house. You may have been lucky to get this far, but I wouldn't trust that luck to hold, if I were you."

San met her gaze, making her own voice sound determined. "Then I'd better be careful."

"Some of us can go with you!" a woman in a saffron robe volunteered, sounding strangely cheerful.

"No," the leader snapped. "You'd be caught for sure. And if Asano or any of his guards finds out we've even helped this girl, we'll end up far worse than Mayuko." That made them all fall silent.

"It's best this way," San said. "I have to go alone." Trying to move stealthily through this house with them in tow would be like trying to steal a bone out from under a hungry wolf's paws. They'd be caught for sure. She made for the door, pressing her ear against it to listen for noises of movement out in the hall. Satisfied that it was safe to set out, she looked back at the group of women staring at her pensively. She felt pity for them.

She pushed open the doors and slipped out. She could still hear running footsteps and shouts above and around her, but only distantly. These fools had no idea how to hunt properly, making such a ruckus. That would make them easy to avoid, at least.

San had been in this house before, on her last attempt to kill the greedy warlord, but her memories of that night did little to serve her now. She had an idea of how to reach his rooms, but now that her presence had been discovered, she would have to steer clear of the guards. She was determined to kill Asano this night. She would not die until she did!

Twice she had to hide in adjoining rooms when the sound of footsteps came near. More often, though, she had to take alternate routes through corridors to avoid confrontation. Daggers clenched in her hands, she stalked over rugs and floorboards, limping, but silent. When a shape moved in the shadows, she turned on it fiercely, ready to slice at it with her weapons, but she smiled slightly, shaking her head, as a lean black cat stepped out into a patch of moonlight coming through the narrow window and walked off, as if it didn't even notice her there.

Up another flight of wooden stairs smelling heavily of polish she found another maze of rooms and halls. She couldn't help wondering why any human would need such a large den. It was completely senseless. She was certain Asano lived on this level, though. The sounds of the guards were less frequent now, but San wasn't willing to bet that they'd given up the search for her. Time was pressing down on her. She needed to find Asano and guts his worthless carcass fast if she had any hope of leaving this place in one piece herself.

At another corridor she leapt into an alcove as three mercenaries armed with swords but without lights raced by her. In their hurry, they didn't see her, though San's heart nearly beat its way out of her chest, it pounded so hard.

Before long, she peeked around the corner of a candle-illuminated hallway to see a cluster of men in red and white robes, heavily armed, assembled outside a set of elaborately carved double doors. Those she remembered. The doors parted and another mercenary—a tall man—left the room. He paused to exchange a few words with his comrades in a hushed whisper even she had difficulty making out. Whatever was said, the other guards nodded and took off down the hall. San took a step back; the mercenaries had their backs to her as they trotted off, but what if one looked over his shoulder in her direction? When sounds of their boots faded away, she looked again, and this time, only one guard remained, talking with the first, who returned into the bedchamber a moment later. San knew the god of luck was on her side. Asano must be fated to die that night by her hand, else why should things be going so smoothly her way? With only one guard left—two, including the one inside the bedchamber—she was a breath away from completing her vengeance.

San readied her daggers, and stepped out into the open.

Blood raced through Kaya's veins with every move, every breath she took. Her arms were tired, her hip was on fire, and her lungs ached. Everywhere she looked was madness. Men fought with swords, fired at each other with guns. Some of the rebels threw grenades haphazardly into pockets thick with fighting mercenaries, injuring and killing friend and foe alike. The air rang with explosions and the ringing of steel on steel. And always with screams. Anguished death wails that cut right to the core. Kaya was almost used to the sickening feel of her short sword in some mercenary's back or chest and the sight of blood. The sight of arms or legs being blown or hacked off. It was hell. It could be no other place.

Kenshin moved fluidly in front of, beside, behind her. He was a seasoned warrior. Killing was his business. He felled at least three men for every one of Kaya's. Sometimes his curved sword would swing what seemed a hair's breadth away from her face to strike down a mercenary bearing down on her. Kaya could move with a little more confidence with him around, but still, she was terrified.

The battle had spread out from the forge, moving in the direction of Lady Eboshi's manor house. Kaya thought it must be filling a quarter of the town by now, though it was not packed so tightly here on the streets lined with carpenter's workshops. Hundreds of people—thousands, in the case of Asano's army—all fighting just to survive a few moments longer. Dawn was a ways away yet, but blazing buildings set alight by rioting mercenaries and stray bombs shed light on the awful scene.

Kaya found herself facing a short mercenary roughly her own height. Eyes wide, Kaya's mind hardly focused on anything except blocking each blow and watching for an opening to stab him. He had a short sword like she, and the combat was close. Kaya tried pretending she was sparring with Ashitaka like she used to at home. He had taught her how to use a blade, long ago. Just pretend, she urged herself. Just like that time.

When her chance came, she lunged at the mercenary with all the strength she had. The mercenary made a sound that was half-croak, half-screech and flailed his arms wildly, dropping his weapon. Kaya turned aside, and the man's own weight carried him to the ground where he continued to twitch. Kaya did not even bother to wait to see if the wound to his chest was fatal. She moved on. Kenshin, dueling with a mercenary wielding a long-tipped spear, shot a quick glance at her and swung his sword around to catch his opponent in the neck. Then he trotted over to her, wordlessly following on to the next battle.

Kaya had no perception of time passing. All she knew was whether or not she was still alive and where she had to position her blade in the blink of an eye to keep from being cut down. Kenshin fought right along with her, as he promised. Watching over her. His dedication filled her with love, but even still, she wished her brother were there. She wanted to see him again so badly. Even if it was just one last time.

"Aaahh!" It took Kaya a couple of moments to realize the wail had come from her. Kenshin, occupied with not one but two of the red-coats only a few feet away, nearly lost his head when his concentration slipped. Kaya had just killed hers, or thought she had, but the man lying in his own pooling blood had managed to lash out with his sword and catch her behind the knee on her injured side. The sharp blade sliced cleanly through her flesh, and Kaya felt something there snap. Suddenly, she was stumbling to the ground, writing, mouth agape and silently screaming at the agony. She had seen a man hamstrung that very night. Now she knew what it felt like. The spear wound in her hip did not even compare.

It took everything she had to keep a grip on her weapon. The mercenary beside her was struggling to move closer to her to finish the job. As he raised his sword, ready to chop through her like a butcher at the block, Kaya kicked out at him with her good leg, landing her shoe square in his face. There was a stomach-turning crunch as she crushed his nose, but it awarded Kaya some small satisfaction. His shattered bones must have punctured his brain, for the sword dropped out of his gauntlet suddenly, and he collapsed like a rag doll.

Before she knew it, someone was bodily picking her up. Dazed, Kaya tried to take a swing at him with her fist; the arm with her short sword was pinned to her side. Her fist connected with flesh but was too weak to do much damage. She felt even more chagrined when she heard Kenshin's voice reprimanding her.

"Kaya, don't hit me. I'm not your enemy."

He had her tucked under his arm and was jogging away from the fray. Each step jolted Kaya, and her feet were dragging along the ground, but she was inwardly thankful for every pace put between her and the ongoing battle. Kenshin took to a narrow alley. When they were clear, he set her down. Kaya thought to give him the rough side of her tongue for handling her so rudely, but harsh words wouldn't solve anything. She put her weight on her good leg. The other was almost completely useless. And oh, how it hurt!

"It's no good," she heard Kenshin say. "You can't go on like that."

"I can still fight," Kaya insisted, though even she knew that was a foolish idea. The resistance was outnumbered—no matter how many mercenaries they took down, there were always half a dozen more to take their places.

"No, you're finished," he said, in a tone that would hear nothing more on the matter. Kaya was surprised. She was used to him obeying her orders. Now it looked like the tables had turned. Even more surprisingly, she didn't mind. She couldn't help throwing out one more argumentative "But….." but Kenshin was already wrapping his arm around her—at least he didn't turn her over this time—and hauling her away again. Kaya hopped along awkwardly on one foot, trying to ignore the searing pain filling her side.

She had no idea where Kenshin was taking her, and the samurai didn't seem to, either. His head swiveled left and right as they passed through alleys and across streets, often halting or making long detours to avoid the fighting. After a while, Kenshin stopped in front of a house not far from where they both used to live. Just a townsperson's house, and belonging to one well enough off to afford a second story. Kaya didn't know its owner well enough to put a name to it.

"This way," the samurai said, parting the doors and walking right in. Kaya looked both ways down the street one last time; for now it seemed they wouldn't be bothered. The house seemed abandoned. Its interior was dark but for pale moonlight coming in through the small windows. By the looks of the place it had already been ransacked. Perhaps the owner of it was a merchant; there were quite a few in Iron Town. Maybe the burglary would be a setback for the person. Then again, if that merchant was out in the streets, lying dead in his or her own blood, maybe not. At any rate, the place seemed to have been deserted. Many of Iron Town's people, too old or young, ill or injured to fight, were hiding out in houses like these, far from the battle. Kaya prayed they were still safe.

The two of them fumbled their way through the front room, occasionally tripping over or banging against upset furniture or scrolls or dishes. Kenshin found the staircase and helped Kaya hop up it, ever wary of danger, one hand always on the hilt of his sword. They peered into the handful of rooms down the hallway carefully, and when the samurai finally found one he must have liked, he brought Kaya in. This one was small and must have been a bedroom. In the dimness were scattered kimono and blankets. Feathers from shredded pillows looked like patches of snow on the floor. A battered doll lay on its back in the center of the room, perhaps the only witness to the perpetrators' identity.

Kenshin walked Kaya over to a half-gutted futon and helped her to settle down comfortably then knelt down next to her.

"You're badly hurt," he said. Kaya thought that should have been obvious. "Let me see your leg." He continued, "I'd find a light, but I don't want anyone to know we're here."

Though she could keenly feel the excruciating pain in her side from her previous wound in the hip all down the length of her leg, she couldn't move it. The request must have only been for permission, though, for almost immediately, Kenshin placed his hands on her calf, gently feeling the muscles and bones. Kaya sucked air through her teeth and clenched them tightly. His fingers moved up, probing the slash at the back of her knee, then began slipping up her thigh. Kaya, despite the agony, was momentarily struck by the strange thought that the samurai's hands could entirely encompass it. Just as she began to wonder just how far his hands would rove, Kenshin released her leg, sighing, and announced,

"At least you still have it. The artery hasn't been severed—you're fortunate in that—but the tendon's been sliced clean through. You'll never walk on it again without a cane or a crutch."

Kaya attempted a smile and gave him a pat on the shoulder.

"Could be worse, though, couldn't it? Could've been my head."

Kenshin nodded once. The quiet was interrupted by the sound of another cannon firing somewhere, off in the distance. Wordlessly he stood and began searching about the room. Kaya watched him saunter by the translucent moonlit panels on the wall and stoop to pick up a garment lying on the floor. His hand also hovered near the doll, and after a moment, he picked that up, too, and brought them to Kaya. Kneeling again, he handed her the doll and began calmly tearing the clothing—a silk haori—into strips.

"We'll need more than that," Kaya commented quietly. "You've got a few cuts yourself."

"Mere scrapes," the samurai answered her. She was pleased to see a faint smile tug at the corner of his mouth in the dimness as he began to bind up her new injuries. It took some time. Kaya was mildly surprised that she had so many.

"Where are you hurt?" she asked him when he was finished. It took some coaxing—some rather obstinate coaxing—to get him to push back his loose sleeve to expose a lightly bleeding gash the length of one of her fingers just below his shoulder on his left arm. It really didn't look that bad, but Kaya bandaged it anyway. "That's not the only one, is it?"

"The only one I bother to feel," he answered, again with that strange almost-smile. "My shirt's taken the worst of it."

Kaya pursed her lips. Men. They were all the same—stubborn as mules without even trying. Well, she had to admit that he was much more skillful with a blade than she. He didn't have to be so off-handed about it, though. Kaya turned the doll over in her hand, examining it. It was dressed in its own silk kimono, with tiny wooden sandals attached to its feet. Its hair—too fine to be any average child's doll—was disheveled. Her eyes could barely make out a painted smile on its face. Kaya wondered where the owner of the doll was, and also wondered if there was a little girl out there, huddling frightened in a closet or deep in a cellar, crying for her.

"I have to go back," she murmured. "The battle's not over yet." Would it ever end, she wondered? Would she ever wake up from this nightmare come to life?

"You'll die for sure if you do," Kenshin said bluntly. "You won't be able to stand, let alone wield a sword or a gun."

Kaya cast her gaze to the floor. "I know. But…..but I have to do something." Do what? She'd seen many people injured in the close-quarter, vicious battle, had pulled as many of them as she could to safety, admonishing them to stay low and try to conserve their strength even as they lay there bleeding to death.

"You've done enough."

But would it be enough? The resistance was outnumbered and falling fast. All their clever tricks and determination could only get them so far against an enemy five times their number. Kaya was still alive. The resistance needed her. That was enough cause to keep on fighting.

"Kenshin, wha—what are you doing?" The samurai, ripping more strips from the doll owner's kimonos, took both of her wrists in his larger hand and began winding the cloth around them. His shadowed face was calm and focused, and he gave her no response. Kaya tried to pull away, but he held her fast.

"Kenshin, what are you doing?" she asked again, her voice rising in pitch. The samurai appeared unconcerned as he tightened and knotted the long silk strips then tore another off to begin working on her ankles. Kaya gave up struggling—moving too much made her injuries hurt all over again. So instead, she had to sit there sulking as Kenshin bound her hand and foot like a freshly killed deer.

"I don't think all this is really necessary," she said to him through gritted teeth. He was obviously trying to be gentle, but obviously didn't want to make it easy for her to free herself. He probably thought he'd won the argument. Kaya had a mouthful ready to unleash on him—he was supposed to be her bodyguard, not her captor!—but what could she do, really? Bite him, maybe.

He finished quickly and then sat back, surveying his work. Kaya glared at him with all the force she could muster, but it was of no use.

"How do you expect to keep me safe if you leave me here? You are going to leave, aren't you?"

Kenshin picked up the doll that, during her writhing, had fallen out of her lap and onto the floor. He placed it in her bound hands.

"I know how much these people mean to you, how much this place means to you. I will go on. I will fight like two men, more, for your sake, and for these people you love." He got to his feet, but not before leaning forward to plant a light, tender kiss on her lips. "This is the safest place for you to be. Please, Kaya, stay here."

And in mere seconds, he turned, strode out of the room, and was gone. Kaya sat there frozen, staring in the direction he'd gone. The sounds of his footsteps gradually disappeared, and all she could hear now were the faraway sounds of battle outside.

"Ken…..Kenshin….." Her voice sounded hollow to her own ears. Another cannon fired, not more than half a mile away she guessed. Kaya, suddenly seized by a surge of adrenaline, began working her wrists in saw-like motions, trying to pull them free of the samurai's handiwork. After several fruitless minutes, it became all too apparent that Kenshin knew what he was doing.

Then it occurred to her. The short sword! Kaya touched her bound hands to her waist and gasped in surprise when they only brushed her dirty, bloodied clothing. Where was the sword? She felt around the floor close to her, but it was nowhere to be found. He must have taken that, too. Kaya growled, tears of pain and frustration brimming in her eyes. The samurai was taking no chances that she'd free herself. She set her teeth to the silk, gnawing away determinedly at the tiny woven strands. After a couple of minutes, her jaw tired, she sat back to examine her progress. There was a small hole in the tightly tied strips, but her hopes were falling swiftly. The samurai certainly didn't intend for her to follow him anytime soon.

"You'd better not get yourself killed," she whispered. She repeated his name—and Ashitaka's—to herself as she again furiously pulled and writhed with renewed vigor.

Another cannon sounded.

Eboshi stared grimly at the line of mercenaries massing yet again for a charge. The smoke from the last blast hadn't even cleared yet. She stood amidst the largest pocket of the resistance, backed by several dozen men and women with bows and slings, shooting arrows and launching small cement grenades. At the forefront was a squat, cast-iron cannon, the author of the worst carnage immediately in the center of the enemy's forces. They'd long run out of shot. Now they had to pack grenades, knives, rocks…..anything their scavengers could find from the surrounding stores or what the re-suppliers could bring in from the forge. The massive pyramid-like structure loomed beside them, a dark, forbidding shape against the barely lightening sky. Between giving orders to the rows of men and women to shoot and reload, her eyes often wandered to it. Her people had lost it once and rebuilt it. Who would be left to rebuild Iron Town after this night? She turned his gaze back to the scene of battle, where mercenaries pulled their fallen and dead out of the way to make room for a charge. Eboshi sneered. Asano's paid cutthroats were battle trained, but he doubted they had more than a few wits among their ranks of thousands. Perhaps their superior numbers made their own individual lives worth losing. Her informants brought her word from time to time of their numbers. Asano's forces were decreasing, either from heavy casualties or men deserting—the wisest move they could make, in her estimation—but there were still far too many left to fight. The resistance had taken casualties itself. Too many. As it was, they were holding on to their cause by their fingernails.

"My Lady, that's everything." A young woman hardly older than twelve or thirteen ran up to her. She was one of the many women whose responsibility it was to make sure there was still something, anything, to load into the cannons. "All we've got left now are the guns."

Eboshi pursed her lips and drew her eyes away to study the scene.

"Alright. Run along to Yohko and Toki. Tell them to wait for my signal, then we'll charge again."

The girl made a visible effort to maintain a steady visage, and she nodded.

"Where shall I tell them to fall back to, my Lady?" she inquired.

Eboshi's gaze lingered on the battle. The archers had just fired their last round of arrows into the crowd. They'd have to venture out into the fray if they wanted to recover any of them.

"Tell them there will be no retreat this time. This is it."

The girl's stunned silence seemed strangely out of place amidst the cacophony of yelling and screaming. Eboshi faced her and said, perhaps a bit too harshly,

"Are you waiting for a bullet to hit you? Go!"

The girl jumped up like she'd been shocked and immediately took off, weaving her way through the melee. Eboshi felt a tinge of regret watching her. She shouldn't have been so rough. But even so, she thought, unsheathing her curved sword, this night would not be gentle for any of them.

"Gonza," she murmured over her shoulder to the man behind her. Always the faithful bodyguard, he remained at her side. She wanted to shake her head at the man's stubbornness. He'd jump right into the Lake of Blood if it was on her heels. It was rather…..touching…..yet it could not—it would not—be so for much longer. "I have special orders for you."

"Whatever you command, my Lady," he responded in his permanently rough tone.

"I want you to take charge of this front."

"My Lady?" He was clearly confused.

"I have an errand to run. With luck, I'll be back shortly. And Gonza, don't follow me."

She caught a glimpse of his startled expression as she swept away. Her soldiers also directed baffled stares at her. She repeated the order of "Follow Gonza for now" as she went.

It was a losing battle, one that was nearly lost. Her mind, always calculating her options, was coming up with very few clever ideas. They'd already exhausted most of their guerilla tactics, and now they were running short of man and firepower as well. Surrender was always an option, but not one she would pursue while she still had any breath left in her body.

She touched her wide belt absently, feeling for the dagger hilt and a long, slender object hidden under it. A few more tricks yet.

Perhaps the sun would rise on Iron Town's defeat. What would be left of it when Asano once again took control? She wanted to spit at the thought. She strode down the street, past several of her own people running in the opposite direction. They eyed her with confusion and faltered in their steps. Eboshi glared at them sternly while her heart ached for them and the predicament she was leaving them in. There was little she could do for them now. Her hand unconsciously returned to her belt, feeling for her weapons. The last of her leverage was slipping away. Perhaps she could find some advantage in the little she had left.

There was one tunnel, dug long ago by her forbears, that only she knew about. It ran from a weaver's shop a quarter mile away from her former home straight to the manor's deepest root cellar. If she could get there without trouble, get into her old house swiftly, then she had a chance to maybe cripple her enemy. One chance.

Her messengers had brought word to her that the deserters had gone straight for the manor. A lot of good they could do with their numbers, but they might at least be a distraction. But if any of her people saw her, recognized her, her last strategy would fail for certain. No, she needed to go unseen, as a knife in the shadows.

This one final chance must succeed, or absolutely everything she had spent her life building up would be lost.

Behind the curtained windows and thick, fortress-like walls, Asano could almost disregard the continuous noise of gunfire and cannons outside in the town. It had been going on for some hours now. He was frankly surprised that the rebels were holding up so well. He would have thought his thousands of mercenaries both within and without the town could crush them with ease, but they had held their ground with tenacious audacity and their innovative little surprises. Well, he had fought cannons before. He knew how to handle rifles. And swords were as much a part of him as his own arms. His mercenaries may not all be the well-trained, obedient soldiers he was used to, but surely they would overpower Eboshi's puny resistance before too long. Surely.

There was a knock at the door, and he looked up from the sheets of parchment detailing the damage done to the mines and the mills. He always hated paperwork, ever since he was young, the governor of a small province. He felt much more enlivened on the battlefield. His secretary had been most unfortunately killed in the attack on the main barracks while paying out the salaries. Asano made a mental note to appoint a new one as soon as could be conveniently arranged.

A knock at the door drew his attention. He leaned back in his chair, not even looking towards the door. He supposed the interruption was a blessing to save him from his wearying chore, though he felt more than a little perturbed that these raps on his chamber door were coming far more frequently now.

"What is it now?" he called out, even as the carved wooden doors parted. One of his guards put his veiled face in.

"My Lord, it would seem we are under attack," he said in a tight, but young-sounding voice.

"What else is new?" Asano replied in bored tones, lacing his fingers together over his belly.

The guard's eyes looked mildly affronted over his veil. Asano thought he saw his knuckles whiten on the spear haft in his hand.

"My Lord, they are at our very door."

Asano responded by lifting his legs up to rest his boots on the desk. Perhaps that was what the shouting downstairs had been about. He sighed loudly.

"How many are we dealing with?"

"Not more than a few dozen, my Lord, but more keep coming."

"Are they armed?"

"Not with anything more than a few rifles, bows, and swords."

Asano rolled his eyes. And pitchforks and farm tools and rocks and whatever else these pathetic peasants could scrounge up. Well, he was beginning to hate surprises.

"Very well. Increase the guards at the entrances and send a contingent out into the yard to deal with these ruffians. And double the guard outside my apartments. And have some more wine sent up. Something that doesn't taste like watered down urine this time." Asano had been down to the wine cellar himself before. Eboshi had never been much of a believer in the great art of brewing. The few casks that been here when he arrived were nearly all gone. As soon as he could get his hands on the new liquor from the supply train—what was taking it so long anyway?!—Asano would get so drunk he could sleep through an explosion greater than the one that had ruptured the great gate. "And another thing," he added as the guard nodded compliantly and began to withdraw, "Don't bother me again unless it's important."

"Yes, my Lord," the guard answered, again a bit tightly before disappearing behind the door, shutting it tight.

Before long, the door opened again, admitting one of his handpicked maidservants attired in a yellow silk kimono. Asano saw the same guard as before admitting her. In her hands was a tray with a goblet and a full jug of rice wine balanced on it. Asano welcomed the sight of a drink so much that he gave little thought to the woman. The papers on his desk showed little progress. For some time Asano had occupied himself with listening to the exchange outside his window in his yard, even getting up out of his chair to watch for a few moments at a time. A small rabble. Hardly anything to be concerned about.

"It's about time—" he began, then his eyes widened at the sight of the tall glass bottle on the tray. It wasn't Iron Town's own make, by the shape of it, and had to have been imported. He looked to the girl, who had already gotten down on her knees to proffer her wares.

"Has the convoy arrived yet?"

The girl looked down meekly, avoiding his gaze.

"No, my Lord," she said quietly. "But Keiko found some of the finer wines in a private stash of Lady Eboshi's." That concluded her commentary, and she raised up the tray, head bowed. Asano uncorked it then poured himself a glass. Keiko. The name sounded familiar, but he couldn't place which one of the girls it belonged to. It wasn't of any matter anyway. He didn't know the names of most of them. He sat back, wafting the glass under his nose, drinking in the comforting scent of the liquor. If that convoy didn't arrive soon…..He chuckled. He might very well be tempted to leave town himself to find a drink. Azo was well reputed for its ales. If it wasn't for this accursed insurrection, that convoy might already be here by now.

He paused in touching the glass to his lips. The girl holding the tray up for him, still with her face aimed at the floor, was trembling slightly. Not from the weight of the tray, though, judging by the perspiration gathering on her cheeks and forehead. Was it warm in here? Asano looked up to see that the young guard had entered and was standing at attention by the doorway. Under normal circumstances, Asano would have groaned at the thought of more unpleasant news. But these circumstances suddenly smelled far from normal.

"Tell me," he addressed the girl, swirling the rice wine around in the glass and looking at it as though it was interesting. "How is Keiko?"

The girl looked up, quite obviously startled.

"She's…..fine, my Lord. She's resting in the women's quarters." She stared at him, puzzled, for a few moments before remembering her place and casting her gaze down once more.

"And how about yourself? I haven't been visited by you for some time. Over a week, I think. Are you feeling well?"

"I am well, my Lord, thank you," she replied, determinedly not meeting his eyes. Her voice, however, betrayed how unsettled she was. Asano turned to the guard next.

"You, soldier. What is your report?"

The veiled man straightened, looking as though he'd been caught doing something he shouldn't, and leaned on the haft of his spear.

"The guerrillas are rather persistent. They're shooting, throwing about anything they can at us, even trying to set fire to the place, but our men are keeping them at bay."

"Very good," Asano said. He settled back in his chair comfortably, setting the bottle of rice wine back on the girl's tray, and held the glass out towards the soldier across the room. "You're to be commended for your diligence. Allow me to offer you some wine."

The guard stared at the cup for a moment before responding.

"No, my Lord, but thank you. I must attend to my duties."

Asano raised an eyebrow and shrugged haplessly. "No? Alright then." He pushed it in front of the kneeling girl's face. "How about you?"

The girl, going cross-eyed, jerked so hard she almost spilled the tray. She may as well have been recoiling from a venomous serpent hissing in her face. Asano frowned.

"You, neither? That's a pity." Getting to his feet, almost lazily, he quickly reached for a dagger hidden about his clothes, one of many, this one tucked behind the hem of his coat, and sent it flying. There was silence for almost a full second before the wine girl let out a strangled-sounding scream. The veiled guard standing beside the doorway, party to a failed assassination, gurgled his last breath and wrapped his hands around the slim blade buried in his throat. His spear clattered to the floor, and he followed just after, landing in a heap. The girl with the tray of wine—Asano still did not know her name; that hardly mattered now, he reflected—scrambled in an attempt to flee, dropping both wine and tray. Asano grabbed for her wrist before she could flee, catching her tightly. Some of the wine he still held spilled over his fingers.

"Let go of me!" the girl began to shout. "Please! Please don't kill me!" Despite her begging, she tried scratching at him with her nails, and even tried to sink her teeth into his arm. With one quick, wrenching motion, he broke the girl's wrist. Her eyes bulged, and her mouth worked for several seconds before she began gasping and panting, each breath becoming a louder scream. Ignoring her wailing, Asano dragged her roughly across the floor then yanked her to her feet and forced her onto his bed, letting go of her arm and instead seizing her throat.

"Please…..!" she continued to gasp. "Please spare me!"

Asano barked a short, harsh laugh.

"Spare you? Do you expect anything more of me than what you were prepared to deliver yourself? Were you sent by the rebels?" It all made perfect sense to him, but a confession from the pathetic, would-be assassin's own mouth would have been rather satisfying. Clever little insects they were. Always full of surprises.

"I was…..sent….." she uttered in pain-wracked croaks, "…..by….."

Asano almost didn't notice her unbroken arm curling up into the wide sleeve of her silk robe, but when it lashed out at him, this time with a short knife of her own in hand, he had to jump back to avoid getting his face slashed. Before the girl could push herself up to either fight or escape, Asano unsheathed his sword and in one swipe disarmed her, sending her puny blade flying across the room to land near the dead guard who was no doubt her accomplice. Asano lunged at the girl again and beat her across the face with the hilt of his sword, almost knocking her from the pillows. Asano drove his sword into the feather futon and reached for the stunned girl again. She struggled against him weakly, dazed, not even able to focus her eyes properly. Asano pried open her mouth and tipped the lip of the glass of rice wine over it. The last remaining drops rushed down her throat, and she coughed, choking on it. Asano clamped his hand over her mouth to keep her from spitting it up. She lay there prone for over a minute, and then her eyes snapped open, and she convulsed like one afflicted with seizures. Asano kept her pinned down firmly while she thrashed and moaned. And then, quite suddenly, she went limp against the sheets, eyes glazing over with the veil of death. Asano straightened and looked at the glass in his hand. Potent stuff indeed. Eboshi certainly didn't want to risk failure. Well, her scheming had fallen short. When he found out which of the women had managed to get her hands on the poison, he'd have her drawn and quartered. The insolence! In a flare of rage, rage tinged with just the smallest drop of fear—fear that he could have ended up like the paling girl on his bed if not for a glance—he threw the glass against the wall. It shattered into pieces.

He stood there for a few moments, chest heaving with growing fury, then his head swiveled towards the door.

"GUARDS!" he bellowed. Where were his guards? Why had they not rushed to his rescue, alerted by the commotion? They could not all be party to this attempt to murder him, else they would have come in to finish the job. He took a few steps towards the flower and bird-carved doors when they parted. Asano froze in his tracks, astonished.

The Devil was at his door.

Azuma wrinkled his nose at the overpowering stench of burning wood and sulfur. His contingent, soldiers and mercenaries in red and white in varying conditions—some looked as fresh as the morning dew, though very few, and many others appeared to have been run through a meat grinder—milled about him. The town square inside the vanished gate was packed with men, and more were squeezing in by the second, often supporting injured comrades. He turned his eyes skyward to see the towering plumes of smoke still ascending into the night sky, lit up by the flames consuming the gate. Much of the debris had fallen on surrounding houses, and those, too, were lit up like beacons, blazing brightly.

He moved out of the trickle of men and took up position beside a wide-rimmed well in the corner of the square. He let down the bucket and hauled it up again, drinking deeply of the cool water it contained. He splashed some of it onto his dripping face. The heat of the fires was enough to roast a man this close, he felt. He stood and appraised the extent of the damage done by his men. It had taken hours to carry enough gunpowder from the camp to the gates, and losing men to the constant harassment of wild beasts had not made the task any easier.

Still, despite the losses, the battle on the field was turning in their favor. Azuma was reluctant to give Princess Mononoke's motley array of animals any credit, but it did seem they were intelligent enough to see they could not win a fight against their human superiors. Azuma would very much have liked to remain on the battlefield until every last creature crawling or flying was dead at his feet, but the situation in the town was growing severe. It was time to face human foes now. More familiar to him, but much more difficult.

"General!" Yamajima Hojo, a sub-captain of the Water rank called his name and was now running for him. Azuma dropped the bucket back down into the well where it landed with a healthy splash.

"What is your report, sub-captain?" Azuma inquired as the man approached and made his respects.

"I've just been up in the watchtower," Yamajima said quickly, pointing towards a section of gate that had not yet caught fire. "The approaching enemy—I can hardly bring myself to call it an army—is covering ground too quickly for us to get all our men in. The Earth rank is still exposed for the most part, and the Fire is still working to get all their casualties in, as you can see. Not only that, but the supply wagons are approaching. If the enemy reaches them first….."

Azuma narrowed his eyes to study the flow of men passing through the burning sections of gate. Too slow. With the narrow land bridge the only passage into Iron Town, his troops were taking far too much time entering the town. And there was still opposition in this town to suppress. The insurgents harried him from both sides. His reports told him that the rebels' reinforcements that had appeared out of the forests were not large, not by any stretch of the imagination. But they might be enough to whittle down the Earth and Fire ranks still trying to get inside the town.

"My Lord Azuma!" A rider burst out into the square, sending men scattering, and drew rein before him and the sub-commander. "The fortress is under heavy attack! The rebels have retreated from the forge and are gathering in the eastern district. Our own forces have taken heavy damage, but they are in pursuit. What are your orders, my Lord?"

Azuma raised an eyebrow in faint disbelief. Simple and outnumbered these town folk might be, but they could hold their own surprisingly well. But were they really foolish enough to try attacking the manor with the enemy at their backs?

"Send word to all the commanders, or as many as you can find. Reform the ranks. Get as many horse-mounted in the front as you can and begin marching for the east district. Cut down any rebels you see, but stay in formation!" They would squash this rebellion in one fell swoop. He himself was growing quite tired of this whole affair.

"Yes, my Lord," the rider replied. He booted his mount's flanks and galloped off quickly to fulfill his orders.

"I shall go as well," Yamajima announced, "and meet you there at the front." He spoke boldly, with an attitude that, in any other officer, might have been as overstepping his bounds. But Yamajima and Azuma had known each other for over twenty years, fighting together in battles all throughout Japan. Were he in charge of appointing his officers instead of Asano, Yamajima would have been promoted to rank commander over a decade ago. Azuma trusted his judgment and rarely overrode him. He noticed that his friend was looking towards the gate. Azuma knew what was passing through his head.

"Focus on the task at hand. We may not have a castle exactly to defend, but our duty to Lord Asano still runs just as deep. Gather your own units and head for the manor house." He made himself smile. "The sun will rise on our inevitable victory."

Seeming encouraged, the sub-captain bowed briskly.

"Yes, my Lord. Fortune be with your sword." He promptly ran across the courtyard to rally his soldiers. Azuma watched him for only a moment and then his face molded back into its customary frown. The mercenaries Asano had insisted on bringing he could hardly care less for. But how many of his good, loyal soldiers, friends well-trained and proven, would he lose in this mess? He spat on the ground.

'Asano, you've been too long off the battlefield,' he thought with displeasure as he watched men begin scurrying throughout the courtyard, the slower ones marking the poorly disciplined mercenaries. 'How many of my men is this mess worth to you?'

The lone sentry outside of Asano's den did not notice her immediately. His attention was drawn by the loud explosion that sounded close outside the great house's wooden exterior. The hairs along San's neck and arms rose, but she recovered herself quickly, dagger flying end over end in a blur at the mercenary. Alerted by the whirring sound, he turned, only to catch it between the eyes. He stared at her with a dumbstruck expression for several disturbing moments before toppling over, dead, the shocked expression still vividly painted on his face. San was stealthily running over to him before he collapsed, bracing her foot against his temple to extricate her weapon. Not bothering to clean it off, she pressed her back to Asano's door, listening carefully for whether the inhabitants were alarmed by the sound. To her surprise, she heard a scuffle taking place inside and the scream of a woman. San glanced back down the hall. The other guards had not yet returned. She guessed they were all on the lower level dealing with the fight there. San had to hand it to Eboshi's people, creating such a nice diversion for those men.

She listened closely, ear pressed to the door for several moments. The woman, whoever she was, seemed to be the loser. Her muffled words and cries eventually subsided. San had no way of telling how many people were with Asano now. One? Two? Or even more?

No matter. It would all come to an end now. His life…..or hers.

San reached for the latch, blood-stained dagger ready in her other hand, and threw her weight against the door, snarling. A dead guard she recognized lay in her path; she leapt over him and charged straight for Asano. Asano's surprised expression quickly transformed into a visage of anger. Moving like a snake, he reached over the body of a dead woman for a sword, raising it in just enough time to block San's thrust. Whipping out her other, borrowed knife, San beat at him and blocked his swings. The sounds of their blades meeting mingled with their shouts and growls. San's mind focused solely on her opponent, watching for openings and leaping away to safety when his longer weapon clove the air, seeking her blood. Asano quickly moved away from the bed. San jumped up onto the dead woman's body then threw herself down as Asano's sword swept over her head. Before she could regain her feet, though, Asano's boot smashed into her face, stunning her. Reeling back, she instinctively rolled over the bed and heard the soft thunk of a sword piercing the plump futon, down to the floor. Her leg complained as she jumped up and sprang back at Asano before her vision was entirely clear. To her surprise, he did not meet her knives with his, but instead turned aside to step into the clear. Letting out a feral growl, San pursued him.

Along the far wall was a rack bearing several swords in varying lengths. Asano hastily picked one and took a swipe at her with it, even though it still wore its hard sheath.

"What do I have to do to get rid of you?" Asano shouted, swinging his blade and the shorter sword at her with renewed fury. San had to concentrate her strength on defending herself. Asano had the longer reach, and his thick arms delivered powerful blows that were already beginning to tire her. Just as San found a slight but open gap at which to strike, before she could even move for it, something small and fast flew past her nose, bouncing off of Asano's armguard as he lifted his sword to try and take a piece of her. San jerked back and readied her knives for another of the warlord's attacks, but to her astonishment, Asano, glancing towards the opposite corner of the room, ran past her for the door, boots stomping loudly. San stared, and her eyes barely spotted another whizzing thing, like a bird, but far quicker, hitting the doorpost and sticking in it. She whirled around, jaw almost dropping at the sight of Eboshi emerging from the wall, a small, thin tube half the length of her forearm in hand. The gunwoman scowled, throwing it away. It landed close to the dead woman's corpse, but Eboshi did no more than pass her eyes over her. She slammed the small door—to San it looked like just a painted panel identical to the rest in the room. Clever weasel, San thought angrily. So many secret hideaways.

"Asano is mine!" San shouted at her before turning to sprint after the escaping warlord. Her anger was so great she could almost ignore the arrow wound in her leg. Dashing out into the hall, she saw the flicker of a shadow at the far end of the dimly lit corridor. She took off after it, gait uneven. She heard Eboshi running behind her. Darting a glance over her shoulder, she saw the woman tug on the hilt of a long knife tucked snugly under her obi, wielding it deftly in her only hand. San wanted to scream at her, but her quarry was getting away. She would have to deal with Eboshi later.

The older woman caught up easily, uninjured as she was. San resisted the urge to lash out at her with her own crude knife.

"Asano will head for higher ground. The whole house surrounded. He can run, and he can hide," she continued between breaths, "but he can't escape." She sped up, disheveled hair streaming out behind her like a long, black banner, and rounded the first corner. San had no choice but to follow in the gunwoman's wake, cursing between breaths.

The chase took them through the maze-like floor, the highest in the massive house, down corridors and through rooms. It seemed deserted except for them. San supposed all of the guards were down below dealing with Eboshi's friends. The sounds of gunfire were still present outside.

After another corner, San saw Eboshi disappear up a narrow, spiraling flight of iron stairs. Panting, leg almost numb from pain and weariness, San doggedly pursued her. When she came to the top, she emerged into a cool breeze. The not quite darkness of early dawn prevailed in the sky, but San could easily make out two figures locked in battle on the rooftop. Eboshi was not faring well. Even one-handed, she was an adept fighter—San was loath to admit it—and parried and thrust fluidly, like she was dancing. But Asano's blades outnumbered hers, and she increasingly had to defend herself as Asano began to drive her towards the edge of the flat roof. San was repulsed to help her, but even more distasteful would be letting Eboshi take her revenge first, though it looked like that was becoming more and more unlikely as the warlord assaulted her with a barrage of blows. Hardening her resolve, San dashed out to continue her own personal fight.

Asano had not risen to his position as leader of his tribe by being weak—she knew that. He might be stupid, but as San joined the skirmish, he turned on her with his long sword. Eboshi recovered and rejoined them, forcing Asano to shift to keep them both in front of him. San growled lividly. Never in her whole life did she think she'd be fighting side by side with the devil woman Eboshi. She chose to ignore the other woman and kept fighting relentlessly, as though she and Asano were the only ones on the rooftop.

San lost track of how much time passed. Surely it was only a few heartbeats, a few breaths, but they seemed to stretch out. It couldn't have been long, judging by the sky, yet neither she nor Eboshi were able to lay their blades on his body. Asano was fresher than they, and stronger. Try as she might, she wasn't able to find any holes in his defense, no opportunities to strike at flesh not covered by his light armor. She actually gave a cry as Asano's shorter sword raked her upraised arm. San did not pause in her own offensive, but she was startled to hear the sound of a blade clattering to the roof and the older woman's anguished voice. Hastily glimpsing out of the corner of her eye, San was shocked to see Eboshi's arm extending out the sleeve of her shirt, ending suddenly in a bloody stump. San quickly refocused as Asano launched himself at her full on, now no longer having to divide his attention.

"Eboshi!" San shouted. Not out of concern for the woman who had dropped to her knees, gasping, blood dripping from her wrist. As Asano beat down on her ferociously, San felt her little remaining strength beginning to ebb. She had to dance away from Asano's longer, stronger sword as the stocky warlord began advancing.

Sweat streaming down her face, turning cold in the morning air, San bared her teeth and struck out at Asano as tempestuously as she could. He met her every blow with a leering smile. Now she was only lashing out haphazardly, and the sense of her own weakness filled her with bitter fury. She almost didn't notice a biting sting in her ribs, just below her breast, but by the time she realized what had happened, she was staggering. Out of the corner of her eye, she witnessed Eboshi struggling to her feet, swaying unsteadily.

"What's this? Haven't had enough yet, Eboshi?" Asano mocked, obviously encouraged by the fact the two women fighting him were bleeding heavily and practically spent. "You don't have too many limbs left to lose!"

Eboshi took slow, uneven steps towards them. San thrust her blades at Asano, and he brushed them away with his sword like he was swatting at an insect.

"Pitiful," he muttered as she was knocked down. She dropped one of her blades and touched her free hand to her side. It burned like fire, and even her breathing was like heavy smoke.

"It's only flesh," Eboshi countered acidly, pain evident in her voice. Her pale face was white, her blue eyes flashing with rage. She made it over to San and dropped down to her knees, catching herself on her elbow. "You must kill him, Princess Mononoke," she managed to say through gritted teeth, face painted with pain. "Take your revenge, and mine, too."

"This is ridiculous," Asano uttered, and, striking out like a snake, he pierced her in the back, dead center. The gulping croak that escaped Eboshi's lips made San's stomach turn. Asano scowled and thrust the blade even deeper, almost to the hilt.

"Surrender yet?" he asked mockingly, suddenly yanking it out again. Eboshi's dark red blood dripped from it. San looked through blurring vision to see Eboshi's wide blue eyes rolled back into her skull as she fell forward onto San, weighing her down.

"Fool woman," Asano grunted, flicking Eboshi's blood off his weapon.

"NOOOOO!!!" A man's deep, roaring voice drew both of their gazes to the trap door leading down into the lower levels of the house. San's head was foggy. She thought she recognized the stern jaw and bald head of the man storming up onto the roof, a long sword like Asano's in hand, but she couldn't keep her mind focused on anything but her weariness, her pain, and the feel of wet blood streaming down her skin.

Asano's head swiveled to face the newcomer.

"What now?" he grumbled under his breath, readying his sword for combat again. San faintly heard the ringing of steel on steel, but she could barely sense where it was coming from. She felt so weak, like her life was flowing out of her, like water breaking through a dam.

With some effort, she pushed Eboshi's motionless body off of her. The moment she did, she felt something grab her hand, and she was hauled to her feet. Her dagger plunged into a man's back—into Asano's back—right through his heart. The warlord stood up on his toes, croaking, and dropped his sword, just as another blade pierced him from the front—a long sword that narrowly missed San's face by inches. San's hand slipped off the hilt of her dagger, covered in warm, fresh blood, and she collapsed. As her eyelids grew heavier, she saw Asano topple, and she knew he was dead. She raised her gaze, and the bald man's surprised face met it for a second. She didn't have the strength to even smile in gloating satisfaction. The last thing she remembered was the bald man, ignoring the dead warlord completely, cradling Eboshi's lifeless form just an arm's length away. His wailing sobs lingered in her ears even after she plummeted into unconsciousness.

Azuma, ringed by a small contingent of foot soldiers, rode at a brisk trot down the nearly deserted streets of the upper eastern district of Iron Town. Eboshi's—now Lord Asano's—fortress-like abode loomed dark in the distance, an ominous shadow against the brightening sky. The breeze blew the heavy odors of smoke and sulfur through the alleyways, carrying the familiar sounds of battle to his ears. He and his men kept wide of the skirmishes taking place here and there throughout the town, but were all alert, weapons at the ready in case of an attack. Most of the people they saw lining the roads were dead—his men and villagers alike, mingling like bedfellows. Otherwise, they were dying, having crawled away from the hottest parts of the battle to have a few moments of peace before leaving this world. His men slew the townspeople they encountered still clinging to life along the way. Azuma saw no real threat from them—they were at Death's door with no escape—but he gave no order for them to desist, even when they happened upon rebels barely over puberty. His orders were not to spare the enemy, no matter how small and effeminate they were.

His own he looked on a bit more sadly. The blank, staring faces of his soldiers—many of whom he knew, or at least recognized—littered the packed dirt streets as numerously as did the peasants. The passage became more difficult the closer they got to the great house, now the center of the main battle. The yelling and the gunfire, the latter not so common now as at first, was much closer and more concentrated. He noticed several buildings burning nearby, torched perhaps for no reason. He turned his attention towards the manor house, his "castle." Here was the next battle. Just another in the long list of them he had fought in his life. A matter of course, for him.

He kept his sword poised and ready for whatever might come. His eyes scanned the alleyways on either side. It was becoming easier to see with dawn approaching. His prediction may very well come true. At the head of his column, he rounded a corner boldly then pulled up short. Straight ahead, finishing off a thrashing, shouting mercenary, was an enormous white wolf. Hesitating for only a split second, he heeled his mount forward. No overgrown dog was going to stand in his way. Azuma was prepared to finish what he'd started out on the field.

"First and second rows, take aim!" he commanded his men. They immediately complied, the first line of men kneeling and drawing back their bowstrings, the soldiers behind them standing and raising their bows. Before the words even left his lips, the wolf looked up from its now still victim. He could have sworn there was recognition in its large amber eyes. In a flash the wolf was pelting down the street, a white blur on four feet, coming straight for him. The dozen or more bolts that whistled past him flew at the beast, almost all of them making their mark. The wolf stumbled, but continued to charge forward. Azuma's eyes widened in surprise. Why wasn't it dead? His archers prepared a second volley, and he himself gripped the hilt of his sword tightly. Just another battle.

The white wolf leapt at him, jaws opened wide.

A gentle breeze blew through the forest, rustling the leaves that still clung determinedly to mangy branches of cedar and oak. The towering pines stirred as if they were awakening from the long night's slumber. The breeze blew thin, stringy clouds across the lightening sky, herding them towards the dark haze on the eastern horizon where an unavoidable battle would no doubt take place. Ashitaka couldn't smell the burning yet, upwind as he was. The cool gusts pushed at his back, and even Yakkuru sensed his urgency, galloping as quickly as he could. His hoof beats were dull on the narrow, loam-strewn road, his ragged breathing all but drowning out the sound. Ashitaka's own breath came quickly, harshly. The thin smoke spreading out over the sky worried him. He prayed there was something still of Iron Town left for him. He mentally urged his red elk to run even faster.

Abruptly, the end of the road came into view, and they burst out over the crest of the steeply sloping hill leading down to the crescent-shaped field bordering the familiar lake. Without thought, Ashitaka hauled back on the reins, making Yakkuru groan in consternation and dig his hooves into the dew-damp grass. The elk eventually slowed and loped easily down the rest of the hill. Ashitaka pushed himself up in the saddle with his knees and stared in horror at the spectacle below. Pitch black smoke rose from a portion of Iron Town's smoldering gates and in patches throughout the eastern district. He could only dimly hear the sounds of battle, blown away from him by the seemingly teasing breeze. As his eyes swept over the field, his heart panged inside his chest at the sight of fallen men and animals. Most, but not all, of the men wore Asano's colors, many with armor. There were many more dead beasts—some unimaginably huge—scattered around. Ashitaka gaped at the carcass of an enormous eagle lying talons-up at the end of a long track of torn up earth. Creatures of all shapes and sizes lay immobile all around. Yakkuru seemed to sense his distress and shook his massive horns, grunting. Ashitaka forced his dry mouth to close and swallowed.

Was San down there somewhere?

The teeming motions at the town's gates didn't escape his attention. It appeared that the battle was still in action, but only in scattered pockets here and there. It was practically over, and Ashitaka felt a knot of dread in his stomach when he considered who the victor probably was. Even with the help from Kawashimo, it didn't look as though things were going well for Iron Town. Asano's army of mercenaries was too enormous.

He swayed in the saddle, hand clutching the shoulder that throbbed like a second heart, every beat pumping pure agony through his veins. He was surprised to find his face suddenly level with the ground. Yakkuru's broad muzzle nudged him in the side. Panting, Ashitaka glanced at his hand. The few vestiges of pink human flesh were disappearing, yielding to the purplish-black curse mark. Ashitaka focused on his breathing, trying to control his thoughts. It was hard to convince himself that San was alright, that she wasn't torn and broken out on the field, her clear blue eyes misty and unblinking. So hard.

It was many minutes before he was able to get up. The pain never faded, but it withdrew, like the tide of an ever-present ocean that threatened to sweep him away at any moment.

There was still hope. San was strong. She was still alive. Even if it was just the slightest of chances, he would cling to that hope. She needed his help.

Slowly, Ashitaka got to his feet. He realized he was trembling. No. He was so close. He would find her. She was alright. Find her. He let that thought guide his feet as he half-stumbled down onto the level field. He paid no mind to the slain men and beasts surrounding him. Yakkuru plodded along behind him, huffing with agitation. Before he was halfway to the lake's edge, he caught sight of movement across the blood-stained field. A pair of mounted warriors was riding hard in his direction. The only standing, living things within half a mile, Ashitaka supposed he and the elk stood out. It was not difficult to determine to whose allegiance the riders rode. Even from afar off, the red and white armor that covered both them and their horses was glaringly visible. Ashitaka's eyes could see them readying bows.

No.

The men shouted something barely intelligible to each other and picked up their pace. They were just over a quarter mile away from them.

He had to find San.

The two warriors nocked arrows, still out of range but quickly closing the gap.

Where was San? He turned his head and began searching among the grass and rocks for some sign of her.

The sound of the horses' hoof beats became clearer, closer.

He had to find her. He gripped the crystal dagger hanging from his neck so tightly he could feel warm, wet blood oozing between his fingers.

The warriors drew their bowstrings back, just a hundred paces away.

He lived for San. Life without her…..it didn't exist.

Waves of tormenting pain washed over him without warning. He felt like he was on fire from head to toe. His knees buckled, and he stumbled, screaming, gripping his wounded shoulder. That was molten iron. The pain blinded him. It ripped his breath away, and yet, the sound of his own pain-wracked cries deafened him. He was no longer aware of the coming warriors. He was not even aware of the earth under his hands and knees. All there was…..agony. Burning him alive. Tearing his soul apart.

No. There was something else, too. Cool, like water from a spring. It caressed him, soft and weak, but he could feel it. He tried to snatch it, to locate it, but it danced just out of reach.

He knew now how Nago felt, becoming a demon. Surely it could be no worse than this. The demon mark throbbed, searing his skin. Did he even have skin anymore? He felt like he had become flame.

The cool ribbon fluttered past him again. He tried to open his eyes to see it, but there was nothing. Through his blurred vision, he vaguely saw shapes coming towards him. Not the cool comfort he desperately sought. His insides roiled turbulently as the fire consumed him.

San. Where was San? Where was she?

He couldn't die. Not yet. Not until he found her. Held her to make sure she was real and safe.

The cool touch caressed his fiery cheek. He looked up. San's face—so hard, and yet so unspeakably soft—was gazing at him. Her eyes were full of love. For him.

"Ashitaka." Her voice echoed in his mind.

He collapsed, face down to the earth as the excruciating pain suddenly vanished. Vanished as if it had never been. Dazed, Ashitaka blinked. Sight and sound were both becoming clearer. He could feel the solid ground beneath him.

San's voice was ghostly in his memory.

Looking up, he saw the mounted warriors approaching. The pain, everything, seemed to have been only an instant. He saw the muscles wielding the bows straining, saw the sweat on their brow, the creases in their violence-filled features. He rose to his knees. He thought he should be utterly wasted, without a scrap of strength left in his body after enduring that wave. But on the contrary, he felt…..whole. There was something else as well. A presence…..a strength he had never before recognized.

He turned his attention to the warriors aiming their bows at him.

No. He would not die. Not until he found her.

"Stay back!!!" he bellowed at them. His voice was surprisingly loud. The galloping horses stopped short and reared up suddenly, squealing and kicking. The mounted warriors, too late to hold on, tumbled out of their saddles. Ashitaka remained where he was. He felt unconcerned. The soldiers were nothing to him. Only San mattered now. He turned his gaze to the field, to the pockets of beasts and men still fighting one another. The battle was hottest just outside the gates, where Kawashimo's men made their stand outside smoking timbers. He couldn't see San anywhere. Was she inside the town?

The two warriors were recovering themselves. With a mixture of anger and just a little disbelief, maybe even fear, they drew their swords, completely ignoring their fleeing, bucking horses. They glanced at each other uncertainly, approaching with caution. Ashitaka felt something ripple inside his arm, like his flesh was a writhing, suffocating fish. This whole skin tingled as he reached out with his senses, trying to locate San with his demon-given powers. Would they work if she was dead? No! Ashitaka shook his head fiercely. He refused to let himself think, even for a moment, that that might be so.

The two soldiers froze, staring at him as if he was mad. Ashitaka grasped his arm tightly. All he had left now was the burning desire to see San, to hold her, to whisper words of love into her ear. No warriors, no war was going to keep him from her. Before he realized it, he had taken off running, so quick he practically trampled the two warriors holding him at bay. Grass and rocks and bloody carcasses blurred beneath his feet. He was dimly aware of Yakkuru galloping behind him, falling behind in his wake. He came to a stop abruptly next to a large white mass. Too soft to be stone, yet hard as rock beneath the thick, shaggy fur, Ashitaka recognized the beast. In all his life, he'd only known of three wolves this size, gods of the ancient forest and San's adoptive family. The wolf's mouth was open, exposing its glistening teeth. Flies already buzzed around its staring amber eyes. Its body was covered every inch with wounds long crusted over. Its tail was missing, only a stump in its place. Ashitaka's breath left him for a second as his worst dread was confirmed. He'd already known it, felt it, but seeing the wolf god lying still on the field shredded his last hopes that San had stayed away, safe from the slaughter. His throat tightened, and he ripped his eyes away from the god's prone form. They settled on the town. The cacophony of guns and shouting were much clearer to his ears now. How many of his loved ones were left alive? San. Kaya. Toki. All of his friends and family were in Iron Town. Were they dead like the wolf? Was he too late?

"No," his voice grated harshly through his clenched teeth. He stepped away from San's dead brother. This had to stop. His thoughts warred with each other. He was too late. No, she was still alive. He was only one man against many. But couldn't he do something? He let his mind search, seeking out her presence, and he felt like he was staring into a blank void.

His arm shook so badly he could barely control it. His whole frame trembled.

"No!" he cried. "San!" She couldn't be dead! But he still couldn't feel her. No! He wouldn't let her die!

His fist connected with the ear with an earsplitting noise. It echoed like thunder over the field. His stomach lurched slightly as the ground beneath him sank and rose. From the spot where he knelt, the corpse-covered land rippled like a shaken sheet, even while the spot beneath his own feet continued to heave. The wave spread toward the lake, pushing through the water; it rose higher and higher to crash violently against the pylons Iron Town was built on. The water broke like glass, reaching dozens of feet high. Even the sturdy walls of Iron Town shook, swaying like a drunken man. In the wake of the echoes, the whole world seemed to fall silent. Ashitaka, dumbstruck, sat there on the ground, barely holding himself up. What was this power? It had gotten phenomenally stronger since leaving the capitol. Would he be able to control it?

He was shocked to find there was no pain. No searing agony burning him away. He felt disoriented, and worried, but nothing else. He tried again to reach out to San with his mind, to locate her. With this power, surely he could find her. He could save her.

Picking himself up, he began making his way towards Iron Town—slowly at first, as the thunderous noise of the very ground being rent reverberated throughout the valley. His legs moved faster and faster, until he was certain he could outrun the wind.

Directly ahead of him was a knot of some thirty or so mercenaries tending to their own wounded. They appeared shaken and startled by the earthquake. One caught notice of him approaching and drew sword, calling out to the man nearest him, who did likewise. Ashitaka blew through their makeshift camp like an arrow from a crossbow, leaving them without a second glance.

"San." Now in the town square, surrounded by red and white-clad mercenaries, Ashitaka stopped and looked around, hoping to sense the best direction to locate San. He scarcely noticed the great cracks in the ground or the expressions of stunned people trying to find their footing. He was attracting stares, he noticed. But did it matter?

More than one thoughtless mercenary raised a bow or spear and gaped at him distrustfully. Right. Iron Town was now the camp of the enemy. He had no wish to fight any of them, but would these people listen to him? Would they stop this idiotic war? He thought about the Emperor's letter tucked inside his shirt. Before he could even decide whether or not to pull the mandate out, ht heard the twanging of a released bowstring, and saw a quick blur out of the corner of his eye. He flicked his wrist and caught a long, black-feathered shaft between his fingers. The hairs on the back of his neck quivered, and he wheeled around suddenly as two more bowmen released their volleys at him. He snatched them out of the air. Perhaps they wouldn't be willing to listen, Ashitaka thought regretfully, looking into their awestruck faces.

"I don't have time for this!" he called out loudly. "Stop this fighting at once!" As he clenched the fist holding the three arrows, he snapped them effortlessly and let the pieces drop to his feet. All the mercenaries' eyes on him, he ran off once more into the town. The men behind him were utterly silent, shocked first by the quake, and then by the demon in their midst. He paid them little heed, thoughts and energy both returning to his love as he began to scour the town.

Author's Notes: I hate to split chapters up, but this one runs pretty long, and I know a lot of people have been impatient for an update. Part of that blame goes to my computer, or rather the virus that infected my computer and destroyed every file I had on it. All I've got is my jump drive now, and my computer's still being worked on. (GAAAHHHHH!!!! frustration) So, anyway, please continue to put up with me, and I'll have the rest of the final chapter up ASAP.