I don't own it.
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BLADE OF THE PAST
Chapter Ten – Enter Samurai
The shadows lengthened with each passing second as the sun dipped lower and lower into the western horizon. Once light gray in color, they turned dark purple and black, mimicking the night that was about to come. Small fireflies danced about, sticking to the darker areas underneath trees and near the river. Saitou shifted, his sword sheath gripped tightly in his hand as he waited.
He had caught a glimpse of her, he thought, after his talk with Himura. He normally wouldn't have noticed the small girl in a kimono off to the side between the buildings, but this one had eerie eyes and a familiar stance, no matter how hard she tried to seem like any other Japanese girl. Saitou could tell by her broader shoulders, the way she stood with her feet slightly apart, and the way her hair was braided simply down her back rather than in an intricate pattern piled on her head that she was trained for strength and fighting rather than being a proper woman. She didn't fool him as she peeked out from the demure lowering of her head and the shy way she held her fan.
And she had disappeared almost as soon as he'd seen her, abandoning his sight within the span of time it took him to blink an eye. He'd chased after her, of course, running to the place he'd seen her from the road. But she wasn't there. Only a single small golden bell tied to a pristine red ribbon remained on the alley floor in her place.
Saitou frowned as he pulled the bell out of his pocket, the red ribbon fraying at the ends and the little bell sparkling in the dwindling sunlight. He rotated the bell between his fingers, noticing for the seventeenth time that the little ball inside the bell had been removed. This bell, no matter how hard you tried, would never ring again.
A small tinkling of bells was heard to his right. Saitou very nearly jumped down from the roof and confronted the producer of the sound, but the fat and well-groomed cat simply meandered down the road and hopped into a nearby window.
He nearly missed the second shadow that crossed the alleyway below him.
The long trail of a braid was all he caught, shining a golden red in places where the sun hit her hair and remaining as dark as night at the same time. She wasn't wearing her kimono; she didn't look like a Japanese woman any longer. She was dressed in men's clothes, black as he remembered them, and she moved with the quiet stealth that only a very experienced assassin could manage.
As it was, she heard him long before he managed to drop down off the rooftops, landing in a crouch with his sword held at the ready. She was gone.
"I know you're here," he said softly to nothing. The darkness moved to his left, and the point of his sword stabbed into the shadow long before his senses realized it had simply been a falling leaf. He plucked the impaled leaf from the end of his sword and tossed it away.
The slow metallic ring of a sword being drawn was his only warning. She was behind him. Saitou jumped forward, tossing himself into a roll that brought him into another crouch. He wasn't a coward, he berated himself. So why was he slinking along the ground?
Saitou stood up, keeping his shoulders back. He held his sword casually in his right hand, the tip of it just barely grazing the dust of the street. With his left hand, he pulled a cigarette from his breast pocket and struck a match.
The shadowed figure before him lunged so quickly and silently that Saitou only noticed the flame of his match go out, the head of the burning stick cut cleanly off. He frowned.
"Are you trying to tell me to stop smoking?" he asked, striking another match and managing to light his tobacco before she put this match out as well.
"And why don't you answer me? We used to have many bouts of words, as I remember. Don't tell me that you're afraid." Saitou tossed the still-burning match in her direction. It fell at her feet, illuminating her black-socked feet and dark blue hakama. He barely managed to get a glimpse of her face before the little matchstick burned out. Her bright crimson-colored eyes were just as unnerving now as they had been thirteen years ago, and her light olive complexion gave her that unmistakable lure of exoticism. If only men knew what they were getting into when they chose her for a whore…
Saitou took a drag from his cigarette and blew the smoke in her direction. He'd noticed that somewhere along the way she'd managed to sheath her sword again. Two swords hung at her waist, making her look as if she'd stepped right out of the Revolution they'd fought together in. Her hand snaked down to her first choice sword, pulling the blade from the well-worn and meticulously polished wooden sheath. The bindings around the hilt were of silken dark lavender. His eyes trailed down the hilt to the blade, noticing the way the last dying strains of light caught on the smooth metal and glimmered brightly. But there was something…
"That isn't your blade," he said, noticing dark stains along the purple hilt. "That's the sword I buried you with. The Battousai's swor…"
He didn't get a chance to finish his sentence. Her mouth opened in a cry of fury, but no sound came forth. She charged, the Battousai's sword held true in her strong hands as she swiped at him.
He brought up his own sword in time to deflect her attack and save his life, barely.
And that quickly, she was gone. Saitou blinked, looking around for a split moment before spitting the cigarette out of his mouth and giving chase.
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Argh, don't hate me. I know I'm putting off the meeting between Shinta and Kenshin (which will happen first, due to a four to one vote). Expect it in the next chapter. –jin