Sakura In The Wind
Homura had not realised at the time how predictable he had grown. The mingled fear and deference from the courtiers and bureaucrats had grown boring for the moment, and the army officers seemed to want something from him that he didn't know how to give. The young ones watched him with hungry eyes, as though they expected him to go and kill more youkai at any moment. He wouldn't have minded, but apparently none needed killing yet.
There were, of course, fantasies. There were always fantasies. Now that he was free from the prison cell which had encompassed his life, anything was possible. He could dream of conquests splendid enough to blot all memory of Nataku from people's minds. He had nothing against the child, of course, but -- well, if he should be the only Toushin Taishi, that would make life so much simpler. It might even please the Marshal and the General.
Homura was aware that he owed the two of them something for their actions in promoting him to this rank. Then again, it's a business relationship. They're getting something out of it. I don't need to feel personally indebted. There is no reason why I should feel indebted, as long as I bear them in mind and stay Toushin Taishi.
He smiled slowly. Hardly any likelihood of him wanting to give that up.
And there were other dreams; more private ones, ones that warmed his blood and made his heart race when he closed his eyes to envisage them. The army cheering him, the officers kneeling to him, even the Marshal and the General bowing their heads and going on one knee to him, looking up with admiration in their eyes. He looked at the cherry trees around him, but the white masses of petals were the robes of the bowing throng, and the light breeze was the echoes of distant cheers. The Emperor reaching out one hand to him, nodding to him, acknowledging he existed. The brilliant golden sunlight was the gold on imperial robes, the clear blue of the sky their perfect silk.
And, behind them all, something else.
The Emperor bloodied and kneeling before his sword, knowing he would receive no mercy. Homura as Emperor . . .
Someone behind him and to his right coughed. Homura let the dreams fall away, and turned on one heel, careful to let the motion seem powerful rather than nervous. His right hand twitched, eager for the weight of his sword.
The man who had been waiting raised both hands, displaying their emptiness. "Toushin Taishi. Homura-sama. Any chance of a word?"
He didn't look like any sort of courtier. His short orange hair was untidy, as much so as the General's, and a patch across his right eye partly masked but did not conceal the scar which disfigured that side of his face. He leaned against the trunk of the cherry tree which partly sheltered him, rather than standing upright as most of the military did, and the barrel and butt of a large gun showed over his right shoulder and down from his left hip. There was a half-amused, half angry turn to his lip as he stood there, permitting Homura's inspection. His unmilitary, uncourtier-like jacket was open at the throat, showing a red inner lining, and his jeans and boots were as inappropriate as Homura's own clothing.
"You have my full attention," Homura said politely, and fumed at his own stupidity for allowing his route to be so easily predicted. He'd been warned about possible assassination attempts, and while at the time he'd thought the Marshal was being over-cautious, now it was much easier to believe in such things. Not that the other man would be able to take him, of course. He could cut him down before he'd managed even to bring that gun into position. But if he could miss one man, he could miss others, and . . . This feeling of uncertainty was far too familiar. He had thought that he had left such things behind.
"Right." The other folded his arms. "No names, no pack drill, Homura-sama. I'm not going to pretend to be some sort of diplomat, because, no shit, I'm not a diplomat. I've been sent to make an offer. The name's Zenon."
The breeze played with the edge of Homura's cape. He nodded again. "What sort of offer, Zenon?"
"Think of it as a suggestion," Zenon said. "You might want to consider how long your current support's going to last. They -- you know who I mean -- never wanted a toushin anyhow, just picked you up because they needed to get someone, and you think they're going to keep you around once you're not necessary? Everyone knows the Marshal's more into reading books about youkai than actually fighting the damn things. So he pissed a certain person off, figured he needed a toushin to cover his ass, got one. The Marshal's going down soon enough anyhow. You'd do better to be working for someone who knows that Heaven needs a toushin and who'd be glad to have you on the team."
"Someone like your current employer," Homura stated dryly. "Who, since you aren't going to mention his name, sits beside the Emperor's ear and who is the main person at threat from my current occupation. It does rather weaken his child's position, after all, mm?"
Zenon shrugged. He managed to make the movement look somehow dubious in itself, rather than the Marshal's grace or Konzen Douji's awkwardness. "Yeah, well -- you know who I work for. Either you're going to say yes, which means no problems, or you're going to say maybe, in which case you're not going to want to tell your friends about it, are you? Or you're going to say no, no shit, no way, but then you already knew who I was working for. So no loss there."
That made Homura's mouth curve in a wide smile. "You don't sound particularly nervous."
"Should I be?" Zenon grinned in response. "Hey, we've already settled that you're not going to fuck with me right this minute, huh? So we can talk about it like two reasonable men."
Power. It was a different flavour, but the undertaste was still the same. The power to be approached, to be negotiated with as an equal, to be valued. "Well." Homura shrugged. "I'm surprised that you -- or your superior -- think I'd come across that easily."
"Oh? You want the offer concrete?"
Does he think I'm that stupid? Homura wondered. "Let's just say I'm curious."
"Oh well." Zenon shrugged, and for a moment Homura thought there was something flat and contemptuous in his eyes. "Name your price. You want silks, Homura-sama? Property? Rank? More rank? Women? If my boss can't get it, it's not worth getting. But the real thing he's offering you is patronage. The Marshal's got rank, but if he screws up, then you're pissing in the wind."
"Mm." Such a bright day. So many intriguing possibilities. Such a future to play with. "Sorry. No."
"You're sure?" Zenon kept his tone light.
"The fact that your superior wants me to sign up -- no, that he's sending his servants to talk to me -- well." Homura smiled brilliantly. "It says to me that he's not as certain as he thinks. Of course, I could be wrong. But if he didn't need me, then he wouldn't bother to make approaches."
"You're making a mistake," Zenon said flatly. "He doesn't like wasting things. That's all. It'd be easier if you came over. It's that simpler. If you don't . . ." He shrugged again. "Well."
"Well." Homura shrugged in turn. "And you'd really trust me if I was that quick to sell them out?"
Zenon grinned wolfishly. It creased his face and tugged at the scar which ran under his eyepatch. "There's nothing shameful in a man knowing where his advantage lies, Homura-sama. Ah well. See you round." He flipped a brief, cheerful wave.
Homura was about to ask, that's all? but he caught himself. It would be folly to appear less self-possessed than the other man. "I'm sure we will," he said, politely, and turned away.
A bird was singing somewhere in the trees. Homura was still smiling, buoyed by anger and power and sheer delight. Of course he'd never considered saying yes; he had enough notion of proper loyalty towards the Marshal and his friends. And, of course, there was the point that he still needed their political support and advice in the current situation. Life was complex, and he was a part of it. But rather than simply being one of the cherry petals of Heaven, as loose and easily shaken as a single blossom, he was now one of the winds that shook the branches, a power who others respected.
Each step was a pleasure when he could compare his current life to what had gone before. He was the toushin; he was Homura-sama, even to other warriors; he was an honourable man who would not betray his allies.
Perhaps, some day, he would even be more than that.
He wondered where Konzen Douji was.
---
Homura had not realised at the time how predictable he had grown. The mingled fear and deference from the courtiers and bureaucrats had grown boring for the moment, and the army officers seemed to want something from him that he didn't know how to give. The young ones watched him with hungry eyes, as though they expected him to go and kill more youkai at any moment. He wouldn't have minded, but apparently none needed killing yet.
There were, of course, fantasies. There were always fantasies. Now that he was free from the prison cell which had encompassed his life, anything was possible. He could dream of conquests splendid enough to blot all memory of Nataku from people's minds. He had nothing against the child, of course, but -- well, if he should be the only Toushin Taishi, that would make life so much simpler. It might even please the Marshal and the General.
Homura was aware that he owed the two of them something for their actions in promoting him to this rank. Then again, it's a business relationship. They're getting something out of it. I don't need to feel personally indebted. There is no reason why I should feel indebted, as long as I bear them in mind and stay Toushin Taishi.
He smiled slowly. Hardly any likelihood of him wanting to give that up.
And there were other dreams; more private ones, ones that warmed his blood and made his heart race when he closed his eyes to envisage them. The army cheering him, the officers kneeling to him, even the Marshal and the General bowing their heads and going on one knee to him, looking up with admiration in their eyes. He looked at the cherry trees around him, but the white masses of petals were the robes of the bowing throng, and the light breeze was the echoes of distant cheers. The Emperor reaching out one hand to him, nodding to him, acknowledging he existed. The brilliant golden sunlight was the gold on imperial robes, the clear blue of the sky their perfect silk.
And, behind them all, something else.
The Emperor bloodied and kneeling before his sword, knowing he would receive no mercy. Homura as Emperor . . .
Someone behind him and to his right coughed. Homura let the dreams fall away, and turned on one heel, careful to let the motion seem powerful rather than nervous. His right hand twitched, eager for the weight of his sword.
The man who had been waiting raised both hands, displaying their emptiness. "Toushin Taishi. Homura-sama. Any chance of a word?"
He didn't look like any sort of courtier. His short orange hair was untidy, as much so as the General's, and a patch across his right eye partly masked but did not conceal the scar which disfigured that side of his face. He leaned against the trunk of the cherry tree which partly sheltered him, rather than standing upright as most of the military did, and the barrel and butt of a large gun showed over his right shoulder and down from his left hip. There was a half-amused, half angry turn to his lip as he stood there, permitting Homura's inspection. His unmilitary, uncourtier-like jacket was open at the throat, showing a red inner lining, and his jeans and boots were as inappropriate as Homura's own clothing.
"You have my full attention," Homura said politely, and fumed at his own stupidity for allowing his route to be so easily predicted. He'd been warned about possible assassination attempts, and while at the time he'd thought the Marshal was being over-cautious, now it was much easier to believe in such things. Not that the other man would be able to take him, of course. He could cut him down before he'd managed even to bring that gun into position. But if he could miss one man, he could miss others, and . . . This feeling of uncertainty was far too familiar. He had thought that he had left such things behind.
"Right." The other folded his arms. "No names, no pack drill, Homura-sama. I'm not going to pretend to be some sort of diplomat, because, no shit, I'm not a diplomat. I've been sent to make an offer. The name's Zenon."
The breeze played with the edge of Homura's cape. He nodded again. "What sort of offer, Zenon?"
"Think of it as a suggestion," Zenon said. "You might want to consider how long your current support's going to last. They -- you know who I mean -- never wanted a toushin anyhow, just picked you up because they needed to get someone, and you think they're going to keep you around once you're not necessary? Everyone knows the Marshal's more into reading books about youkai than actually fighting the damn things. So he pissed a certain person off, figured he needed a toushin to cover his ass, got one. The Marshal's going down soon enough anyhow. You'd do better to be working for someone who knows that Heaven needs a toushin and who'd be glad to have you on the team."
"Someone like your current employer," Homura stated dryly. "Who, since you aren't going to mention his name, sits beside the Emperor's ear and who is the main person at threat from my current occupation. It does rather weaken his child's position, after all, mm?"
Zenon shrugged. He managed to make the movement look somehow dubious in itself, rather than the Marshal's grace or Konzen Douji's awkwardness. "Yeah, well -- you know who I work for. Either you're going to say yes, which means no problems, or you're going to say maybe, in which case you're not going to want to tell your friends about it, are you? Or you're going to say no, no shit, no way, but then you already knew who I was working for. So no loss there."
That made Homura's mouth curve in a wide smile. "You don't sound particularly nervous."
"Should I be?" Zenon grinned in response. "Hey, we've already settled that you're not going to fuck with me right this minute, huh? So we can talk about it like two reasonable men."
Power. It was a different flavour, but the undertaste was still the same. The power to be approached, to be negotiated with as an equal, to be valued. "Well." Homura shrugged. "I'm surprised that you -- or your superior -- think I'd come across that easily."
"Oh? You want the offer concrete?"
Does he think I'm that stupid? Homura wondered. "Let's just say I'm curious."
"Oh well." Zenon shrugged, and for a moment Homura thought there was something flat and contemptuous in his eyes. "Name your price. You want silks, Homura-sama? Property? Rank? More rank? Women? If my boss can't get it, it's not worth getting. But the real thing he's offering you is patronage. The Marshal's got rank, but if he screws up, then you're pissing in the wind."
"Mm." Such a bright day. So many intriguing possibilities. Such a future to play with. "Sorry. No."
"You're sure?" Zenon kept his tone light.
"The fact that your superior wants me to sign up -- no, that he's sending his servants to talk to me -- well." Homura smiled brilliantly. "It says to me that he's not as certain as he thinks. Of course, I could be wrong. But if he didn't need me, then he wouldn't bother to make approaches."
"You're making a mistake," Zenon said flatly. "He doesn't like wasting things. That's all. It'd be easier if you came over. It's that simpler. If you don't . . ." He shrugged again. "Well."
"Well." Homura shrugged in turn. "And you'd really trust me if I was that quick to sell them out?"
Zenon grinned wolfishly. It creased his face and tugged at the scar which ran under his eyepatch. "There's nothing shameful in a man knowing where his advantage lies, Homura-sama. Ah well. See you round." He flipped a brief, cheerful wave.
Homura was about to ask, that's all? but he caught himself. It would be folly to appear less self-possessed than the other man. "I'm sure we will," he said, politely, and turned away.
A bird was singing somewhere in the trees. Homura was still smiling, buoyed by anger and power and sheer delight. Of course he'd never considered saying yes; he had enough notion of proper loyalty towards the Marshal and his friends. And, of course, there was the point that he still needed their political support and advice in the current situation. Life was complex, and he was a part of it. But rather than simply being one of the cherry petals of Heaven, as loose and easily shaken as a single blossom, he was now one of the winds that shook the branches, a power who others respected.
Each step was a pleasure when he could compare his current life to what had gone before. He was the toushin; he was Homura-sama, even to other warriors; he was an honourable man who would not betray his allies.
Perhaps, some day, he would even be more than that.
He wondered where Konzen Douji was.
---
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