Chapter 14: Be Still
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Despite the declaration of war, life carried on at its usual pace. The changes made- if any- were subtle, extra weapon drills squeezed in between idle coffee sessions, haggard-looking caravan traders who dropped by for trades of iron and bronze, the exchange of gold for forged steel under the Council's watchful gaze; most of it was kept out of sight.
Rukia had barely noticed it and by the mark of the second moon, her life in the tribe had settled into a routine. It was simple and her to-do list remarkably shorter: get up, breathe, don't think about the sweven or the upcoming war, pretend to sleep, repeat.
Her mornings were designed to be productive.
Between health visits and foraging for raw materials in the area surrounding the camp, the constant stream of engaging and distracting hard work in the company of Nanao, Nemu and sometimes even the Kurosaki twins kept her destructive thoughts to a minimum. Her nights though were restless and fitful in the arms of nightly terrors that were beyond her control. Wearing herself down to the point of exhaustion worked in her favour. Those were the nights she was too tired to even dream, yet sleepless nights remained a ready occurrence.
She could see the mark they left on her- the dark circles under her eyes and a snappish temper that she kept behind her smiles that never quite reached her eyes. There were days when even the sight of food was disagreeable and she was so angry at herself.
What was she even doing- how could she allow herself to eat when there were so many things still left to be done?
When the twins commented that she had lost weight the week before though, Rukia had laughed it off with ease, deflecting concerns with an offhanded remark about the weather being too hot to eat. Yet some part of her was left to wonder; how far and for how long can she keep up appearances- feigning interest and faking smiles until someone as perceptive as Nanao caught on.
What would she say then?
What lies would she tell them when confronted about her shaking fingers and screaming fits in the middle of the night?
She sighed as she put on her caftan, waving goodbye to Nemu and Nanao as she left for her morning supply run.
She had more questions than she knew the answers to.
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It was barely noon but her clothes were already damp with sweat.
This barren stretch of land before her breathed no signs of life for miles on end save a few lonely trees that sprung up in no apparent order. The vast emptiness of it tugged at her heartstrings- echoing a song of loss that she knew from her dreams.
Feelings of homesickness filled her; the comforts of her old world- lush and leafy, the thrum of magic that jumped to life with a snap of her fingers; memories from another lifetime ago. The distance that spanned between her and her home- her heart, was more than physical.
Rukia swiped at the trail of sweat from her forehead, forcing herself to look away as she turned her back to it. She tugged the hood of her caftan lower, tried to keep herself covered under her clothes.
The sun's glare was unbearably harsh. Parts of her skin left exposed felt like they were being lit on fire.
This heat was not normal- extreme even by the tribesmen's standards. The sweltering heat wave stewed and festered, bringing everything under the sun to its knees while the desert wind raged, its bite harsh and dry. The combination of sun and hot air was toxic and threatened their precious water supply. In the desert lands, the latter spelled a different sort of doom for all things living.
But that was the least of her worries at the moment.
A storm was coming.
Rukia could feel it in her bones. Something in the brush of the air against her too-warm skin sent a belated warning but by then, it was already too late.
She cursed, gritting her teeth as she hastened her pace towards the tribe, basket heavy with the pickings from her morning excursion and her mouth drawn into a tight line from the effort. She still had ways to go, having ventured further than normal today of all days for better supplies.
Knowing her luck, she wouldn't be surprised if she found herself swept up in its warpath.
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There was something indulgent in the curl of the excess of hot air- bringing sluggishness to movements, heaviness to eyelids. He shut his eyes and allowed his breathing to even. The world drew to a silence; conversations halted and then—
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Thwack!
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He yelped, sitting upright and eyes wide open. The glare that his aunt shot him was disapproving and sharp.
"How can you sleep at a time like this?" she hissed.
Ichigo shrugged, muffling the yawn with the back of his hand. It could not be helped; he would much rather spend his day under the sun shoeing a horse or leading his men at weapons practice than this.
"Can't we just agree that I will lead the charge and leave it at that? At least until after the meeting with the Vizards and Shinigamis? We're not even sure about the Espada's whereabouts let alone draw up a battle plan against them!"
There must be something else that they can do besides this, he thought; running a hand through his hair as he vented. Talk was cheap- talks of war even more so; the intent wasn't there and the warrior in him felt slighted.
War and conflict was a thing that needed to be felt, the rush of emotions as lines began to blur and instincts took over. Just the two of them here, sitting down and talking the plans over would never amount to anything worthwhile.
"You are not thinking things through!" Yoruichi chided, "Even as allies, the tribe cannot show weakness before the Vizards or the Shinigamis. How do you think it would look if we start off the meeting behaving as though we had not given due considerations about the upcoming battle?"
Yoruichi's glower was dark. A man harped often enough about the glory of crossing blades, sang enough songs about dying upon his sword and the honour of it; a woman knew better- she lived through the horrors.
"You're not taking this seriously enough! War isn't just waged over a single battle. There are other things to consider as well. How large of an army can you raise? How many blades can you spare? How would you clothe and feed these men?"
The sheepish look he gave her as he scratched at the back of his nape had her rolling her eyes. A boy playing at the role of a general; she winced- he'd lead those men to their graves without her.
"Do you want to be taken seriously or not?"
Ichigo winced, suitably chastised. Yoruichi was right of course, and whatever criticism she deemed fit to hurl at him, he would accept it- thankful for her guidance and support. Her presence lent credibility to his decision to declare war. Anyone else would have turned tail and ran; as many would attest the price for going against the Espadas was steep.
He forced his attention to the map spread out before him. The lamb skin underneath his fingertips was soft and delicate as he traced the little marks made. The words- characters etched to the sides made little sense to him but Uryuu had spent enough time to make sure he could read a map unaided.
His finger tapped, sliding across the map as they traced the travel route to be taken. The tribe was moving southwards to the trading ports. With luck Uryuu's mission would be successful and the three tribes would reconvene at the arranged site, right at the outskirts of the Rukongai- three stops from now and presumably the next city that the Espadas sought to pillage and conquer.
The meeting wasn't due for at least another six moons. Enough time to drill his men, prepare the necessary supplies, solve potential logistics issues, and yield enough gold from the trades on route to fund their campaign.
"What's the asking price for iron ore these days?"
Yoruichi made a face. "We're being fleeced. The traders are charging us an arm and a leg for it- an uqiyyah of ground pepper for it- pound for pound!–" she scoffed –"I wasn't born yesterday! We might need to rethink our strategy of smelting our own wea–"
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"Sandstorm!"
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The frantic shouts outside drew his attention. He met his aunt's gaze as they both sprinted out of the tent.
Giants made of dust-laden cloud were coming at them. The winds brought forth their rage and the bite of it was gritty and dry, sucking the moisture out of the air like marrow from bones. The miasmic plumes loomed tall and towered over all things living, throwing their world into darkness as the sun disappears behind them.
"Is everyone accounted for?" he shouted.
The Council had gathered before his bayt and the elders bobbed their heads, drawing their scarves tightly across their faces as the wind picked up speed.
Ichigo's relief was palpable. One did not outrun a storm; one waited it out- as long as his people were accounted for, he would rest easy knowing whatever damage that was incurred was likely to be structural and replaceable. The desert people were hardy and made a living out of rebuilding their lives from tragedies.
This one would be no different to the rest.
"Rukia is missing!"
His attention shifted. Nanao- the widow's hair was in disarray and her fists bundled at her skirts as she approached him.
"She hasn't returned since morning. I've looked everywhere else for her."
He squinted.
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There!
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Visibility was poor under the clouds of dust but he thought he could just make out the silhouette of a lone figure in the distance, basket in one arm and making her way towards the tribe.
That stupid woman!
What was she even doing out in the open? She was never going to make it back to them in time with that heavy load. She should have just dropped the basket and come running back to the tribe at the very first instance of seeing the dust clouds gathering.
His scowl was deep. There wasn't even much time left to react, let alone think.
"Ichigo! Stop!"
"My sheikh! You mustn't—"
He ignored them and called for Zangetsu. The war horse came charging through- a blur of shadows as the sleek black animal sent onlookers dodging in every direction possible to avoid the charge of heavy hooves. Saddleless and rein-less, Ichigo jumped on to his horse and took off in the direction of the healer.
He had faith in his instincts and Zangetsu. They would find her.
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Her world was cast in shades of brown and grey as she stumbled half-blind through the ordeal of dust clouds and hot air.
The air was dry and the dust stung her eyes. Rukia drew the caftan tighter around her face as she made her progress slowly. The thick plumes of dust distorted her senses, she couldn't see anything, couldn't even tell you if she was headed in the right direction, and it was just as hard to hear as the wind howled.
The obvious thing to do was to seek shelter and wait the storm out but where?
There wasn't even a tree in sight let alone a rock to hide under. She frowned, frustrated at herself.
How did she let herself into getting stranded in the middle of a sandstorm?
Now she was going to die. Buried under a mountain of sand without even a stone to mark her grave and she probably deserved every bit of the pain and suffering leading to it. She was unworthy of Shirayuki's sacrifice, weak–
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A body collided with hers, tackling her on to the sandy ground. The wind knocked right out of her as she landed on her back.
The hood of her caftan slid low over her eyes and her world became dark.
Rukia stiffened, too surprised to even react until she felt the breath of another warming her cheeks. The shoulders were broad- too broad to be a woman's, the nervous bob of his Adam's apple as he gulped and the beating of his heart too loud- loud enough to drown out the roar of the desert wind and mimicked the terseness of her own.
A man's body lied on top of her; pinning her down.
With that realization, things fell into place- she was kicking and squirming away, hands clawing at her assailant's face as anger flooded her tiny body.
How dare this… this … animal seek to take advantage of her under these dire circumstances?
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Ichigo growled, narrowly avoiding her punches as his hands shot to grip at her wrists; thighs bracketing her hips to avoid her kicks. This was not the hero's welcome that he was expecting.
He didn't leap off a horse to risk getting disfigured or kicked at!
"Hey! Stop that! It's me!"
Her struggling ceased as she recognized the voice. It should scare her how vividly she could picture the edges to his face- see the curl of his lips and the deep furrow in his brows even without her sight.
"Ichigo?"
"Who else?"
He caught her. A hand cradling the back of her head as they tumbled to soften the impact.
Her body- soft, small, impossibly more delicate than he had ever imagined- was pressed tightly to his and it made him mindful of the way their bodies landed to avoid crushing her. He had little doubt that Zangetsu would survive and come back to him in one piece. Rukia though was the sort of woman he could imagine being blown away by the wind.
Safe, he would keep her safe.
He threw his cloak over them, successful in his attempts despite the furious tug-of-war with the elements. Then, underneath it, he shielded her body with his own- willing her to stay grounded under him; keeping their bodies small and flat.
"What are you doing?" she hissed.
Rukia gulped nervously. The rustling of cloth in the wild winds was unbearably loud before a shadow was cast over and her world became a cocoon- dark, tight and cramped with Ichigo hovering over her. Sweat dripped and in this enclosed space, every greedy breath of air she took in was tinged with the sharpness of his scent.
Shoulders lined, front to front.
They were too close like this- close enough for her to smell him and hear the beating of his heart. His hand at the back of her head moved to tuck her into the crook in his shoulder while the other supported the brunt of his weight. He faced her- head resting at the crook of her shoulder, a good perch as any with the softness of her hair cushioning his face against coarse sand.
Her face burned.
His touch was much too warm; his body feverish, and in this stifling heat, felt scalding on her. Her hands- she thought in sudden panic; what should she do with her hands?
"Keep as still as possible. It'll be over before you know it, I promise."
The reply felt strangely intimate as he whispered into her ear. Her mouth felt dry and the shell of her ear tingled from where his lips stilled. She could feel goosebumps rising in the wake.
She shuddered at the ticklish sensation.
"Stop squirming!"
His reprimand had the opposite effect as warm air fanned her burning cheeks. She rolled her eyes, retorting just as harshly to him, "Then stop breathing so close to me!"
It wasn't like she was doing it on purpose for crying out loud! This situation was embarrassing enough as it was.
"Are you ticklish?"
"Are you stupid?"
He growled. Warm hands that gripped her tightened.
"The first and last time I'd ever try to rescue you from something!"
"Duly noted," came her clipped tone.
They settled into a tenuous agreement of silence after that.
Ichigo was tight-lipped, occupied by the measure of control he exercised on his body, the strain on his muscles as he carefully kept his weight off her. The grit of teeth, the salt from his sweat, the slight tremor from over-exertion- she could feel them.
Her arms stilled by her side- joints aching, raking her nails through sand and clenching fistfuls of them while trying to breathe through her nose. It was much harder than it looked.
Time passed agonizingly slow. She lost count after the hundredth heartbeat.
The howl of wind remained angry and indecipherable to her ears but Ichigo was a child of the desert- thoroughbred and well-taught; knew of the nuances in the high notes of desert wind as well as her lulls.
He lifted the cloak as soon as he could feel the storm dying.
The sun was blinding in the outside world and air- sweet, merciful, divine air filled his lungs. A shadow loomed over him, blocking the sun and his eyes peered lazily over that of Zangetsu's, softly neighing as it came to nuzzle at his face. The warm air the horse breathed was dank and mildly nauseating but Ichigo tolerated it.
Unlike some people, he happened to have a working concept of what gratitude was.
"A 'thank you' would be nice, Rukia."
Violet eyes narrowed at him. The woman flung herself as far as she could from him the instant he lifted the cloak off. Her eagerness to get away was almost amusing- the sharp tongue she had on her less so.
"This is not proper, my sheikh. It's Healer Rukia," she said.
"I'm hurt-" a hand pressed to his heart as he picked himself up- "I thought we were friends. Besides, I'm just returning the favour, Rukia."
Her cheeks coloured. She was carefully avoiding his eyes as she brushed off the sand on her clothes.
"Forgive me. It was a careless slip of the tongue in a moment of panic. I wouldn't have- I shouldn't have- I mean, we are not friends."
Ichigo frowned.
"But we can be though. I would like to be your friend if you would let me. But if you don't want to—"
She hesitated. He recognized the nervousness in her movement as she tugged at her caftan, finding a pattern in the swirl of the sand beneath them. He'd make it easier for her- show her in the most direct way possible how a friendship with the most powerful man in the tribe would benefit her.
"It's a shame though. To think that you'd have to walk all the way back to the tribe when I have a horse with me and there's more than enough room on Zangetsu for you. But then again, rules exist for a reason. It wouldn't be proper for one."
Rukia had to crane her neck to meet his gaze. A look of disbelief from her as if to ask when the issue of propriety, or the lack thereof had ever bothered him.
"Now if we were friends though," he smirked, "I wouldn't mind sharing. A sheikh is allowed to take certain liberties after all and as the friend of such a powerful man, I would imagine certain rules need not be applied."
Rukia chewed at her lower lip, mulling over his offer, then, won over by his brand of logic, "O-Okay."
He thought that she would see it his way. Smart girl.
He mounted Zangetsu and wordlessly steered the horse towards the still kneeling woman.
"Well come on, Rukia. What are you waiting for? An invitation?"
Smugness laced his tone as he tilted his head, extending a hand to her. Her flushed cheeks and narrowed eyes made for quite a sight when combined with her fierce scowl. He could tell that she was annoyed at his casual address of her. Yoruichi would cuff his ears, talk his head off about how his behaviour wasn't proper if she was here but he couldn't have cared less.
Rukia took his hand.
For a moment, he marvelled at the smallness of her hands and how fragile her body felt as he set her in front of him. He stared at the back of her head, frowning as he recalled how easy it was to lift her by the waist. He could snap her in half if he wasn't careful and a wolf could just as easily maul her into bits in this savage land that they called home.
This woman must be either very brave or just plain stupid enough to escape from her destroyed city and cast her lots with them. Desert life was not for everyone. Life as a wandering nomad was hard and only made somewhat bearable with a tribe to call your own.
"Whenever you're ready but preferably before we both die of old age," her voice chimed with a strong hint of sarcasm that had him almost dropping her face-first to the ground.
He bit his tongue.
How could he forget?
With that sharp tongue of hers, she might just feel at home with the local wildlife that ranged from snakes to scorpions. Her words certainly carried the sting of the latter.
This woman that Yoruichi had called a double-edged sword; recognized the damage that could be dealt from her if they slipped up- Ichigo couldn't make up his mind about her. He stayed true to his plans of winning her over, turning her into an ally but to a woman like her- what did she truly make of his friendship?
What would she do now that she has it?
Would he live to regret his decision of befriending her?
He dug his heels into the horse's sides and without warning, spurred Zangetsu into a run.
The way her exotic eyes lit up with anger as she glared- he hid his smile, avoiding her gaze as he stared resolutely into the horizon; worth every bit of it. And if anyone were to accuse him of riling the healer up intentionally, he certainly wasn't going to admit it.
It certainly wasn't because he liked the little yelp of surprise she gave as her body slid backwards against him.
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Zangetsu slowed to a trot as the tribe came into view. As soon as Ichigo dismounted, he was enveloped into a fierce hug by the twins. After much cajoling and a stern promise to never do that again, he was released from their tight grips and allowed to breathe.
Then turning his gaze to Rukia still sitting astride Zangetsu, he bowed exaggeratedly much to the embarrassment of the healer and with courteousness that would have made his aunt beam with pride, helped her dismount.
The fire in her eyes promised retribution even as she accepted his helping hand but he merely grinned, letting the warmth of her hand in his and the fit of her waist in his arms still his mind.
The tenseness in the air did not dissipate.
His eyes flitted over to the gathered Council, standing on ceremony and eyes incredibly shifty. Yoruichi's expression was grim and he knew something was wrong, more so when he saw the obvious gloating on Grimmjow's face.
"You've actually gone and outdone yourself this time, Cousin."
Ichigo narrowed his eyes.
"Speak plainly, Grimmjow. Subtlety doesn't suit you. What do you mean?"
"It's a sign," Grimmjow replied, "While you were gone the Council has agreed that the sandstorm is a sign sent by the ancestors and spirits. They do not look favourably to the upcoming war with the Espada and you have offended them with your decision to make war. We will hold a meeting in a weeks' time to decide if you are indeed worthy of the position of Sheikh."
Ichigo clenched his fist and bit the inside of his cheek so hard that he tasted blood. They wouldn't dare- not when everything he worked for, the alliance that Uryuu was securing on his behalf, the promise for vengeance itself so sweet and tempting.
They can't do this to him- not now.
"Bullshit!"
Grimmjow's tone was mocking as he said, "And yet the Council has agreed. Surely you're not going to go against the decision of the Council, my sheikh?"
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Author's note:
This week has been harder than most. NGL I feel drained but I hope you enjoy this chapter.