Chapter Twenty-Six
9 days after the battle;
The next time I came to, I felt more aware. My body throbbed and ached and my lungs burned, never feeling fully satisfied with air. I felt like I needed to gasp or pant for air to satisfy my body's desire for more oxygen. But the quicker breaths brought on more pain, and each breath became a hiss through gritted teeth.
"Cousin Osamu!" A girl's voice exclaimed. "You are awake!"
I recognised the voice and cracked my eyes open. The light was wan and cool from beyond the screens, suggestive of a dull October morning, or afternoon. I was not sure.
Nou had been sat at the foot of where I lay, where a low table rested with items on top. I could not see what exactly as my eyes were still unfocused. Whatever Nou had been doing, she dropped on to the table and hurried over next to me, where she stood for a moment, clenching her hands and looking worried.
"I will find Haha-ue. Don't move, cousin."
Nou spun around and left the room, her hurried padded steps fading into the distance. I squeezed my eyes shut again, not fully registering what she said and returned to focusing on my breathing. I clenched my jaw, and forced myself to breathe slowly. With the slowness, came care, and so did more oxygen. It still hurt, and my breath wheezed like the howling wind outside.
The weather had changed considerably then from when I was last on the battlefield.
How long ago had that been?
While I lay there, controlling my breathing, I tried to remember what had happened. The most reassuring thing, was that I was at Inabayama Castle, otherwise Nou would not have been at the foot of my bed. So that meant I was safe. The pain however was another thing, and I felt the tears of pain prick at the corners of my eyes. The pain was mostly in my chest on the left side, and my left wrist. All of the other aches and pains were far more manageable by comparison.
As I focused on my breath, the memories of the battle came back to me with a wash of emotion and a flare of fear again. I remembered vaguely Ishida and Mitsuhide working over me before it then went entirely blank.
What I could recall after that, could have been anything from dream, hallucination or nightmares. The confusion and agitation was strong, and lying on my back seemed to make it worse. I had the powerful desire to see my surroundings, to know that no gigantic Samurai was in the room with me with a sword to my neck.
Therefore, very slowly and carefully, I pushed myself up using my right hand side. My arm shook, and it was a shock to realise just how weak I felt. Just from the action alone, I felt the fatigue burn in my muscles.
When I sat up, I brought my legs beneath me to sit in a kneeling position, as it was more comfortable for my chest to breathe than to sit cross-legged.
And so I sat there, feeling the dizziness swim through my head and I half closed my eyes, concentrating on my breathing again as the process of sitting up took far more strength than I realised. I was out of breath.
I listened to the wind at the same time, hearing it whistle and howl outside. The trees whispered a cacophony of hushed sound.
It reminded me of the UK. Wales especially. It was always windy in the UK.
Thinking of my home led me to think about my parents, and how much my heart ached to have them here with me right now. For a moment, I thought they had been, as someone's touch to my head – whether it was dream or reality – felt just like it.
But they couldn't be. This was five hundred years ago in Japan.
I looked down at my hands, and as my vision cleared, I finally realised why my left wrist hurt so much. It was splinted and bound with bandages up to my elbow. Looking at it, reminded me of how it happened. The memory flashed in my mind, like a thunderclap of shock which made me flinch. I could still hear the ring of metal on metal in that defensive block.
Clearly, it had broken my wrist. I remembered how it wrung my katana from my hand as the vibration jarred my brain. I tried to raise it to look closer, but the motion pulled on the muscles even in my chest as well, which brought the next memory back with searing clarity. I had raised my arms in the battle as well, when the giant grabbed me by my hair and hoisted me off the ground. In that split second where I had raised my hands to try and pry his own from my hair, he had impaled me with an arrow deep into my chest.
I knew that had happened, and yet, remembering it now with such clarity, brought a coldness across my body which pierced me deeper than winter's chill.
Flashes of other images, other feelings, flickered through my mind. A river of blood, crushing blackness, a tremendous pull in a direction I did not want to go, two children shrouded in pale emerald auras, and a man of silver light.
Were they imaginings? Dreams? Memories?
I could not tell, nor remember. They felt like a dream slipping away, as they so often did when one woke from sleep. As much as I tried to grasp those images and the emotions that came with them, they were slipping through my fingers like smoke.
"No, no, no," I whispered, my voice barely audible. Those images, those feelings, were important. I knew it. They tied to Mitsuhide, of whom I now felt a completely irrational attachment to, as if he were my literal life line and not seeing him at the present time was enough to feel like I was shattered vase, barely holding shape. And yet they were disappearing before my very awareness.
The whisper scratched at my throat, forcing me to look away from my dream memories and to look at my physical self. My throat was as dry as parched wood. I was so thirsty . . . and hungry. So hungry and thirsty I felt sick, which put me off the idea of having anything to drink and eat.
I did not realise it, but a groaned softly. It was a sound of misery, pain and discomfort. I just wanted to switch off, for it all to go away. To go blank.
"Osamu?"
The voice of Omi-no-Kata was clear and reassuring. Yet strange at the same time. It felt like it had been a long time since I last heard her voice, when in reality it had only been a few days prior to battle. I felt disconnected and disorientated. My body was here, but my mind was not. My mind felt . . . fragile, as fragile as my body was wounded and weak.
I had never come so close to death before. I had never been as wounded as this previously. And in all my worst experiences, my parents, had always been there to look after me and put the pieces back together.
When I looked at Omi-no-Kata step into the room, I looked at her with confusion, wondering why it was her coming in, and not my mother. When I saw Nou trail in behind Omi-no-Kata, I wondered why it was the little princess and not my own sister, my father's 'little bear', who followed.
"Osamu," Omi-no-Kata said, a relieved smile on her graceful lips. "I cannot tell you how delighted I am to see you awake and sitting. It has been nine days since your battle at the border."
"I made sure nothing bad happened to you while you were sleeping, cousin Osamu. A lot of the men thought you would not make it. But I told them to shut up because it is impossible for you to die," Nou said, pleased. "I was in the process of doing Ikebana for you. So you had something nice to look at when you woke. But you got up before I could finish."
I stared at them, both understanding what they were saying, and yet feeling confused simultaneously.
Disorientated. Disconnected. Fragile. Lost, and lonely.
So lonely.
Something slipped.
I began to weep.
I was only vaguely aware of Omi-no-Kata and Nou coming to my side, placing their hands gently on my shoulders to try and soothe me, to tell me that I was safe and well. That I was in no danger. That I was strong for having lived through my ordeal.
But all I could think of and feel was how much I longed for my family.
"I want my mum. I want my dad. I miss my sister. So . . . so much," I sobbed, lapsing back to English as my brain forgot how to speak Japanese that afternoon. My voice cracked and croaked, and the sobs sent ripping agony through my chest. However, not even that pain could overcome the overwhelming ache in my heart. I reverted back to the eighteen-year-old teenage girl that I had been before I came to Sengoku Japan. My family were so clear in my mind's eye, in my heart and in my memory. Around them, I felt safest and strongest at the same time. It was the one place where I could let my guard down completely and be entirely vulnerable, because they would always be there to put me back together afterwards.
I did not see Omi-no-Kata, nor Nou. I could only see my family in my imagination. They were the ones who were there, in my heart and in my mind, the ones who I wished more than anything in the world to be with me now.
I missed hearing my dad whistle as he walked, and listen to him talk with such enthusiasm about astronomy, the sailing and computers. I missed watching my mum play the piano, eat her cooking and answer her adorably innocent questions, which was a reminder and a great contrast to her fiery temper which labelled her as a dragon mum in my sister's and my childhood. I missed goofing around with my sister, and laughing with her at our sheer stupidity until the tears streamed down our faces.
Even in my imagination, their presence was strong and reassuring, and surrounding myself in that presence, I blocked everything else out that I could not deal with. I could not deal with the fact that I was in a foreign land having almost died in a battle I would never have taken part of if I was still at home in England, in the correct time. I could not deal with the fact that I was so far away from them, both geographically, and in time.
I cried to them, babbling in English everything that had happened to me since I was first taken from my time. I babbled all the goods, of the friends I had made and the family who had taken me in. And I babbled all the bads, of having to act and dress as a man to ensure I could retain some freedom, of using my knowledge – which was nothing special in the modern day – to sound intelligent and valuable so I could navigate my way through the complex politics of tradition and feudal power.
Weeping to them about my fears, I told of being lost in this land and in this time, of losing my position which could land me on the streets working as a beggar or prostitute for money and morsels of scrap food. I cried to them about feeling so overpowered and weak in the world of magic and Demons. I sobbed to them of how terrified I was of so nearly dying.
"And now I have a puncture wound in my chest and my wrist is broken!" I wept, my voice an intense rasp as I suddenly realised I could no longer hold my katana to defend myself.
When I thought my body could no longer cry from the pain it brought my chest, my words, spoken physically, and those spoken in my mind, brought them back in newfound waves of heaving emotion.
Death, unlocked all the feelings I had kept to myself. It sucked away the layers of control I had built up over the years of discipline under the Samurai Way. It left me feeling . . . raw.
In the chaotic space of my mind and the blur of colours my tears had blinded me to, I imagined and felt my father's arms around me, and I sank into them. They were big. Strong. Comforting.
I could almost feel my mother's hand against my head, stroking my hair. It was a soothing touch, and with each stroke, it took more of the pain away. Those arms held me together, and the soothing stroke took and cleansed all the emotional hurt away.
A healing sleep beckoned, one this time to heal the pains of the heart, whereas the previous sleeps had been to heal the body.
I did not fight it, believing I was back home, surrounded by my family, and would see them when I awoke again. How desperately I wished to see them, to hug them, and to talk to them.
Xxxxx
It was some time after Aki had fallen exhaustively silent, that Mitsuhide finally laid her back in her bed. He had heard her weeping as he finished a discussion with Dousan and Yoshitatsu. It was a quiet sound, strained from her damaged lungs. But in no way did it lessen the sheer emotion which came from her staggered sobs. He had never heard such powerful emotion from her before.
She was talking, and at first Mitsuhide had been confused as despite hearing her voice, he could not make sense of the sounds of the words she made. But then as he drew closer, he realised it was English, and he could understand what she said, while his aunt and cousin could not.
They let him take over when he entered. At first, he was not sure whether he should, or could. Hearing the longing and ache in Aki's voice was heartbreaking. It gripped him around the throat, holding him just outside, until he realised it was the lump of feeling which lodged in his throat, as it would do anyone who was moved by great emotion. He did not know if he deserved to go to Aki, not when he felt entirely responsible for what had happened on the battlefield.
But Mitsuhide's body moved him, and he found himself at Aki's side as his aunt and cousin made way for him.
He explained to his aunt and cousin that Aki was speaking her mother-tongue, and he understood most of it given Aki had taught him over the years. It was some time extra, before he lay Aki back down, that the rest of the words and their meaning fell into place. His aunt and cousin could not understand why Aki spoke in her mother-tongue when she knew they would not understand her.
Mitsuhide did not want to tell them that it was because Aki was not talking to – nor thinking to – them at all. Not even to Mitsuhide, even though he heard her thoughts loud and clear when she could not physically speak them.
She spoke to her mother and father. She spoke to her sister. And he heard how much she missed them, how lost and alone she felt, how afraid and vulnerable she felt. He heard and felt how much she loved them.
He heard everything.
Mitsuhide's heart led him, pushing his own fear aside of being rejected, and he had taken Aki into his arms, as if he could hold her together, to protect her from all the dangers of the outside world, to envelope the rawness of her heart and mind from everything which threatened it, to provide the cover and shield she would need to heal. He stroked her head delicately, remembering how well it worked a few nights ago when she first woke. He could not hold her tight, for fear he would break her. She had always been considered tall for the locals, but within his arms, thin and hollow from starvation, she felt tiny to him. The strong and indestructible woman he had always looked up to and respected, had completely crumpled.
But he could stroke her hair, and in each stroke, he conveyed his resolution to always protect her, to always be there, and to always love her.
One day, he would tell her the latter. But right now, he would not.
Aki was shaken – perhaps even broken – in more ways than one. She needed time to heal, and Mitsuhide was sure it would be delivered. He would make certain of that.
Listening to her, also strengthened another resolution.
The flame of his anger grew stronger, greater than it ever had been, as burning as the sun itself.
But it was a cold anger. An icy anger. A very patient fury.
The pieces fell into place, and the Oni within him, awoke. It was like the shifting of the earth, of feeling its heart begin to beat as the creature within stirred from its ancient slumber. It was as if the moon shut out the sun, encasing the world in darkness which nothing but the natural order could determine. Like the shifting of the tides and the unstoppable path of a storm, Mitsuhide finally knew exactly what he was going to do. And he was going to make it happen.
He was not just an Oni. He was a Prince. And that Prince will become the Emperor.
As the Emperor of Yomi, he would have all the power he needed to eradicate the dangers of the world. He would create the path for Aki to walk where she was protected. Nothing would touch her. Nothing would harm her. Nothing would frighten her.
This, he vowed.
Xxxxx
The next day, I awoke mid-morning. The wind had died down to a less violent one, and I sat with the screen open, letting the air flow in and brush against my face. It helped my chest.
Omi-no-Kata sat with me, feeding me watered down congee in very small portions so it did not upset my stomach too much from essentially having been starved for the last ten days. With my left wrist broken, I could not hold anything, such as the congee bowl. When I had tried to raise the spoon from the bowl myself with my right hand while the bowl rested on the table, it was immediately apparent by the shaking that I could not even do that.
I would have been embarrassed, if it were any other time. But today, I felt too drained, too empty and numb to care about something as simple as embarrassment. My emotional and mental breakdown yesterday seemed to help. Everything which had been piling on my shoulders for the last eight years had all come out, triggered by most of all, the near death experience. I felt lighter . . . yet I also empty, and tired.
After two mouthfuls, I raised my good hand to Omi-no-Kata, pushing the bowl away and shook my head.
"No more," I croaked, feeling the congee already bubble in my stomach. My body desperately needed it, but after having not had any food, besides being fed honey and milk they said while I was unconscious, my stomach was not happy with having to deal with something more solid, watered down as the congee was.
I closed my eyes for a moment, pressing my hand against my mouth and concentrated on trying to keep the congee down.
"You must try and eat more if you can. You have lost a dangerous amount of weight," Omi-no-Kata chided. "You are just skin and bone, my dear. We cannot have you dropping down from starvation when we worked so hard to keep you."
While I focused on not vomiting, I thought on her words, and through the tired emptiness, I felt guilt and gratitude. All of my emotions were still there, but subdued, like a single tiny candle, rather than an inferno of them.
I shook my head again, and when the nausea passed, I lowered my hand, taking an unsteady breath.
"I, mean no offence," I whispered, speaking slowly, having to take a breath almost in between every word. "Stomach, not used, to food. I must, eat slowly."
Even as I spoke those words, I both hated and pitied myself for how weak I was, and those tears touched my eyes again, coming so easily and freely. My lower lip trembled, and I bit on it to try and stop it. But I did not stop the few stray tears which did fall. I was beyond caring at this point at what I must have looked like to others.
Omi-no-Kata lowered the bowl in her lap and her expression fell. "Oh, my dear Osamu. Please do not be upset." She sighed. "Do not misunderstand my meaning. We are very worried for you. You came very close to death and . . ." She trailed off, and I glanced at her, catching her looking out through the screen. She brought her gaze back to me and smiled, hiding the worry which had been there previously. "You really are quite something. Even I never quite expected anything dramatic to happen to you. And I am a very old woman now who has seen much. Very little takes me by surprise anymore. But you did."
I reached up to wipe my tears away, realising she had misinterpreted my tears in the same way she thought I misunderstood her words.
"No," I breathed. "I just, hate, feeling so, weak." Wiping the tears did not help, as more took their place. I let them fall, as it helped convey what I was feeling when I could only speak half of my words. It was a relief, to shed tears without the heaving sobs which came with them.
"Thank you, for taking, care, of me," I said to her. All I could offer her was a bow of my head, as I could not manage leaning forward to bow properly. "Forgive, me, for yesterday."
Omi-no-Kata exhaled softly, and placed the bowl down on the tatami beside her. She poured out some tea into a small cup, which she left on the tray for it to cool. She watched the birds outside in the garden, while I followed the wisps of steam swishing from the cup into the air above.
"While the Japanese way favours and encourages conservative discipline in our mannerisms and expressions, it is also very important to know when emotions should be released," Omi-no-Kata said gently. "You needed to express your feelings, especially given what happened. To keep them within, risks terrible harm to the self, all in mind, body and spirit. And it is very important to confide in those who will mean you no harm. Those whom are close to you."
My shoulders slumped. As much as I appreciated and liked Omi-no-Kata, she was not someone whom I would have considered being close enough to to receive an emotional breakdown like mine. Only my parents and sister had ever been on the receiving end of my worst moments, because they were the only ones I trusted entirely.
"While Nou and I were there with you yesterday, we were just bystanders. It was Mitsuhide who was truly with you, by your side."
I stiffened. Mitsuhide had been there yesterday? He was in the same room as me while I had my guard completely shatter and my composure collapse.
"You fell asleep in his arms," Omi-no-Kata said softly. "He had always been a conscientious boy when he was a child, and it follows him into his adulthood."
I cried myself to sleep in his arms? I thought with mortification, staring at my lap, feeling my face burn. How could such a thing happen? Under normal circumstance I would have never let myself fall apart like that, least of all in front of him. He was one of the few – if not the only one – person whom I cared about how I portrayed myself to. For him to see me at my weakest, both on the battlefield, and in spirit . . .
I hung my head. "What must . . . he think of . . . me," I said, my voice barely audible.
Mentioning his name, began to bring other things back to me. I remembered more clearly now the moment when he arrived and protected me from the giant. I remembered him being with me after he had brought me back to the camp, and how he was the one who had pulled the arrow out. I just about remembered him being there on one of the nights where I think I had woken up and spat out blood. And in between that, were dreams and nightmares, all mingled into one. Just recalling the feelings of those dreams brought a cold shudder across my skin. There had been something old, something ancient, in those nightmares, something primal, as old as time itself, as empty as space, and as crushing as bearing the entire weight of a mountain upon my shoulders alone.
But parallel to the horror I felt in my mind, there had been a silver light the entire way, a light which was as powerful as the maw. It pushed those monstrous forces away, and it dragged me against the flow of the red river I remembered being pulled along within. It encased me in that silver shield.
I could not recall the face which went with the silver force. Logic tried to block it out, to say they were just dreams, just hallucinations which meant nothing.
However, my heart knew, and it was trying to say it loud and clear.
I recognised the presence of the silver light as well as I knew the back of my hand.
Subconsciously, my hand pressed against my chest, trying to ease the squeeze my heart was experiencing.
"Do you know why I took the jade tiger over the dragon, all those years ago? I chose the tiger, because the tiger was, and still is, you. By carrying this charm, I always keep a piece of you close to me. It reassures me, and with it, I feel like you are by my side, giving me advice."
His words trickled back to me while I had lain on that operating table, certain I was going to die. I shut my eyes. Hard.
I don't want to remember what he said. Don't remind me, I begged my memory. But my heart raced, desperate to remember, to reaffirm it, to confirm the underlying meaning, while my mind shied away in terror.
It was a terror greater than when I faced the giant. Greater than when I thought I was going to die.
"You saved my life as a boy, twice . . . and I will always remember, and honour that. Now, I will also save your life, because there is so much more I want to tell you and show you. I . . . There was another reason why I rejected Tsumaki-sama's offer of union."
I remembered his eyes and his tone of voice. I even recalled the feel of his touch as he had stripped my armour away and bound my wrist.
They were the eyes I had only ever read about it romantic novels, or watched in movies played by incredible actors. They were never the kind of eyes I thought I'd see look at me.
"He cares about you," Omi-no-Kata said, both carefully and gently. Yet, it did not sound a surprise to her.
"I am, his retainer," I rasped, clenching my fist. I said those words to try and block it out, to ignore the possibility that Mitsuhide had grown fond of me beyond our general relationship as Lord and retainer, as members of the same family, as best friends. I tried to ignore the sudden realisation, and recollection, of what I too had also felt at the time he said those words.
I tried to remember when it had first started, when my own heart began to have its own ideas before I realised it in the camp. When did I start seeing him as a man, rather than a boy? How did he become a man so quickly?
Stop it! I commanded myself harshly. I am eight years his senior, never mind physically being frozen at eighteen. I am human, he is Oni. He is of this time and this land, I am not. Regardless of what he thinks he feels and what my heart seems to want, the answer has to be NO!
I lowered my fist back to my lap, letting the fingers uncurl. Omi-no-Kata watched me carefully. I did not look at her for the moment, because I did not want her to see into my eyes the sudden screaming of my heart as my mind attempted to bar it. The tears of my heart moistened my eyes, and I looked away to the flowers Nou had arranged in a slender vase on the table at the foot of my bed.
A beat of silence passed between Omi-no-Kata and I.
"Nou spent a great deal of time on arranging them," she finally said lightly, changing the topic. "She assisted me frequently when we were changing your dressings. I believe she will become very proficient in medicines in future."
I was relieved by the change of topic. The corners of my lips twitched in an attempt to smile. "Nou-hime has, great potential. And she, will meet, it."
Thinking of Nou, I felt a little flutter of warmth. She was nothing like my little sister. But she was like a sister nonetheless. I wished she would never have to marry Nobunaga in the future.
I sighed ever so slightly. "I, want, to thank, everyone, who helped, me," I tried to say through my scratchy throat. The talking was making it worse and I winced, looking towards the little cup of tea besides Omi-no-Kata.
She brought it to my lips. "Of course," she agreed. "Let us get some more food into you today though. Then you may be able to have some strength to move around the room with the assistance of a stick, or one of us to support you. I know Akito-san most particularly wishes to speak with you. But I will hold off any visitors until tomorrow. You should have more strength by then. And Mitsuhide should return by then too."
Against my better control, I looked to Omi-no-Kata with a twisted expression. "Return? Where is he?" Despite being ashamed at the idea of his being there with me yesterday during my outburst, and trying to pretend to not acknowledge the implication of his words, as well as my own heart's response, the thought of Mitsuhide not being in the same castle as me while I was so defenceless, frightened me.
Had I really come to depend and rely on him this much? Had I really come to love . . . Mitsuhide?
Omi-no-Kata drew the characters for Yomi on my palm, and I acknowledged it in silence.
Xxxxx
The next day, I sat through a session where Omi-no-Kata changed my dressing around my chest. There was still blood on the bandages, but not as much apparently compared to before. This was blood from where the dried scab over the wound had cracked away from my movement and allowed some new blood to seep through. The wound however was not open anymore, a sign of healing at least. The pain in my chest did not lesson however, and I learnt from Omi-no-Kata that I also had some broken ribs.
But as I looked down at my body while she changed the bandages, I felt nauseous, feeling the two spoons of conjee from earlier that morning, bubble and wobble in my stomach with instability. My entire torso was purple, red, green and yellow with bruises, blooming across my skin like tattoos of sick blossoms.
After seeing it and realising the extent of how badly injured I was, I fell very quiet. I could not believe I had allowed this to happen to my body.
As much as I wished for my parents, I found myself grievously glad that they were not here. I did not want them to see me like this. It would horrify them and break their hearts. Whatever pain my sister and I felt, our parents also felt it as if it were their own. No parent could bear to see their child harmed.
The emotion clogged in my throat again and I blinked hard to hold back my tears. Every thought I had brought the tears of some form or another, and I wanted to let them fall freely. I felt wobbly, both physically and emotionally, as if I was trying to stand on cracking stilts which were a second away from breaking. Letting the tears out seemed to ensure the weight of my emotions did not build and bring me back down again.
Yoshitatsu came to visit me not long after the bandages had been changed. He spoke briefly to me to check up on my health. Even as frail as I had become, his behaviour was quite different compared to the eve of battle. He seemed curious, and respectful. When he stated he never knew I could fight as I did on that day, it then made sense to me why he treated me more of an equal now, despite being a woman.
I fought on par with an Oni that day. I may have lost, but I fought like one of them regardless. I wanted to feel pleased, or somewhat relieved by this sudden shift of opinion in me, to make me feel like I belonged a bit more to the mystical world of magic and sorcery in Japan. To some extent, I did. But I also felt afraid, because in realising my ability, now also brought me closer to the monsters like the one on the battlefield.
After Yoshitatsu's visit, I sat by the open screen again, wrapped in a thin cotton blanket. I was still cold, but my body could not bear any more weight than that of the single blanket while I sat. My body had become so weak, and with the amount of weight I had lost, even my sleeping kimono was a heavy weight upon my frame.
Omi-no-Kata sat with me, feeding me another few spoons of congee. She did not speak to me, realising I was too tired to speak for now. Her company was welcome however, and I knew one day I had to pay her back for the care and kindness she had given me.
I lay down afterwards, sleeping a few hours. My body struggled to stay awake any longer than about three hours at a time. The tiredness weighed down on me like an additional weight I could not support.
During that afternoon sleep, I dreamt of my mother. In this dream, she was still sick, undergoing the chemotherapy and radiation treatment. Her energy levels were almost non-existent, and when I woke up, I had a far better idea of just exactly how tired and unwell she had felt during her cancer care.
Thinking of those times, brought a sob. I hated thinking about the times when my mother had been sick, because it was so hard to see someone I loved so much struggle for survival, to see how grey it turned her skin from the poison of chemo, to see how much strength it took her just to walk from one end of the room to the other without falling out of breath from the fatigue of radiotherapy.
I could imagine my mother struggling to see me now, in the same way I struggled to think about her experience.
I swallowed a sob back down. I could not handle the physical pain it brought my chest, and so I turned to look back at the flowers which Nou had arranged for me. It was remarkably beautiful, with one type of purple flower which was the Akechi's bell flower, and two types of long-leafed stalks. It was a normal thing to practice amongst the noble classes and Samurai, being very similar to the kodo practices for incense, chado for the tea ceremony, and of course, calligraphy. Children started young, here. When I was that age, I was playing in the woods on my bike and climbing trees. Though I had been a very adept artist as a child, a budding protege, as my mother had said and my sister grudgingly admitted.
Alas, I chose writing instead, courtesy of my supposed best friend in school at the time who had somehow killed my love for drawing and painting.
Kenji then paid me a visit, and he was apologetic beyond compare, not raising his head from where he bowed and touched his brow to the tatami. He believed he was responsible for my injury and was so ashamed he could not look at me. I wanted to grasp him by the shoulders and sit him up, so I could look him in the eye. He asked permission to commit seppuku for his failure to protect me as my retainer on the field. Kenji had gone to Mitsuhide, he said, to ask originally. But Mitsuhide had told him that would be my decision, as it was me Kenji served in battle, not Mitsuhide.
I was mortified by Kenji's request, and I shook my head. Of course, Kenji did not see, as his face was still glued to the ground.
I said no, and I told him why. In no way had he been responsible for my defeat. Even if he had been fighting right next to me, he – like every other human – would have been cut down by the giant who had come within the Oni's range. I was glad Kenji had not been next to me, otherwise I would have been mourning his death and cursing myself, rather than being able to speak to him, here, alive and recovered, as he was now.
There was nothing for him to feel ashamed of.
However, denying his request to commit seppuku was not one to be taken lightly. Sepukku was a Samurai's final way of retaining their honour, or of reclaiming it.
Therefore I asked him something which I never considered before. I invoked my title and position as Lord and Lady of the Akechi family, and requested that he serve me entirely as my official retainer.
As a retainer myself of Mitsuhide, I never had one for myself officially, besides when in battle when Mitsuhide was not there. But now, for once, though it made my insides squirm at the thought of actually using my title and rank, I thought it was the only way I could save Kenji from his shame, by commanding him to serve me as my official retainer. And if he failed in that, then – no matter how bitter the taste of it was in my mouth – I painfully agreed to the condition he may commit seppuku should he fail in protecting me in the future.
Kenji finally, had raised his head. There was a look in his eyes as he gazed at me. It was the look of a man who felt relief, a man who had a chance at redemption.
His expression hardened with resolve, before he bowed his head again, thanked me, and backed out of the room with reverence.
I felt exhausted again after the encounter, feeling the desire to shut my eyes and doze. But I did not want to lie back down, purely because of the amount of effort and pain it took to lie down and sit back up again on my own.
I despised my limitations, while wishing at the same time for an armchair. There were no armchairs in Japan . . . but there was the wall by the sliding screen leading to the veranda outside.
I sat in the middle of the room next to my bed for some time, thinking about Kenji, and how tired I felt, letting my eyes shut for long moments. I tried to think about the process of using the cane Omi-no-Kata had given me to use to stand up and walk if she was not there. It had been harder than I realised, having tried it this morning. It had been a stark reminder of how little strength I had. Would I be able to slide the screen open by myself though, to let the fresh air in?
Therefore I took another mouthful of congee from the bowl I asked Omi-no-Kata to leave. She was not happy it was going to cold. But its temperature meant little to me at the moment, as all which mattered was having some food slowly re-enter my body to make it strong again. As much as I did not want to eat due to how unsettled it made my stomach, I could hear my mother's voice in my ears, telling me to eat because it was important.
Parents always knew best. Even though she was not here with me, I obeyed. Because in a sense, it was as if she were with me anyway, in my memory, still taking care of me.
My hand shook as I raised the spoon to my lips, but I was able to get most of that spoonful down my throat. However, the cup of tea was something else. Even as I held it, it was heavy. My hands shook, and the surface of the tea rippled like a violent sea, splashing onto my hand.
I put the cup back down, feeling frustration stir at being unable to just hold a cup of tea without spilling it. The frustration settled again, like dust, but there was a current, which kept it stirring slightly in the background as I then tried to stand. With the left wrist broken, I could only use my right side to hold onto the cane. I went slowly, first bringing one knee up so one foot was flat on the ground, while the other still knelt. And leaning on the cane, I used it as a support to struggle to my feet.
It took everything I had. Whatever slivers of strength I had, were completely spent in that one push, and the exhaustion crashed over my head like a tidal wave. My legs shook, my head swam and sank as it suddenly felt too heavy for my neck to hold. My ears rang and my body turned strangely hot and cold at the same time.
By the time I recognised what this feeling was and realised my mistake, I had fainted.
Xxxxx
When I woke again, I woke to a pounding head, and some voices, muffled still from the sleep. There was a cold pressure being applied very delicately to my forehead, which was both soothing, and painful. I stirred, and cracked my eyes open. My vision was blurry, and I felt unwell.
Whatever was happening around me, was a lesser priority as I tried to process the nausea.
I had not fainted in a while, but the feeling was the same. I groaned internally, cursing myself as I worked out what must have happened. My blood pressure was already low, and standing up, unassisted, while barely able to hold a cup by myself, expended more strength than what my body had.
I cursed my stupidity, I cursed my stubbornness. I felt, absolutely miserable.
"Ah, you are waking up," Omi-no-Kata exclaimed lightly. "You gave us quite a scare, finding you collapsed like that. You were out all night."
All night? I thought, alarm stirring through the soup of misery. My fainting spells usually only lasted a few seconds.
I had been unconscious all night?
Despite the throbbing head on top of the aching lungs and wrist, I wanted to sit up.
"I think you should stay lying down for now. You hurt your head, dear," Omi-no-Kata advised.
That explained the throbbing head. I had hit it on my way down. But nevertheless, I still wanted to sit up. Therefore Omi-no-Kata helped, along with another pair of arms which took most of my weight. I had to wait for the vertigo to pass and for the pounding in my head to lesson, so my vision could finally clear and I looked in confusion to the second pair of arms.
It was Mitsuhide.
My eyes widened, my heart suddenly feeling as if it was being squeezed, and I gasped in surprise. The gasp made me wince as the sharp breath stabbed at my chest. My eyes watered from the pain.
"I will leave you two alone," Omi-no-Kata said. "You are in safer hands with him than anyone else," she admitted, rubbing my back to help distract me from the pain of my gasp, before she then rose, and left the room.
My mind panicked and my heart raced, which only intensified the pain of my head and chest. I was not prepared at all. I forgot how to talk to him.
"Mitsuhide-sama," I wheezed. "I did not know –" I cut off, as the speech intensified the stabbing ache in my lungs.
Mitsuhide pulled me gently around to face him, where he placed a hand against my face. His touch was soft, and yet it conveyed an underlying strength beneath. It seemed to drain away the pains until they became a dull ache. It was not the first time I had felt it. Now however, I realised something, for it felt as if it was being taken from me, expelled from my body like how a sigh relieved tension.
"Don't talk, Aki," he said quietly. "Speak to me in here." He indicated with his other hand to his head. He inhaled slowly, at the same time my pains dampened.
A tingle of magic brushed my senses, as it was similar to the sensations and frame of mind I needed to be in to use the Sight. I realised . . . Mitsuhide was somehow taking the pain from me, literally.
His touch, his presence, soothed away a great deal of my panic and my awkwardness. The nervousness remained however, and I was acutely aware of his presence, so aware it was painful in its own sense.
: How . . . how did you do that? You took my pain away.
He let go and leaned back. His smile melted my heart. : It seems to be a feature of our psychic connection, he said. I can share your pain, so you can bear it. But in the same way our telepathic communication is only between the two of us, this is something I can only do with you, no one else.
I stared at him, seeing his familiar, handsome face and his eyes which warmed me when no quilt could. I listened to his voice, both physically and psychically, hearing its clarity, its depth and its kindness. It was the voice I had been desperate to hear without realising it. It soothed everything away, just as my father's did, letting me know in my heart that everything was going to be just fine. It was the sense of safety it provided, and the care and knowing that I could trust the owner of that voice with anything and everything.
He bore the same presence as my parents, the kind of presence which allowed me to be completely open. To lay my spirit and heart bare, to confide in him everything.
Before I could stop myself, my expression distorted into grief, the tears came again, and I did not hold them back.
: I am so sorry, I sobbed, my shoulders shaking.
Those few words conveyed everything. I was sorry I was not good enough in battle. I was sorry I did not know how to use my Seeing ability well enough to match against a supernatural entity. I was sorry I got myself so injured I was now surely a burden to him. I was sorry I had broken my wrist, making my sword-wielding days redundant and therefore even more of a burden. My only use was I was a skilled enough Samurai to be an officer in the army, skilled enough to justify my Lordly title.
But now, that was gone. I was sorry, and feared, I was bringing shame upon him and the Akechi house from my defeat in battle. I was entirely useless now.
Mitsuhide's smile disappeared and his expression fell.
"Why?" He asked, sensing my thoughts and their reasons. "Why should you be sorry for any of that?" It was a rhetorical question, but I answered it anyway.
: Because I am a failure.
Anger touched his eyes.
"I want you to listen to me very carefully, Aki," he said, his voice hard like steel. "You have not failed. Not in the slightest."
I looked away, raising my hand to my mouth where my sleeve could try and hold back my sobs. It was hard to believe. I had just fainted, knocked myself unconscious for more than twelve hours and now had a bump on my head. I was supposed to be getting better. Instead, I was inadvertently inflicting further damage, slowing the healing process, and lengthening the time of being a burden and hassle.
I was wasting everyone's time.
Mitsuhide lowered my hand back down. "Look at me, Aki," he said, his voice gentle again, but it was firm, a subtle command.
Reluctantly, I did.
"You do not understand just how much you achieved," he said quietly, but with intensity. "I was not there for the whole battle, but the officers and men praise you even more than they do of Yoshitatsu. You hold your ground like no other. And nothing made that as evident as when you fought the giant. You used the ability of the Sight and fought like one of us . . . better than us. You may be wounded, but that is overshadowed by the fact that your prowess has brought pride to the Akechi house, and the Saito. You saved so many men on the battlefield by engaging the Oni one-to-one. Your intelligence and collective input bought our land victory against the Oda."
Mitsuhide's expression changed suddenly, and he looked away. He wore the expression that I felt myself.
"If anyone was to blame, it is me," he finally said, his voice heavy.
I stared at him, confused. Why did he sound so guilty?
"I should never have let you go into that battle without me. I felt the foreboding days in advance, but I did not cancel my plans, thinking it were just an overactive mind." Mitsuhide's voice was pained. "I had never considered the possibility that you would be in danger from my kind. My kind pay very little heed to humans, and so I thought they would not notice you. And there, through ignorance, you would be safe. I did not consider that our enemies may have also been able to find out about your abilities, as we have, and target you because of it.
"I rushed to the border as soon as I could, and when I saw the giant enter the field, when I saw him throw the spear at you I –" It was his turn to cut off, visibly struggling with the emotions that came with the memory. His hands clenched, reining in the anger which was creeping into his tone. "You both fought like lightning, for your blows and entire fight were as quick as my passage took across the field to reach you. But I was too late. He struck you before I could reach you." He stopped, and his eyes flickered to where I had been struck by the arrow, before finding my face again. His guilt, his shame, and his anger, were strong. He looked away again.
"If I had been a second faster, he would not have shattered your wrist," he said bitterly. "If I had been a moment sooner, he would have been dead first . . . he would not have killed you."
Shocked, I stared at him. What was he saying? I was here. I was alive. How could he think that he was responsible for my wounds? How could he possibly blame himself for my state?
But he did. He believed he could have done better. He believed he had failed.
But he saved my life. He was the one who had come to my rescue.
He took a shaking breath, before returning his gaze to me, where it stayed.
"You died," he finally said. His voice was so quiet, it was barely audible. "After I pulled the arrow from you, you . . . you stopped breathing, and your heart stopped beating. I . . . I could not – did not – accept it. I already lost my father to my enemies, and now I was going to lose you to them as well. I . . . you, are the one thing I cannot bear to lose in this world," he whispered. "You taught Ichirou and I how to keep the heart beating when it had failed, and . . . that is what I did, to try and bring your spirit back."
The broken ribs were now explained. But as I listened to him, feeling my heart ache at the emotion in his voice, the nightmares rushed to the forefront of my mind, and I realised something with an even greater shock. The primordial pull had been Death.
: Wait, I interrupted him, my heart pounding, eyes wide. Was that you? Were you the silver entity carrying me back through the red river?
He blinked in astonishment and stared at me. He held my gaze for a long time, and the longer he did, the clearer the memory of Death had been, and the more the image of the silver man matched over Mitsuhide perfectly. I could see his face now.
"Yes."
It was the same one.
My expression twisted and my gasp came as a sob. I could not believe it. I did die after all. The terrible force which had been pulling me into the biting cold and the dark maw, the haunted whispers to let me go, the fluid hands of burning blood, had been real. And therefore so was the silver angel, the silver demon . . . the silver God. He had been Mitsuhide.
The tears flowed down my cheeks, but these were tears of a different kind. They were tears of disbelief, of hearing that I had in fact died and it was Death who had been the nightmare, but also of hearing that the silver God was not some foreign power far beyond me in the Heavens or in Hell. He had been real, and he was sitting right in front of me.
Tears of disbelief . . . and such overpowering gratitude.
I took his hand with my right, permission and appropriateness the last thing on my mind. I took his hand, and grasped it with as much strength as I could manage. In that grasp, I conveyed everything I could not convey in words.
In a way, I did believe that perhaps, he did love me, otherwise he would not have resisted Death for my spirit. He did the impossible. He gave me a second chance to live. And for that, I knew in my heart that I would give him everything that I was, am, and will be. I knew that my love for him could go no where and that it was forbidden. I knew that we would never be together. But he had my love nonetheless, my love, trust, and undying loyalty.
"Thank you," I whispered. : Thank you for saving my life.
It was a moment before Mitsuhide reacted, but when he did, he took my hand in both of his and held it. His hands were shaking, but they were strong. In his hands, I felt his surge and desire to protect.
: And thank you, for holding on, he said to me in return, with a voice brimming with emotion and feeling he usually kept under such tight control. In his voice, and in his mind, I felt the guilt and his shame flow away, replaced by a forgiveness for himself, a forgiveness which he drew from me and all that I had not been able to convey by words but only impressions within the bridges of our minds. His strength returned, and his hands steadied with unyielding resolve.
And hope.
It was a strength which I began to feel in myself, shared by him, as the sense of forgiveness travelled within and between the two of us.
: The world may be dangerous, and you may be weakened right now, he said to me. But you will grow strong again. And, I will protect you. Always.