Chapter Twenty-Nine - Bitter

Always sick?

What did he mean by that? Was this what had worried Yukimura so much that he'd sent me all the way upriver to check on Shingen? To beg him to get out of the storm?

Sure, I'd heard him cough before – but coughing is so common in any era that it becomes nothing more than background noise… unless you're listening for it… unless suddenly the sound of the cough signals something dark, something that you'd never imagined. Until that morning in the cave when I held Shingen to me while his throat and lungs fought for air, I hadn't thought anything of a cough. I hadn't put that together with those meals when he pushed away full plates of food, or those conversations when he'd make a comment about not having enough time.

Always sick.

It wasn't the right moment to question him further – the urgent issue was his fever. I found a waterskin amongst his things and lightly shook it. Thankfully, it still had some water in it. "Water?" He gave a slight nod, but didn't reach for it, as if moving his head had depleted what little energy he had. I held it up to his mouth. He swallowed a little, spilling some on himself, while I basically babbled in the face of my growing panic. "It stopped raining, and while it probably sounds like the last thing you want to do, can you manage to get onto Good Horse? I'll figure out a way to get us back to the castle."

"I'm not so sick that I can't mount my own horse," he muttered. "Or anything else." But since he closed his eyes again and didn't even attempt to move from his place against the wall, it clearly wasn't true.

Briefly, I considered running back to the castle and returning with Yukimura or even Yoshimoto. To do that, though, I would have to leave Shingen sick and alone in here…. No, I couldn't abandon him for that long. I wouldn't. Besides, any time that I saved by running to find help, I'd lose in the round trip.

Feeling helpless, I took some of the water, poured it on my sleeve, and wiped his face – nurses always wipe down sick people in movies (not that that means anything… maybe it just looks cinematic when they do that?), and I wanted to be able to do something.

I regretted losing my pack in the river – I always carried some of Fume's Willow Bark tea for my monthly cramps. Fume swore by the medicinal properties of willow bark and had dispensed it for everything from Takauji's broken arm to her own stress-induced migraines. I'd certainly harvested enough willow bark for her supplies to know how often she used it.

Well… hell. I didn't need willow bark tea – just willow bark. This close to the river, there should be plenty of willow trees around. Fresh bark would probably be stronger than tea anyway.

"I'll be right back." I finished wrapping my still-damp clothing around me. "Don't go anywhere."

"Wouldn't think of it," he said as he peered at me through half-closed eyes.

I covered him with the furs and dashed off, in search of a willow tree. The chorus of 'always sick' stuck in my mind on endless repeat. Was this something chronic… or… no I couldn't dwell on that right now. One task at a time. Fever now. Worry spiral later.

Pine…

Pine…

Maple…

Larch…

I don't know what that one is, but not willow…

Pine…

About a kilometer from the cave, I found a willow tree and carved off several strips of bark. "Sorry, tree." I patted it gently, then hurried back to Shingen.

He hadn't moved, except to throw off the furs. "There's my Angel."

Shit, he was really sick if he'd gone back to calling me Angel. I knelt next to him and wiped more sweat away from his face. He felt even warmer than before. I handed him a strip of bark. "There's no way to make this into a tea, so you're going to have to chew on this for a little while."

"What… does it taste like?" Even half out of breath, there was deep suspicion in his voice.

Since I had no idea – in tea, it was fine, but plain bark was not likely to be as palatable – I put a piece into my own mouth and started chewing. It was like chomping down on an aspirin tablet, and I narrowly won the battle to not wince at the taste. "It's not bad."

He was going to hate it.

Shingen looked at me warily, then let me put a piece of bark on his tongue. His reaction was instantaneous disgust, and I slapped my hand over his mouth. "Please, please don't spit it out yet. Keep chewing. Once we get back to the castle, I promise I will deliver sweets to you for every meal of the day."

He held up five fingers.

"Ok yes, plus snacks." I would have promised to make them myself, over an open fire, by the light of a full moon, if it meant he would keep that bark in his mouth.

Worried that even with the assurance of future treats, he would spit it out before he'd gotten any of it into his system, I sat with him while he gnawed on it. "It's turning into a pretty day out – there's a breeze and it's not too humid yet." I was rambling on again, attempting to distract him from the taste. "The river seems to have gone down a little – we might have managed to save some of the homes after all. You should have seen Yuki in action yesterday – he'd gathered a following of little boys who copied almost everything he did. It was pretty adorable. And poor Yoshimoto slid through the mud, and was not happy about that, as I am sure you can imagine… ok, you can spit that out now."

He did so and I handed him the trapper's sake to wash the taste out of his mouth. He took a gulp of that. "I want my treat now."

Huh? Was he hallucinating pastry? "I don't have any yet."

He beckoned me to come closer and when I did, he kissed me. I didn't even mind the bitter aftertaste of willow that had lingered on his tongue. "You're sweeter than sake," he said.

"Don't let Kenshin hear you scorn his favorite beverage like that." I lightly massaged his forehead. He still felt very warm to the touch.

We sat there quietly, but inside my head it was as if there was a group of military advisors working on battle plans. If the willow didn't bring down his fever, then I would have to find a way to carry him back to Kasugayama. Could I somehow rig a sled using the furs and tree branches? Maybe, maybe I could get him to the exit of the cave and bring Good Horse over to help. Would Good Horse kneel so that Shingen could climb on? Maybe I could find a log to use as a step stool? No… I was strong. I would find a way to lift him if it became necessary.

Luckily Shingen's next words established that wouldn't be necessary. "Alright, I hate to admit that something so vile helped, but it seems to have done so." His face was still a road map of pain, but he pushed off the fur blankets and shifted to his knees.

I helped him stand, and he put his arm around me as we left the cave. Good Horse was waiting patiently in his mini-shelter, and with only a small groan, Shingen climbed on while I secured the few belongings we had left. Then I walked Good Horse toward the river.

"What are you doing?" Shingen patted the saddle in front of him. "I refuse to be led into town like an ancient grandfather. Get up here, Devil."

Figuring he'd rather I joked then outwardly to let my worry have free rein, I said, "Alright, but if you throw up on me, all bets are off." I climbed up in front of him, and he wrapped his arms around me.

"It was a ploy to have you in my arms," he said in my ear, but the seductive effect was spoiled when he coughed again and bit off a groan.

"You no longer need a ploy." But I wasn't sure if I said it loud enough for him to hear me.

We headed in the direction of the castle as fast as I dared – not very – I hadn't been completely joking about the possibility of him throwing up. But I really wanted to get back before the effects of the willow bark wore off (I doubted I would be able to convince him to chew on more of it).

"I can hear you thinking," he said. "Yes, you can go faster. I won't fall off."

Ok then. I urged Good Horse to go as fast as I dared given the underbrush and the muddy conditions – he did have a smooth gait. "Your horse is very well mannered," I commented as Good Horse splashed through puddles without complaint.

"If he weren't, he wouldn't be my horse," Shingen said.

Remembering that I still didn't know Good Horse's actual name (if there was one?), I was about to ask, but Shingen coughed again, deeply wheezing between the spasms, which frightened me more than his fever. I was afraid that talking would make it worse. Instead, I held his hand until the coughing stopped.

There have been times in the past seven years when I was afraid for my life. But the fear that someone else was going to die, that someone was going to die and I wouldn't be able to stop it… it was an older fear, a familiar one, and in that familiarity, all the more powerful. All I could do was hope that I had done enough.

I lost track of the passage of time in my fears that he was worsening, alert to every shift of position or weight that would indicate he was losing consciousness or falling off. All I wanted was to get him back to the castle, where there were healers, where he had a warm bed and a roof, and wouldn't be jostled about on a horse. Where there were people who had the skills that I lacked.

"I don't know why he would have come this way, but I don't know where else to look."

I knew that voice. Cupping my hands to my mouth, I yelled, "Yuki!"

"Katsuko? Is Shingen with you?" Up ahead, Yukimura and Sasuke both appeared. My heart-brothers were searching for us.

By then, Shingen's condition had worsened, and he was slumped over my shoulder. At the sound of Yuki's voice, he sat up straight, possibly trying to pretend he wasn't that sick. I could have told him it as a wasted effort, and indeed, as soon as Yuki got a good look at him, his normally open expression clouded. "You idiot… My Lord."

"Beautiful morning for a ride, Yuki." Shingen managed a full sentence, then ruined the effect by succumbing to another coughing fit.

Yuki jumped off his horse, tossing the reins to Sasuke, and hurried over. Without needing to confer, he and I switched places – Yuki could get him home faster than I could.

Shingen objected to the switch, telling Yuki that he wasn't soft enough to hold, but the three of us ignored him. Yuki did mutter something about Shingen being soft in the head to have gone out in the storm to begin with. To Sasuke and I, he said, "I'll see you two back at the castle." With a whistle at Good Horse, they were off.

Sasuke waited patiently for me to bond with Yuki's horse. I didn't know her name either, but she seemed friendly enough, and snuffled at a scrap of rice cake I found in Yuki's saddlebags. Once we were on our way as well, trotting briskly through the soggy countryside, we fell into a comfortable silence. Sasuke had a talent for quiet observation, and he let me alone with my thoughts. But eventually, I remembered that I owed my initial rescue in part to him. "Shingen told me you were the one to let him know that the boy had fallen into the river. Thanks for the assist."

His posture stiffened. "What boy?" He pushed his glasses up on his nose and gazed at me for a long time. "All I know is that one of the vassals told me that Shingen rushed away on his horse."

Odd. I was almost positive that Shingen had said Sasuke told him what had happened. I brought my ninja pal up to speed about the events that had led to us having to overnight in the cave. "I suppose I misheard him."

"Hrm." Sasuke was quiet for a while, but I imagined he was running through hypotheticals in his mind. "Yes, that's the most likely explanation."

Sasuke had probably also calculated a few unlikely explanations as well, but there was something else I needed to learn, so I put that puzzle aside for the time being. "Shingen told me he was always sick. Do you know something about that?"

"Are you asking me as someone who's lived in Kasugayama for a few years, or as someone raised by historians?" He glanced at the road ahead - Yuki and Shingen were already out of view.

"Both. Either. Is the answer different?" I tried to recall what l had learned in school and had forced myself ignore once it became clear that this version of the past had deviated from the things I had been taught – keeping it all straight had become confusing, especially once Aki and I had begun having regular lecture/discussions on current politics. "I was more interested in sports than studying-" Toshiie had always been exasperated because I rarely studied, and still managed to pull passing grades… but if you can pass classes without working, then, why not? "I think I was taught that Takeda Shingen was killed …" I took a breath, startled by the implications of something I ought to have realized earlier. "…by a sniper." I nearly pulled Yuki's horse to a stop in my shock. "I shot the sniper the night you all were attacked. Am I one of the butterflies too?"

Had I wrecked the timeline by shooting the sniper out of the tree? And was it trying to return to the mean now? Was that why Shingen was sick?

"Please, please stop bringing up butterflies!" Sasuke swiped at the air as if it were full of them, but when he spoke again, it was with quiet solemnity. "What I know from living here is that he's been suffering from a lung disease. He's never fully well but manages to hide it well enough between these acute phases. At first, I thought it might be tuberculosis, but considering how contagious that disease it, I eliminated that diagnosis when no one else exhibited symptoms. It may be cancer, or perhaps it's something different altogether, something autoimmune. No one will discuss it, not even Yuki … but there's an unspoken belief that he's dying."

Sasuke's words weren't unexpected – I'd put together a similar conclusion from the context and was somewhat mentally prepared to hear that. What I hadn't expected was the gut punch my pesky emotions took, and how badly it hurt to hear that phrase "he's dying," in such stark terms.

"Oh." My fingers spasmed on the reins, and Yuki's horse turned her face to give me a look of equine disappointment. "Sorry, girl." I petted her mane, grounding myself in her silky hair, pushing back the pain that lodged in my throat and behind my eyes. "And, as a historian?"

"The prevailing academic opinion was that his death was due to an unspecified illness." He looked down at his hands. "One researcher even suggested liver cancer, others simply say pneumonia."

There went the faint hope that I'd had that killing the sniper had prevented Shingen's death. I guess history would take its marker no matter what. "I suppose I should have paid more attention in school."

"I believe the sniper legend comes from Kagemusha." He shook his head. "Potentially Kurosawa got that idea from somewhere though?"

Although my taste in cinema ran more to science fiction and the Marvel MCU, I had seen Kurosawa's epic on DVD. "Maybe? I never heard the illness theory – but that doesn't mean it wasn't mentioned and I skipped school that day to go snowboarding." I did at least remember that one of his civil engineering projects was still in use in my century, but that was because I had been snowboarding a few times in the Minami Alps, close to the Shingen Zutsumi.

"Or, maybe…" Sasuke trailed off, his voice sounding half-concerned, half intrigued.

I was sure I was going to regret asking, but… "Or, what?"

"Or, you came from a different future than I did and in your timeline Shingen truly was killed by a sniper. Or," Sasuke spoke faster, apparently caught in the seductive arms of theoretical physics, "Whatever you did when you got here seven years ago was enough to alter or split the timeline before I got here … or—"

"Sasuke, stop!" I said. "You're giving me a headache!"

Then I sneezed five times in a row.

He fixed that gentle myopic gaze on me. "Actually, I believe you've gotten sick too."