Resurrections and Rainbows
Chapter 1
An endless sweep of wind passed through the trees,
over the grass, across the fields. It
brushed aside the leaves that lay scattered on the ground, pushed along the
rivers of water that coursed through the land, carried on the scent of flowers
undying through the air, and other fragrances far to the opposite. The wind carried on through the small
country of Japan, passing across the lives of the men and women within it,
observing with silent beauty as creatures died and creatures were born, as
lives carried on and lives were ceased. It stopped for no one, for nothing, and continued to blow.
The smallest hint of a flavour very familiar to the
wind could be smelt within the city of Tokyo, an aroma provocative to few, but
foreign to most. To those who knew its
twinge, something long since forgotten in them was awakened, by instinct, by
reactions uncontrollable. Fists were
clenched, muscles were tightened, and hearts were raced till the odour was
carried on in the wind. As it passed,
sword hilts were slowly unclasped, eyes reverted to their normal patterns, and
the minds of the men affected slowly changed back; all the minds, save one.
Himura Kenshin stood outside Kamiya Kaoru's dojo, his
hand trembling at his side. His palm
was tightly clamped to his sword, his arm unwilling to release it. He stared forward; into nothing but the air
which had only seconds ago stirred something within him he had wished to never
feel again. He swallowed, the saliva
burning its way down his throat, again prompting his mind to recall the scent,
again prompting his hand to clench his sword even tighter.
Memories were not things that one could erase, and not
even the most talented and dominant Samurais were immune to the power of
memories, nor the emotions they could incur. Though this was proven time and time again, men often attempted to hide
from them, to fight them, and even to convince themselves they never occurred;
yet time and time again, men were proven wrong, and memories were pushed to the
surface, pushed beyond the surface.
The scent dwindled in his mind, returning to the
barest form of recollection, till it was nothing in his mind but a memory,
which was all too similar to another such remembrance that held itself close to
his heart. His head shook, the red
bundles of hair catching the wind within its clutches, the tears that had
formed in his eyes being rolled off his cheek, and into the wind.
Soft footsteps emanated from behind him, as Sagara
Sanosuke slowly approached. He had
sensed it too, but unlike Kenshin, he had no concept of its true meaning, no
idea of the implications it laid before him, and all those he loved. "What was that, Kenshin?"
The wind continued on its way through the space-filled
void called the sky, carrying with it the question of Sanosuke, delivering with
it the scent to be carried to everyone else of the country of Japan, and
producing to those within its path the very same question that Sanosuke had
just asked.
A small bird chirped in the background of the palatial
silence that had enveloped Kenshin; his narrow tunnel of concentration suddenly
expanded exponentially, to a point that it was all encompassing, almost
reaching beyond the flow of time, to a point that memories old even to
Kenshin's mind came back to him… a rush of recollections spawning themselves
from bowels deep beyond his own recession.
* * *
"This will do more than hurt, this will maim, this will injure." A young boy looked up from his shackles with
sullen, hollow, defeated eyes, and dared not utter a word, knowing that what
his owner had said was true. "You still
do not wish to tell?" And even though
the boys mind was numb with pain, exhaustion and fear, he still held onto the
barest knowledge that had stuck with him through the entire ordeal.
"No." He said softly, his hard
accent showing through, even on the single word. He was suddenly all the more aware of the pile of flames that
burned hatefully behind him.
"As I thought, you worthless piece of shit." The man towering over the boy hit swiftly with a kick, catching
the head of the red-haired slave with the full power of the strike. The small child crumpled to the ground, only
to be brought up again by the sheath of the man's sword upon his chin. "Then I guess you deserve this." The man jerked the boy into the fire behind
him with his foot, sending the naked and bloody youngster into the raging mass
of flames.
As the youngster burned his screams were drowned out by the crackling of
the flames. The man looked down as his
eyes reflected the light of the fire into the night sky. His face was expressionless, a rock
formation of rigid bone and skin. He
slowly wondered why the boy made no move to extract himself out of the fire,
instead choosing to just lie there in it; enclosed in unending agony. There came only more screams, more burning,
more pain.
Before long, the man's nose was assaulted by a stench unknown to him, a
putrid smell much like that of ashes burning. Soon after he realized the source of the aroma, and looked down upon the
horribly burned boy with pity. His ears
were still deaf to the cries of the tortured child, but even he could not be so
inhumane as to avoid the reek of the boy's burning flesh. "She isn't worth this… no one is." He spoke to himself, his heart suddenly
beating more rapidly as layers upon layers of skin began to worm their way off
the boy. "That's enough."
With almost no warning, the wind suddenly sprang to life… with such
vengeance, such vigour and vigilance as to be almost unnatural. It arose from seemingly nowhere, a sudden
spark of current that shot across the ground. It hit the man with all the ferocity of a cyclone, almost pushing him
onto the ground, and quickly extinguishing the flames the boy was immersed
in. The man brought his hand up to
shield his eyes from the dirt pushed on by the wind. His other hand instinctively dropped to the sword that lay
attached to his belt. He tried to peer
through the rushing air, to find the boy, but all he could see was a beacon of
light off to his right. He turned to
face the light, which came pouring from out over the horizon, as the sun does
in the morning, and as he did so, the wind moved with him, turning as he turned
so as to remain in his face, pushing into him with all the force of the
heavens. "What… the hell?" He exasperated, a tinting of fear singeing
upon his voice.
The boy lay whimpering on the ground, the wind cooling his sores, the
ground a safe haven from the flames that had enclosed him just moments
earlier. His skin rested in puddles all
around him, flaked or peeled off from all parts of his body save his face,
which he had narrowly managed to keep out of the body of the fire. He began to convulse on the spot, his body
refusing to take any more pain for that day. He quickly collapsed in one final spasm of agony; his remaining body
sprawled open across the dirt-paved road. The wind continued to blow over him, washing its silent tranquility over
the small boy.
The man, meanwhile, pushed forwards against the onslaught of wind,
searching for some sort of place where it couldn't reach him. Before he could make any sort of movement
towards protection though, it became apparent that he was using all his
strength just to hold strong against the wind. The light continually sprung forth from in front of him, growing
stronger and stronger with each second. "What can that be?" He shouted
aloud, finding it the only way to hear himself over the roaring of the
wind. "It's too late for the sun to be
rising." Just as he finished speaking
to himself, the wind intensified even more, gusting with such gale as to be
bone crushing. It was as the struggle
between man and air deepened that the man realized just what this wind really
was.
He glanced off to his side, towards a patch of trees not twenty metres
away. They rested in absolute calmness,
nary a branch swaying or a leaf moving. Fear instantly gripped his heart, as he began to understand that this
wind was no normal flurry of air; but was something so controlled, so concentrated
that it was meant only for him, and for his slave. This, he presumed, was the wind that God held in His hand, the
wind that He used only when He deemed necessary, and the wind that He heeded
only for those that needed to feel its revenge.
The man suddenly felt the light ahead of him grow weaker, almost as
though something were faintly blocking it out. With what little strength remained in his body after beating the boy
that day, he craned his head forward, and gazed into the light, to see if any
hope could be spared for his life. There, fixated within the sphere of light, was the figure of a man,
clothed in samurai garb and holding a sheathed sword in his hand. His snow-white hair blew with the wind,
covering his face, and wrapping itself around his clothing.
This beacon of mystery suddenly mystified the trapped man's mind. For several seconds, neither was touched,
and the only thought passing through the wind was the utter serenity of the
three beings trapped within it. Then,
with grace befitting that of a God, the samurai brought his hand down to his
side, and took out his sword. A moment
of warning shot out in the other man's mind, and fighting through the sudden
fear that clasped his heart, made a mad grab for his sword. There was no chance for defence though, not
even a split second of an opening in which the man could stop the attacker.
The samurai moved too quickly for the man to track, almost as quickly as
the wind, which held the man in place. He struck with poise unequalled by any other samurai in the country, and
with one fatal swipe, severed the man's head from the neck. The decapitated skull fell to the ground,
rolling gently for a few feet before coming to a stop in the pile of ashes that
had once been his fire. Blood shot out
into the air, but was quickly carried away by the wind, out into the sky. The body of the man remained standing, every
single muscle frozen in place, just waiting for a message from the brain that
had just been detached.
The samurai rose up from the ground behind the body of the man, wiped
off the small amount of blood that stained his sword on the ground, and then
sheathed the blade back in its place. His eyes drifted to the boy who lay at his feet, the gray-white spheres
that served him searching their way around the boy, looking for any signs of
life. Slowly, tantalizingly, the boy's
chest raised up, then fell back down. The white-haired samurai bent down to the boy, and slowly picked him up
in his arms. Being careful not to
rattle what little of the child remained, the man also walked over to the body
of the man he had killed, and removed the sword from his belt, realizing that
between adolescent and sword was a connection that had been rudely interrupted
by the slave-owner.
He then set off back from the direction he had come, back into the
mountains, back into his home. The
light that had previously shone from all around him had disappeared, and the
wind that had been so strongly concentrated on the other man had vanished,
replaced only by the calming breeze like that of the wind upon the shore of an
ocean on a late spring day. The
onrushing air continued to push itself over the unconscious child, soothing his
sores and giving peace to his tortured body.
* * *
He walked with a step so light as to be almost
weightless, his aura presenting itself in only the most reserved of
manner. The air softly pushed itself
all around him, swirling around in a path both seemingly random; yet extremely
focused. His eyes moved in only one
direction, as did the rest of him; straight forward. To an un-acquainted eye, it would seem as if he was a blind man
walking down the only path he knew, but to one with senses more acute than an
average man's, one would see just how much purpose each step held to this man.
And though his eyes remained fixated on the road
ahead, his peripheral vision allowed him to track his position as he waded
through the streets of Tokyo. Men,
women and children of all likeness strayed away from him, as a man with a sword
was feared in this, the peaceful Meiji Era, and one with two was feared even
more. A policeman caught sight of him,
once, but even he felt the wind that sang at the man's back, and knew that
interfering with this man's step could only produce terrible results. So despite any fears or forebodings, the
man's progress through the city was unhindered by any.
His clothes were out of style with current trends, but
then again, so was he. The tone of
his skin said all that needed to be told, but even so, questions arose within
the heads of several as he continued his path through the city.
"Look at his eyes."
"How does his hair hold that shape?"
"That smell, where's it coming from?"
"What's he doing with a sword, in Tokyo? Where are the police?"
"The police could do nothing, that much is clear."
The murmurs continued to run rampant through the
crowds, till they were the only things that could be heard in his ears. He paid them no heed though, remaining
focused on his goal, on his role in the plan that had been lain out, the plan
he himself had the only chance of completing.
The scent that had intoxicated the senses of Kenshin
and Sanosuke was present as he walked through, almost seeming to carry itself
with him. But unlike Kenshin, this man
was unaffected by the smell. He had
once been the source of such a stench, and after surviving its fiery embrace;
he was no longer influenced by it.
A silent gust of wind shot through the street, blowing
by his ears with hushed ferocity, an outwardly opaqueness of peace where it seemed
there should only be violence. The man
stopped. He stood in front of Kamiya
Kaoru's dojo, his sky blue eyes fixated on the door before him, and the path he
knew he must take.
* * *
He stepped out into the cold night air, then quickly and loudly shut the
door behind him. "He almost caught me
this time, I'm going to have to be more careful from now on." Okeda said to himself, as he often did,
hoping that in hearing the words; he would better follow through on what they
said. Really though, he paid no regard
to if he was caught or not; in all his naivety, he believed that he could win
the battle that would ensue if he were caught.
He pulled his heavy jacket closer to him, hoping to block out the sudden
stir of frigid wind. He jogged quickly
down the back alley, hoping that he would reach his house before the thieves of
the city began to spread out into the neighbourhood. "Next time, I'll have to make sure no one sees me."
With a heavy amount of disgust, he remembered that at his house was his
wife; with the children, just waiting for him to come home so they could nag
and bother him till all ends of the night. In a pathetic display of fear, he headed out onto the main road, and
began to look for some sort of all-night restaurant where he could drink some
sake, and delay his return home.
Before long though, he realized that he did not know this part of the
city very well, and also noticed that a growing number of dark characters had
begun to prance about in the alleyways around him.
His eyes darted from building to building, looking for some sort of
shelter until he could find his way home. He suddenly became aware of a pair of darkly clothed, tall men walking
with long, quick strides behind him. Okeda's heart began to beat heavily as his hands began to tremble. "Damnit, I knew I should've left earlier
tonight," he said, his voice trembling with each word.
The frosty wind raged all about him, roaring into his ears and riveting
his heart to an even faster pace. The
pair of beings behind him continued to move faster, sweeping their feet at him
in a hideous display of unison. A
whistle went off to Okeda's left, but he didn't stop to see if it came from
friend or foe; he just continued on in a mad rush.
Just as the pair of bandits behind him were about to pounce, he caught
sight of a lit torch at the door of a building. He rushed towards it, and his heart was turned aflutter when he
saw that the restaurant had positioned a sworded night security guard at the
door of the building. The two thieves
behind him started to set off in pursuit, but once they saw the blue-coated
guard also had a pistol at his waist, they turned away; searching for new pray.
Okeda hurried beside the guard, and asked how much it would cost to stay
the night. The guard smiled and said
with gap-toothed greed, "As much as you have."
Okeda knew that he would not have enough money to buy drinks for the
entire night, but he also knew that heading home at this time of the night
would cost him more than just the money he had in his wallet. He agreed to pay for the night, and with a
small tip to the guard, headed into the restaurant; and out of the cold blasts
of wind that had been encroaching on him with every passing second.
"Earlier next time."