For War is Kind ~ Chapter 5
Days dragged by with nothing to give them perspective. Sagara would sleep, watch the slow progression of sunlight across the floor, would eat a little or drink when it was given to him.
They kept him heavily drugged. He felt numb, and when he was spoken to it was as if the voice came to him through a fog. The words meant little; they buoyed him out of sleep, and chased him into dreams too deep for remembrance, but giving them any actual significance was impossible.
The fever would not subside. It spiked in the evenings and his eyes grew distant, his gaze pierced the western wall and seemed focused on something a hundred miles away.
He babbled about ghosts.
Gradually, his memory came back to him. A thousand disjointed images drew slowly into cohesion. And when the moment came that he at last recalled everything, a sword through the ribcage would have been more welcome.
The woods near Shimosuwa Pass were close enough to Kyoto that Sagara had been able to see, through breaks in the tree line, the dusting of city lights on the low hanging clouds. That had comforted him for some reason. He had felt peaceful. For the moment, the snow had stopped.
Words had been passed; he had spoken in anger. Had he really said all those things? Had he really taken that long to realize?
After that, things weren't as clear. He remembered vertigo, the sensation of falling from a great height, though the ground never seemed to come any closer. A crimson stain crawling slowly outward from his boots.
"Don't faint." A hand tightened around his wrist, drawing him closer to the urgent words hissed against his ear. "Sagara! Don't faint."
He fell against Ichiro's shoulder, allowed himself to be drawn back toward the cover of the trees. Somewhere beyond the blackness that shrouded his sight, Sanosuke sniffled piteously.
Sagara swallowed hard. "Are you all right?"
"He's fine." Ichiro assured. Don't talk. Just worry about staying on your feet."
And so he had. He was reeled, but unconsciousness would not come to claim him. Not until he had seen it through, not until he had watched the betrayal through to its end.
On the sixth day, the fever broke and Sagara opened his eyes.
It was late morning, and bright sun spilled through gaps in the walls. He was cocooned in blankets, but the bitter chill against his uncovered face and throat told him that snow lingered on the ground.
Every joint was stiff and aching, and Sagara took each breath slowly, carefully, as though wary of reawakening dormant agony. He wasn't in the mood for pain right now. With a tired sigh, Sagara let his eyes slip shut once again. Almost instantly, a warm wave of sleep swept over him, dragging him down towards welcoming darkness. Somewhere deep enough that none of it would matter…
"Hi there!"
Sagara jerked awake. Blinking away his initial disorientation, he found himself looking up into a bright, curious gaze. He sighed. It was only a child; a girl, a few years younger than Sanosuke. She had crept in while he dozed, and now she knelt above him, looking him over critically.
"I said hi," the girl reminded him. "My name's Misao. Who're you?"
Sagara groaned softly as a dull ache started behind his temples.
"Hi," he said, testing a faint, fragile smile.
Misao shifted a little on her knees. "Hey, are you sick? You've been asleep for a whole week, you know. You look really pale."
"I'm fine," Sagara assured. "Where am I?"
"At the Aoi-ya, of course!" Misao told him. "Lord Aoshi brought you here. Did you fight him? I bet he kicked your butt."
"Aoshi, hmm?" Sagara's smile deepened a little. So, that was his name. "No, I didn't fight him."
"Oh. Well, if you did fight him, he'd beat you bad. Who are you anyway?"
"My name's…" But Sagara hesitated, and slowly some of the light faded from his eyes. "Nobody. That's my name."
"That's not a name!" Misao gave an exasperated sigh, but her protests were cut short by the rattle of a screen being pulled back.
No sound of footsteps preceded Aoshi as he came into the room. He hesitated a moment, taking them both in at a glance.
Misao bounded to her feet to meet him.
"He's awake," she announced, wrapping her arms firmly around Aoshi's knee.
Aoshi looked over, and when their eyes met, Sagara made no attempt to hide his expression.
"Thank you," the boy said evenly, laying a hand on Misao's hair. "I'd like to talk to him alone now."
Misao stuck out her tongue. "But I wanna see!"
Aoshi glanced at her sternly, and she recoiled. "Fine," she said, slipping out through the open screen. "But you gotta tell me all about it later."
"Perhaps," Aoshi said.
He pulled the screen firmly behind her before crossing the room to Sagara's side. He knelt, looking up to Sagara's face only after a moment, as if noticing him for the first time. "How do you feel?"
With Misao gone, Sagara let his smile fade. He hut too much, in too many ways, for it to be convincing. The corner of his lips twitched, a glimpse of amusement through agony. "How am I supposed to feel?"
He laughed, a grating humorless sound, as if it came from a throat filled with dust. "I'm sorry. I'm all right."
Aoshi nodded as if that satisfied him. "I see. Your shoulder was the worst of it. How does it feel now?"
"Healing." Sagara narrowed his eyes slightly. "I'll live."
"I know you will." Aoshi hesitated as though uncertain of what more he could say. "And you'll be safe here, until your strength returns."
His words seemed somehow forced, drawing air between them taunt suddenly, and reminding Sagara that there really was nothing more for them to discuss. Aoshi had saved him for a reason, and he was now in the boy's debt. The rest could remain unspoken. But he was gripped with an inexplicable sense of urgency at the thought that he might be left alone again, and the feel of that blue gaze slipping away was as tangible as fingers across his skin.
Before he could think better of it, Sagara stretched out a hand to halt the boy's retreat.
"Thank you." He hesitated. "Aoshi."
He turned back sharply, a bit of color rushing to his cheeks. "How did you…?"
"Misao said it. Don't worry, though. Whatever you're hiding from…"
"I'm not hiding," Aoshi retorted instantly. His eyes flashed brightly. "I have nothing to fear."
"Then I must be in very capable hands."
Aoshi straightened, his shoulders bunching briefly with tension. But all at once, all the defiance seemed to rush out of him, and before Sagara's eyes, he shrank.
"Don't you think it's about time that you tell me what happened to you?" he said at last.
Sagara turned away. The one thing Aoshi needed to know was the only thing he had been trying to forget.
"I…" he tried. "I don't…"
Color flooded back to his face, and his voice rose to an urgent pitch. "I don't remember. I don't know what happened."
But he did. All those horrible memories, they were within him still.
"Why?" he gasped, unable to keep his tone from rising sharply. "Why do you have to know?"
He was not looking at Aoshi's face, but rather down at his hands, and he saw his fingers twitch against his thighs in agitation.
"My name," the bou said at last, "is Shinomori Aoshi, of the Oniwaban Ninja Clan. The movements of the government are always my concern."
"Shinomori…" Sagara echoed quietly, just to have the shape of the name in his mouth. "It's nice to finally meet you."
He felt as if Aoshi had forfeited something in just those few words, as if something had shifted in his favor. But Aoshi was still watching him, his gaze unwavering, and Sagara knew the boy wouldn't let him off that easily.
He sighed. If he just told him everything; if he said it all at once and quickly, maybe it wouldn't have time to get its claws into him.
"We were used," Sagara began softly. "They lied to us. We told people what they wanted to hear, and, I suppose, I always knew the government couldn't back up those promises. But I didn't think they'd be so desperate for someone to blame."
His eyes darkened a little, and his gaze slipped away to some point far in the distance. "They killed everyone?"
"We didn't find any other survivors," Aoshi said. "I'm sorry for the loss of your men, but you're learning now what we knew all along. This new government isn't any better than the one it replaced."
Sagara shivered. It really was finished now; there was no more to be said. He knew he should have been angry, but he wasn't. He couldn't help but be grateful for that numbness, but it was a gratitude that was close company to shame.
"I see," he murmured. He shouldn't have been asking this, was certain he knew better, but he couldn't keep it to himself. "There was a boy. At least tell me if you found his body."
Aoshi shook his head. "There was nothing about a boy in the report my men delivered," he said. "Only tracks, near the riverbed where I found you. They lost his trail - he might have walked downstream."
After a moment he added, "If my men couldn't find him, no one can."
Sagara watched him carefully for a moment, hardly daring even to breathe as he gauged the Aoshi's sincerity.
"Thank god," he sighed at last. Sanosuke was all right; he had to be. Aoshi wouldn't lie to him about something like that. He had nothing to gain from it.
Aoshi looked him over critically. "You shouldn't have allowed yourself to become so attached to a soldier, boy or not."
Sagara only tilted his chin back defiantly, and eventually Aoshi let the matter drop.
"Is there anything you need?" he said.
Sagara shook his head. "No thank you, I'm fine now. But they might come looking for me here, you know. What would you do then?"
"Kill them," Aoshi replied instantly. "This place is well protected, you know. I'd never let anyone near it."
"Of course." Sagara smiled appreciatively at the boyish pride in Aoshi's voice. Maybe it meant he was human after all. "In that case, I feel quite safe."
"Good." Aoshi pushed to his feet, brushing nonexistent dust from the front of his gi. "You can stay as long as you need."
He paused, meeting Sagara's gaze.
"You owe me," he added hesitantly, as though trying the words out, unsure of what Sagara would say.
"I do," Sagara replied. "I suppose it all depends on what kind of favor you decide to call in."
That had sounded like an innuendo, one so brazen that even Aoshi had picked up on it. Surprise flashed across his face, but not disgust. He retreated quickly, and didn't speak again until one hand was already poised to pull the screen shut behind him.
"We shall see," he said at last, and slipped into the hall.