For War is Kind ~ Chapter 4
For two days now, the city had been tense. Word of fighting to the north had spread in ripples and whispers through the streets, and people were edgy. Soldiers had arrived, with lies and condolences already prepared on their lips. They had said it was a small matter, and now resolved. But why, then, did men in uniform still linger on the street corners? Why had the number of people carrying weapons doubled overnight?
Aoshi scowled. He didn't sleep well when he could feel something ominous, and he hadn't been sleeping well for the past few days. Ever since that night he had dragged Sagara out of the woods. But it wasn't just wariness that pulled him from rest hours before dawn each night; there was much to be done in the wake of the Sekihoutai's annihilation. Aoshi had demanded a full investigation be conducted before the event could be covered up completely, and he thrown himself wholeheartedly into the supervision of it.
When there was new information, he filed it away for later analysis.
In the end, he determined that there wasn't much that could have done about what had happened, but sometimes Aoshi found himself thinking of the man he had rescued from death that night. Sagara was at the Aoi-ya now. They had moved him at night, and at great risk with so many soldiers about.
In the end, that wasn't what was important. Sagara was safe now. Though he hadn't awoken yet, he talked in his sleep, and whimpered softly in protest when he was touched.
Omasu was certain he would live – though, she would add with a shake of her head, she wasn't sure how – and Aoshi was satisfied with that. He trusted her judgment; she was, after all, experienced in matters like this. More experienced than she should have been, but that was not her fault.
He knew that he alone was to blame for her skill in treating wounded soldiers.
Not for the first time, Aoshi wondered what good he had done. Perhaps Sagara could be useful to him as someone who now also had a reason to fight against the new government. But that wasn't exactly why Aoshi was pleased that he would live. He was glad, in a way, that Sagara had been betrayed, for now it was as though he held in his hands a force of pure vengeance.
It was late afternoon by the time Aoshi found a spare moment to visit the room where Sagara lay. All day, he had found himself wondering how he might be progressing. Aoshi had been shot enough times in the past himself to know that nothing hurt like a bullet wound trying to heal, and he wondered if Sagara was in much pain, or if perhaps the fever kept him far away from it.
Outside his room, Aoshi hesitated. One hand already on the screen, already in the process of pulling it back, he stopped, glanced down at the floor and his lower lip caught between his teeth. He was not looking forward to speaking with this man. He would ask why Aoshi had saved him, what he wanted in return. And Aoshi was annoyed by that prospect, because he didn't have any answers. All the same, he was compelled to enter, if only to reassure himself that Sagara really was doing well.
But even that didn't make much sense to him. He had Omasu's word that the man would live, and that should have been enough for him. Aoshi lingered a moment longer, suspended between logic, which told him to turn and walk away, and something else, something that was not logical, which compelled him to look inside, just to see.
"He would not be conscious yet."
Aoshi looked up. He had heard Hannya approach, had processed the knowledge of quiet, unthreatening footsteps and muted breathing in the back of his mind, all without interrupting his thoughts. He half-turned, not lifting his hand from the screen. The coarse material felt different today for some reason, warm against his skin, as though alive.
"I thought I should verify that for myself."
Hannya shook his head. "You speak as though you don't trust your own comrades."
Breathing a sigh, Aoshi withdrew his hand at last, slipped it into the pocket of his gi. "I trust my intuition."
"Oh?" Hannya folded his arms and leaned back against the wall. He tipped his head toward the room where Sagara lay. "And what does your intuition say about him?"
He should have been expecting a question like that, should have already had an answer prepared. But he had nothing, and he hesitated. "I'm not certain. I thought if I spoke with him, I might begin to understand…"
"Understand what?"
Aoshi lifted his chin. He didn't like the feeling that he was being interrogated, that his motives were in question. "How he can best serve us, of course," he said, and abruptly turned, starting down the hallway.
But a moment later Hannya was at his elbow once more, keeping pace with him. "Is that why you're so interested in him?"
"Interested…" Aoshi echoed. That certainly wasn't the word he would have used. He shook his head a little. "No. It's not what you're thinking."
"My apologies."
Aoshi glanced over his shoulder. It seemed there had been sarcasm lingering behind Hannya's voice, but he thought now that he had just imagined it.
"If I hadn't brought him here, he would be dead. And I didn't want him to die." Aoshi narrowed his eyes. "Because he's been betrayed. He's like us now."
"Is that right?"
Aoshi tensed. "I know what I'm doing."
"I suppose you do." Hannya tilted his head slightly, and for a long moment he was silent. "Well. Perhaps not just like us."
And by the time Aoshi realized that the footfalls at his back were receding now instead of pacing him, Hannya had already vanished. He sighed. Now that he was alone again, the nagging urge to be at Sagara's side was fiercer than before. Aoshi shook his head; he didn't even glance back as he started once more down the hallway.