Ties of Loyalty
By The Unseen Watcher
Disclaimer: It's not mine. Thank you. *Bows *
Chapter 6
------------------
The next dawn showed a considerably altered campsite. The place resembled a sushi roll, with only a little respectable distance in the middle to give the leaders some breathing room. Every man was practically sitting on the person behind him, trying to get as far away as possible from the bordering forest.
Fingers twitched on weapons and bloodshot eyes darted continuously at any movement. The previous night had held even less sleep than the one before it. Although their superiors may have disputed the appearance of a man little more than a childhood nightmare to the majority of them, it didn't stop ingrained fears from nibbling away at their already tattered courage.
In an occupation where few live to see retirement, superstition tends to abound. Gambling was part of the business. In games you gambled your money. On the street you gambled your life. As a result, many were fervent patrons of the gods of luck, and carried personal sutras to ward off misfortune. Now suddenly near myth was coming to life, and it didn't seem to like them. Muttered mantras and even outright prayers were prolific throughout the ranks.
The three resident foreigners came up. Smith looked in disgust at the lot of them, shaking his head and yelling to get attention. #Okay, you pansies, it's time to get moving! Come on! Go! Go! # He made shooing gestures with his hands, like they were an unruly herd of sheep.
Blank stares met his commands, for he had spoken in English. Angry at being ignored, Smith drew one of his pistols and shot into the air. This confused And alarmed the men, who started milling about, hands on various weapons.
Hiroshi walked up, looking exasperated. He had a splitting headache from last night's argument, and was in a foul temper. Most of his subservience had worn away, along with any respect for these invaders of his peace. He was still wary of their weapons, though, so he wisely chose not to outright rebel. Shooting a glare at the insufferable man, he grudgingly repeated his words in Japanese. Word for word.
There was some dark muttering among the men. Going back into that forest was Not on the top of their list of Good Ideas. Hiroshi had to point out that they wouldn't be able to stay there forever, since they'd run out of food. Just sitting there waiting for trouble to come to them wasn't such a good plan either. He then wound up his speech with the usual threats and promises of retribution from their thrice-cursed superiors.
The men finally went, in small groups, moving as though they were walking on a bed of nails.
One particular group of three opted to retrace their steps along the trail. They agreed that the swordsman was tricky enough to backtrack. The fact that it was also Away from the part of the forest that had been so painful for them the other day was a topic they rather carefully avoided.
The path was small, and the trees pressed in closely, so they had to go single file. Comments were made in whispers. After all, there was no need to draw any unnecessary attention to themselves, was there? All reported seeing nothing, and so they hurried along. A ways down the trail the second in line, Daimato, heard a faint rustle behind him. Stiffening, he whispered the name of the man behind him. No voice answered.
Sweating visibly, he dared to peek over his shoulder. Only forest greeted his vision. Swinging back around, he saw that his first companion had gained some distance on him. He scrambled to catch up.
The first was focusing on the trail at his feet, and so was unprepared when Daimato nearly ran him over. The panicked second man almost got a sword through the guts for his trouble.
"Curse your clumsiness, Daimato. Do you want to die by my blade before the mountain spirit gets to you?" he demanded, badly shaken up.
The second shook his head, frantically waving behind them. "But Ichiro, Saigo is gone!"
Ichiro paused, peering around for a while. "Saigo. Where are you, you lazy dog?" he whispered harshly, unwilling to raise his voice any further. When only silence greeted them he shrugged. "Oh, well. No loss. Let's move." The other quickly agreed with him. Better to save their own skins. Saigo was on his own. Whether here or in the underworld, they didn't care. They continued on, Daimato practically stepping on the other's heels.
Ichiro suddenly tripped, and came up cursing the other. Turning, he was all set to ream him out and give him a good whack with the hilt of his sword for good measure when the words caught in his throat. Where Daimato had been bumping into him but a moment ago, was now only bushes and trees. He called out, but heard only the wind reply.
His nerve abruptly cracked, and he turned and dashed down the trail. *To the underworld with this job and the consequences of desertion. I quit! NO amount of pay is worth this. * he thought.
Behind him the forest was quiet. A pair of eyes watched his progress from a large tree, one hand firmly clamped over the mouth of Daimato. The other held the blade of his katana to the petrified man's throat. Listening, there came the cry of surprise he was expecting in the distance. Teeth flashing briefly in the spotted sunlight, he smoothly brought the hilt down on the back of his captive's skull.
Letting the now unconscious form drop into the undergrowth beneath him, he started off toward the noise. The third one was in a similar state a ways up the trail.
He would not make the same mistake twice. No one was permitted to leave until he allowed it. There would be no more annoying reinforcements.
The noise level of the man he'd trapped increased. His humorless smile was briefly in evidence once again.
"Now, now. Be patient. I'm coming." He murmured, amusement flashing for a brief instant in golden eyes.
***
The man dangled helplessly, his foot caught in a snare. His ankle felt as though it was about to tear apart as it bore the weight of his entire body. Struggling only made it worse. No one had come yet in answer to his cries. He was not agile enough to reach up and try to untie the rope, so he had no choice but to hang there, slowly rotating with the momentum of his own thrashings.
On one such revolution, he caught sight of a flash of color out of the corner of his eye. Twisting his head, he tried to see it more clearly. Had he been found? He spun slowly until he was facing a lower branch of the tree that held him captive. Still he found no one. He looked off to his left, then returned his gaze to the tree.
There was someone now sitting on the branch. A dark blue gi and hakama blended with the shadowed nooks of the tree, making it hard to make out his outline. He would have been impossible to spot, even right in front of him, if it weren't for the pale skin of the man's face.
And the flaming red hair held pulled back high on his head.
Now the scout was upside down, all the blood rushing to his head and fleeing his throbbing ankle, so it took him a bit longer than normal to put together certain details.
Then the flame-haired shadow smiled. It was not a nice smile. He tilted his head to the side, casually inspecting the trapped man like you would a cow you were considering buying in the market. The movement brought his left cheek plainly in view in the light of the sunrise.
If it were possible for a man to pale when his head was where his feet should be, this guy did. Or at least, gave it a good shot. Memories of lurid tales the old has-been had told, and he'd pretended to ignore, along with half-forgotten childhood nightmares suddenly loomed up with crystal, bloody clarity. The yakuza did not pause to wonder how on earth the hitokiri of legend could have ended up on this particular mountain in Japan. He didn't even take the time to notice the other's slim, almost fragile looking build.
Such things are most often overlooked when you're about to pass out from fright. All he could see was that red-red hair and that crossed scar.
Then the figure was less than a foot away from him, and all his attention was caught and held by a pair of flat purple eyes, the flashes of amber in them mesmerizing the captive. He couldn't even blink.
The Battousai smiled again, this one even more chilling than the last. He leaned forward, shaking the spell slightly. The scout managed to close his eyes, trying to brace for his inevitable death. He bit back a shriek as he felt the movement of air caused by the assassin's close proximity. The noise might encourage the killer to prolong his torture. He felt hot breath near his ear.
"Leave this mountain." A low voice growled, sending shivers up (or rather down) the man's spine. "This is your last warning. Leave now or you may never leave at all." It continued, it's tones as threatening as the stillness before an avalanche.
The scout felt the other moving again beside him. He was expecting a sword through the guts, or even a swing at his neck. What he wasn't ready for was the sudden slackening of the loop holding him above the ground. He had only time for a short, bitten off shriek as he plunged toward the forest floor.
When he came to some time later to one of his campmates shaking him awake, the others gathered around him, he was a bit disoriented. Then events caught up to his bruised brain, and he began to scream.
It took several more minutes and some stinging slaps before he managed to babble out what happened. The story spread like wildfire throughout the camp.
**
In the secret storage chamber in a small hut, the smell of old sake jugs and the settling dust was the only occupants.
--------------------
Had a bit of fun with names there. You'll see if you look them up. Ok. This one's still a bit rough, but I'll put it out anyway. Sorry I lied. NEXT chapter will have more Hiten Mitsurugi. Gomen. It just wrote itself that way. Sorry if B seems OOC. My own rather twisted sense of humor seems to be leaking into my writing. Oh, and I've changed my mind. Compliments are nice, but threats seem to motivate me too. So feel free.^_^
By The Unseen Watcher
Disclaimer: It's not mine. Thank you. *Bows *
Chapter 6
------------------
The next dawn showed a considerably altered campsite. The place resembled a sushi roll, with only a little respectable distance in the middle to give the leaders some breathing room. Every man was practically sitting on the person behind him, trying to get as far away as possible from the bordering forest.
Fingers twitched on weapons and bloodshot eyes darted continuously at any movement. The previous night had held even less sleep than the one before it. Although their superiors may have disputed the appearance of a man little more than a childhood nightmare to the majority of them, it didn't stop ingrained fears from nibbling away at their already tattered courage.
In an occupation where few live to see retirement, superstition tends to abound. Gambling was part of the business. In games you gambled your money. On the street you gambled your life. As a result, many were fervent patrons of the gods of luck, and carried personal sutras to ward off misfortune. Now suddenly near myth was coming to life, and it didn't seem to like them. Muttered mantras and even outright prayers were prolific throughout the ranks.
The three resident foreigners came up. Smith looked in disgust at the lot of them, shaking his head and yelling to get attention. #Okay, you pansies, it's time to get moving! Come on! Go! Go! # He made shooing gestures with his hands, like they were an unruly herd of sheep.
Blank stares met his commands, for he had spoken in English. Angry at being ignored, Smith drew one of his pistols and shot into the air. This confused And alarmed the men, who started milling about, hands on various weapons.
Hiroshi walked up, looking exasperated. He had a splitting headache from last night's argument, and was in a foul temper. Most of his subservience had worn away, along with any respect for these invaders of his peace. He was still wary of their weapons, though, so he wisely chose not to outright rebel. Shooting a glare at the insufferable man, he grudgingly repeated his words in Japanese. Word for word.
There was some dark muttering among the men. Going back into that forest was Not on the top of their list of Good Ideas. Hiroshi had to point out that they wouldn't be able to stay there forever, since they'd run out of food. Just sitting there waiting for trouble to come to them wasn't such a good plan either. He then wound up his speech with the usual threats and promises of retribution from their thrice-cursed superiors.
The men finally went, in small groups, moving as though they were walking on a bed of nails.
One particular group of three opted to retrace their steps along the trail. They agreed that the swordsman was tricky enough to backtrack. The fact that it was also Away from the part of the forest that had been so painful for them the other day was a topic they rather carefully avoided.
The path was small, and the trees pressed in closely, so they had to go single file. Comments were made in whispers. After all, there was no need to draw any unnecessary attention to themselves, was there? All reported seeing nothing, and so they hurried along. A ways down the trail the second in line, Daimato, heard a faint rustle behind him. Stiffening, he whispered the name of the man behind him. No voice answered.
Sweating visibly, he dared to peek over his shoulder. Only forest greeted his vision. Swinging back around, he saw that his first companion had gained some distance on him. He scrambled to catch up.
The first was focusing on the trail at his feet, and so was unprepared when Daimato nearly ran him over. The panicked second man almost got a sword through the guts for his trouble.
"Curse your clumsiness, Daimato. Do you want to die by my blade before the mountain spirit gets to you?" he demanded, badly shaken up.
The second shook his head, frantically waving behind them. "But Ichiro, Saigo is gone!"
Ichiro paused, peering around for a while. "Saigo. Where are you, you lazy dog?" he whispered harshly, unwilling to raise his voice any further. When only silence greeted them he shrugged. "Oh, well. No loss. Let's move." The other quickly agreed with him. Better to save their own skins. Saigo was on his own. Whether here or in the underworld, they didn't care. They continued on, Daimato practically stepping on the other's heels.
Ichiro suddenly tripped, and came up cursing the other. Turning, he was all set to ream him out and give him a good whack with the hilt of his sword for good measure when the words caught in his throat. Where Daimato had been bumping into him but a moment ago, was now only bushes and trees. He called out, but heard only the wind reply.
His nerve abruptly cracked, and he turned and dashed down the trail. *To the underworld with this job and the consequences of desertion. I quit! NO amount of pay is worth this. * he thought.
Behind him the forest was quiet. A pair of eyes watched his progress from a large tree, one hand firmly clamped over the mouth of Daimato. The other held the blade of his katana to the petrified man's throat. Listening, there came the cry of surprise he was expecting in the distance. Teeth flashing briefly in the spotted sunlight, he smoothly brought the hilt down on the back of his captive's skull.
Letting the now unconscious form drop into the undergrowth beneath him, he started off toward the noise. The third one was in a similar state a ways up the trail.
He would not make the same mistake twice. No one was permitted to leave until he allowed it. There would be no more annoying reinforcements.
The noise level of the man he'd trapped increased. His humorless smile was briefly in evidence once again.
"Now, now. Be patient. I'm coming." He murmured, amusement flashing for a brief instant in golden eyes.
***
The man dangled helplessly, his foot caught in a snare. His ankle felt as though it was about to tear apart as it bore the weight of his entire body. Struggling only made it worse. No one had come yet in answer to his cries. He was not agile enough to reach up and try to untie the rope, so he had no choice but to hang there, slowly rotating with the momentum of his own thrashings.
On one such revolution, he caught sight of a flash of color out of the corner of his eye. Twisting his head, he tried to see it more clearly. Had he been found? He spun slowly until he was facing a lower branch of the tree that held him captive. Still he found no one. He looked off to his left, then returned his gaze to the tree.
There was someone now sitting on the branch. A dark blue gi and hakama blended with the shadowed nooks of the tree, making it hard to make out his outline. He would have been impossible to spot, even right in front of him, if it weren't for the pale skin of the man's face.
And the flaming red hair held pulled back high on his head.
Now the scout was upside down, all the blood rushing to his head and fleeing his throbbing ankle, so it took him a bit longer than normal to put together certain details.
Then the flame-haired shadow smiled. It was not a nice smile. He tilted his head to the side, casually inspecting the trapped man like you would a cow you were considering buying in the market. The movement brought his left cheek plainly in view in the light of the sunrise.
If it were possible for a man to pale when his head was where his feet should be, this guy did. Or at least, gave it a good shot. Memories of lurid tales the old has-been had told, and he'd pretended to ignore, along with half-forgotten childhood nightmares suddenly loomed up with crystal, bloody clarity. The yakuza did not pause to wonder how on earth the hitokiri of legend could have ended up on this particular mountain in Japan. He didn't even take the time to notice the other's slim, almost fragile looking build.
Such things are most often overlooked when you're about to pass out from fright. All he could see was that red-red hair and that crossed scar.
Then the figure was less than a foot away from him, and all his attention was caught and held by a pair of flat purple eyes, the flashes of amber in them mesmerizing the captive. He couldn't even blink.
The Battousai smiled again, this one even more chilling than the last. He leaned forward, shaking the spell slightly. The scout managed to close his eyes, trying to brace for his inevitable death. He bit back a shriek as he felt the movement of air caused by the assassin's close proximity. The noise might encourage the killer to prolong his torture. He felt hot breath near his ear.
"Leave this mountain." A low voice growled, sending shivers up (or rather down) the man's spine. "This is your last warning. Leave now or you may never leave at all." It continued, it's tones as threatening as the stillness before an avalanche.
The scout felt the other moving again beside him. He was expecting a sword through the guts, or even a swing at his neck. What he wasn't ready for was the sudden slackening of the loop holding him above the ground. He had only time for a short, bitten off shriek as he plunged toward the forest floor.
When he came to some time later to one of his campmates shaking him awake, the others gathered around him, he was a bit disoriented. Then events caught up to his bruised brain, and he began to scream.
It took several more minutes and some stinging slaps before he managed to babble out what happened. The story spread like wildfire throughout the camp.
**
In the secret storage chamber in a small hut, the smell of old sake jugs and the settling dust was the only occupants.
--------------------
Had a bit of fun with names there. You'll see if you look them up. Ok. This one's still a bit rough, but I'll put it out anyway. Sorry I lied. NEXT chapter will have more Hiten Mitsurugi. Gomen. It just wrote itself that way. Sorry if B seems OOC. My own rather twisted sense of humor seems to be leaking into my writing. Oh, and I've changed my mind. Compliments are nice, but threats seem to motivate me too. So feel free.^_^