Chapter 1 : Vision from the
Past
---August 1865, Kyoto -
Kanto Festival
The annual Lantern
festival was in full swing. The streets were strung with hundreds of glowing
paper lanterns, lighting the night with brilliance. People thronged the
streets, couples strolled through stands selling snacks and toys. Children ran
shrieking with wild abandon, crowding around stands offering games, pulling
their parents to join the gatherings
around street performers doing their wonders.
A thick crowd was lined
along the streets - the main attraction was parading its way down the main
roads of inner Kyoto. Festival participants balanced bamboo poles hung with
tiers of lantern of different shapes and heights, sweating with exertion but
grinning at all the enthusiastic clappings and gasps from the spectators. The
lantern arrangements were a wonder of balance and creativity, the light they
cast almost turning the night into day. Festive music drifted to the streets
from the larger restaurants here and there. Those with more money were inside
enjoying the fine food and finer entertainment.
It was hard to believe that Kyoto was in the middle of civil war. The specter of death that lately hang constantly around the capital city of Japan was banished for today, the uncertainties and worries for the future set aside in this night of celebration. The people of Kyoto had had enough of death, and the night was still young. If the shadow of the reaper still lurked just beyond the circles of illumination, if the inevitable would still return tomorrow to claim their dues - then it only made the celebrations today all the livelier, the laughter louder and more boisterous. For today, the people of Kyoto celebrated their living.
***
The small ramen eatery
was packed full with people, the rougher and poorer sort. Two overworked
waiters dashed in a near run along small spaces left between the all-male
patrons. The air was noisy with shouts for more sake, more food, and faster
service.
The curtains at the
entrance was swept up again as another customer came in, a slight young man
with a high, reddish ponytail. He hesitated at the entrance, perhaps
reconsidering his choice of eating place. The youth's left cheek was covered by
a white dressing, the rest of his finely delicate features too pale and too
thin - as if he was just recovering from an illness. There was weariness in the
way he stood and the worn, stark black tunic he wore added to his haggard
appearance. The set of daisho at his waist attracted a few looks, but not many.
In these increasingly turbulent time, even young men barely into their
adulthood were given swords to carry.
"Irasshaimase,"
the nearest harried waiter greeted the newcomer. "Douzo, please take a
seat, we'll be with you shortly." With that, he scurried back to attend to
a more than slightly drunk crowd near the kitchen.
Looking around again, the
young samurai sighed and wound his way through the tight passage between tables
and bodies to find an empty seat. He found one near a corner, the other seats
occupied by three older men. He politely excused himself and sat in the
remaining place. The three men continued their heated conversation, ignoring
him. That suited him just fine. He
snagged a waiter that passed close-by, ordered a beef ramen and green tea, and
settled himself against the wall.
"Of course the
'Silver Springs' is the best in all of Kyoto," one of the men was
exclaiming enthusiastically, "Who could possibly rival the 'Crimson
Blossom' Komagata Yumi? Ooh, I would have paid my whole year salary to be
accompanied by her for just one night !"
His companions laughed
coarsely at his fervent words. "Yes, but would she want to service an oaf
like you ?" one of them mocked the speaker with a grin, "She's very
picky, that one. If she doesn't like you, then she won't even bat an eye-lid at
you, no matter how much you pay her."
His other companion
chortled gleefully, "Heh, heh, so true. And how much can you pay anyway ? There were so many men
after her, officials, samurais, rich merchants' sons, she has so many to pick
from. Why would she pick you loser ?"
The first speaker went
red in the face, aided by the not inconsiderable sake he had downed, "So
what if I'm not rich ? Not some damn stuck-up samurai ? I heard she got secret
lovers that she bedded without pay. If she likes them enough, she'll even pay
for their expenses..."
The young samurai tuned
down the various loud conversations in the room into a muted roar. Hugging his
katana against his right shoulder, he let his weary body relaxed slightly
against the wall. The sleepless nights and rigorous activities were taking a
heavy toll on him, and he wanted nothing more than to curl up in a safe place
and get some sleep.
But that was the catch, a
"safe place". There were precious few of those left, and after being
surprised in two places guaranteed by his fellow Ishin Shishi as safe, he was
starting to doubt that there were any secure hiding places left.
His knuckles tightened
momentarily on the hilt of his katana as he thought of the traitor that had
spilled so many of their secrets to the government. So many of his fellow
revolutionaries died during the surprise attacks launched by the Shinsengumi.
He had barely been able to protect Katsura-san and the others, and escorted
them to safety during twice of those attacks. The first time he had escaped
unharmed, his skill carving a way out for his leaders. But the second time, he
was not so lucky.
Unconsciously, he rubbed
against his bandaged right side. Burning pain punished his meddling, forcing
him to surreptitiously bit down against the pain. The second time they had been
ambushed, it had been the First Troop of the Shinsengumi, and he had come face-to-face with the famous Captain of the
First Troop - the smiling, soft-spoken Okita Souji. The young captain had
deliberately sought him out and engaged him in a single duel to free his men to
attack the rest of the Ishin Shishi.
Okita Souji had been as
good as his reputation, perhaps even better. Normally, he would have been able
to at least fight him to a draw, but his first duty was to protect his leaders.
He had sacrificed his left side, taking a deep three-inch sword wound to break
away from the duel and back to the side of Ishin Shishi members. They were
lucky the sky had chosen to dump a heavy rainstorm on them right then.
Visibility was reduced to practically nothing and he managed to guard his
charges until they could loose themselves among the woods. Not everyone had
made it.
Strange that he had lived
with the traitor for so long without suspecting a thing. Strange to realize how
naive he was then, despite everything he had seen and done. Because of him they
had lost so many good people, the movement forced to take a step back to
rebuild their forces. Because of him, he had lost...
...her...
A wave of weariness swept
over him, dousing the simmering anger. The bone-deep fatigue that he could not
seem to shake off ever since that winter. Was
it really only eight months ago? When I was truly happy, for the first time in
so long... I wanted nothing more...
He looked up with haunted
eyes at the opposite wall of the small eatery. Why did I come back here? , he thought tiredly. Out of all the restaurants in Kyoto, why
here? As if to answer his unspoken question, an image came to his mind - a
slender, delicate figure sitting quietly beside a table opposite him, her long
raven hair falling down to cover her face. He did not need her to raise her
head to know her face.
He stared at her blankly,
a mirage, is that all I want? Just to see
her ghost for a while. He closed his eyes, and when he opened them again,
the table opposite was occupied by a group of rough dock-workers, laughing and
drinking sake. He lowered his eyes to the floor. It's alright; even a mirage... is alright.
His train of thought was
interrupted by a hurried, "Douzo," as the bowl of ramen and tea he
had ordered was placed in front of him. "Arigatou," he murmured but
the waiter had already bustled off. He sipped his hot soup slowly. It burned a
trail of warmth down his throat, warming his cold limbs. The air was balmy, but
he still felt a bit chilled.
It was probably foolhardy
for him to volunteer for this current mission in his condition. But it was a
very dangerous mission, almost suicidal even. With his skills, he might be able
to accomplish it and return alive. Others might not have that chance. When the
mission had came up, he had volunteered without hesitation, understanding the
importance - no, the desperation behind it. The ambushes and loss of safe
houses from vital information leakage had hit them badly, and the Ishin Shishi
needed this mission to succeed. Or the Shinsengumi would simply continue to
tear them to death piece by piece.
Besides, if anyone was to
die so others could live, who better than the killer who had the blood of
hundreds on his hands. It would be fitting. It would even be justice.
A sudden bang in front of
him jolted him from his thoughts, his body reflexively tensing. He forced
himself to relax when he saw it was one of his table-mates who had bang the
table to make his point. It was the half-drunken one, his face now flushed with
more than just sake.
"That's my point!
Who the hell do they think they are? Setting fires all over Kyoto, what if the
fire spread to other areas?! Damn those Ishin Shishi, it's not their city
that's going to get burned to the ground! " Apparently, somewhere along
the way, the conversation had turned into more serious things.
*The burnings*. His hands
tightened around the bowl he was holding, but outwardly he remained impassive.
The drunken man's more
sober companions tried to shush him, nervously glancing around the room. Heads had started to turn, attracted by the
loud noise.
"Not so loud,
Fuji," one of them hissed, "They're just burning the gaijins' houses.
It's none of our business."
The man called Fuji did
not heed the advice, raising his voice even louder and slurring slightly,
"It's always us ordinary people who got it worst. How many times did the
Ishin Shishi clash with the Shinsengumi? These days, you can't even walk on the
street without being afraid that you'll run into a fight and get killed! By
both sides! Things weren't so bad before those roshis moved in here, they're troublemakers, all of them!"
From a table near the
entrance, a big burly man who had had quite a lot to drink himself shouted
angrily, "What did you say?! It's spineless cowards like you that made the
gaijins step all over us. I say let those dogs burn, good riddance!" The
man's friends muttered their assents, glowering darkly at the three men. A
tense quiet was falling over the small restaurant, the other patrons wary of a
possible fight.
"Ah, hah, hah,"
the older of Fuji's friend laughed nervously and tried to appease the big man,
"Please, don't mind my friend, he just had a bit too much to drink. He
didn't mean anything by it."
"Humph," the
burly man snorted, "You're lucky I'm feeling generous today. A free piece
of advice for you, you go on talking like that, you're not going to live very
long."
"Ah, yes, yes. Thank
you for your warning." The older man heaved a sigh of relief as the other
man ignored him, going back to his own conversation. He slapped Fuji over the
head none too gently, "You idiot! Are you trying to get us killed? You
never know who's government people and who's Ishin Shishi, best to just keep
your mouth shut." He shot a quick glance at the young man sharing their
table, but the latter ignored them, quietly sipping his tea.
The scare seemed to have
sobered the other man somewhat. "Sorry," he muttered softly, a hint
of bitterness still in his voice.
The third man coughed and
tried to switch the topic of conversation. "Say, have you two heard of
Shinsengumi's big fight against Ishin Shishi two days ago?"
His sober friend snorted,
"Yes, about fifteen times. Heh, everybody's been talking about that. But I
heard they bite the dirt again, like last time. Didn't manage to collar the big
ones."
"But I heard that
Captain Okita Souji got into a duel with Hitokiri Battousai. And I heard he
nailed that demon good."
That bit of news seemed
to cheer up Fuji, "Really?" he boggled at his friend, "Now
that's one piece of good news. And not a moment too soon, I tell you. Should
have killed him since the beginning, then we wouldn't have had to bury so many
people."
None of them noticed the
pain that flickered briefly in the samurai's eyes, before disappearing once
again behind the expressionless mask.
"Eh, I'm not so
sure," the second speaker snorted. "How many times did the rumors
said somebody has finally killed the Battousai? And every time he re-appeared
again happily chopping people up. I wouldn't be convinced until I saw his head
displayed in the public square. It's not so easy to kill a shadow assassin like
him."
"But Captain Okita
Souji could do it," the third man argued. "And if not him, there is
still Captain Saitoh of Shinsengumi Third Troop."
"Hmm," the
other man rubbed his chin thoughtfully, "Yes, if anyone could, Captain
Saitoh Hajime could kill Hitokiri Battousai." He grinned, "I would
have love to see that match."
"Hah," Fuji
slapped him hard across the back, "you'd probably end up a smear on the
dirt in no time at all."
The other man sputtered
in outrage but the samurai was no longer listening. He finished the ramen that
he barely tasted and got up from his table. Leaving a few coins on the table,
he replaced his daisho against his waist and traced his way back outside.
At least, that was his
intention.
The same man that had
shouted down his table-mates earlier started up from his table in an unsteady
lurch, maybe intending to harass the waiter or to relieve himself.
Unfortunately, he was nowhere near sober enough to stand on his own. He ended
up lurching straight towards the youth heading for the exit.
In no mood for such
foolishness, the samurai simply stepped aside and let the drunkard fell on the
floor. But the man's flailing arms snagged the nearby table and he landed on
top of the neighboring table. Crashes and shouted curses filled the air as the
man pulled the table down along with him, and the ramen bowls and sake bottles
on top of him. His friends sprang to their feet while the previous hosts on the
fallen table snarled obscenities and wiped ramen soup from their hands and
clothes.
The samurai calmly picked
a free path and continued towards the exit.
"WAIT,
kisama!!" the enraged bellow from the floor stopped him. Turning around,
he saw the fallen man struggling to get on his feet. He was drenched all over
with soup, sake, and tea. Strings of noodles and the odd few seaweed tangled
with his hair. It was a ludicrous sight, and some of the patrons started
sniggering. The man's face grew impossibly redder, and his eyes spat fire at
his target, the slight youth in front of him.
"SHUT UP!!" he
thundered angrily at the crowd, then turned towards the samurai. "What the
HELL d' you think you're doing?"
The object of his ire
merely looked at him blandly and replied calmly, "I didn't do
anything."
But the man was not going
to be reasonable. He was drunk, he was humiliated, and he had a ready target in
front of him who looked like an easy victim. His gaze drifted to the set of
daisho on the other's waist and sneered contemptuously, "You're a samurai?
What did you do to get those? Kiss some ass? Go back home to your mama,
boy." With that he hooted with laughter, his drinking companions
immediately joining him.
The samurai's eyes
narrowed as he assessed the rowdy crowd coldly. Only the man in front of him
had a katana. The others carried short knives, but none of them looked sober
enough to use them properly. From their earlier words, they seemed to have no
love for the government, but their attitude disgust him. Drunkards and bullies,
he hoped they were only a local gang and not actually part of Ishin Shishi, but
that was by no means certain.
He was planning to
attract some attention, but not from his own side, and not the attention of
petty thugs like these. He had a mission to accomplish. With that, the cold
emptiness enveloped him again, the anger and disgust dissipating like smoke.
Without a word, he turned around to walk out of the exit.
Seeing the youth turning
his back on him, the drunk man sneered and spit on the floor. "Don't walk
away when I'm talking to you. " With that, he lunged towards the young
man, fully intending to lift him by the scruff of his neck.
The next thing he knew,
he was lying on his back on the pavement outside the small eatery, his rump
smarting from the rough landing. Blinking some of the stupor out of his eyes,
he saw the young samurai standing in front of him, one hand resting loosely on
the hilt of his katana, his dark eyes looking down on him with cold disdain. It
was that disdain that made him snap. His vision turned red and he forgot to
question just how a small youth had managed to threw him on his ass without him
even realizing it.
"WHAT ARE YOU MORONS
WAITING FOR?! GET HIM!!"
With a rather discordant
roar, the rest of the gang piled out of the door and flung themselves at the
samurai.
The young man nimbly
leapt away from the clumsy attacks. At the last moment, his right feet shot out
and tripped the lead attacker. The man immediately fell face-first to the
ground, and tripped two more of his friends on the way down.
"SOORREAARHH!!"
the remaining screamed and charged towards the samurai with their short blades
unsheathed.
On seeing the naked
blades, a hard glint came into the young man's eyes. Instead of withdrawing, he suddenly surged forward to practically
within inches of touching the two men. Before they could withdraw the now
hopelessly extended blades, the red-headed samurai had brought his wakizashi up
in one smooth arc, still sheathed. It cracked against the nearer man's jaw with
sickening force, the deceptively elegant move strong enough to break the man's
jaw. He went limp and began to fall to the ground.
The other man used the
precious second to leap back out of reach. Gleefully noting his opponent's
apparent mistake, he swung his blade towards the youth's wide-open left side. A
swift blur was the only warning he had
before the sheathed blade of the katana followed the circular path of the
wakizashi and crashed into the side of his neck. He was out before he landed on
top of his friend, both of them crashing to the ground almost in the same
instant.
Less than five seconds
had passed.
By this time, the other
three gang members had finished picking themselves up from the ground. But the
fall, and the sight of their friends being beaten so easily, had knocked some
sense into them. They stood there nervously clutching their weapons, none of
them eager to go first. Meanwhile, a sizeable crowd had gathered around the
altercation on the street, people drawn in from other parts of the crowded
street.
The samurai calmly
replaced his daisho against his belt, his right hand hovering over the hilt of
the katana, right foot forward and body slightly crouched. Even to those
without formal sword-training, the formal stance for battou-jutsu was easily
recognizable.
The gang members' faces
were acquiring a distinct greenish cast, and they looked as if they desperately
wished they were anywhere else but there. That fact did not escape the
samurai's sharp gaze.
"I don't want to
kill you," he said in a cold voice, the sudden words making his opponents
jumped. "Leave, and I won't pursue this. Continue this foolishness, and
next time, it will not be the saya that hit you."
His opponents looked at
each other nervously, but before they could say anything, their leader shoved
his way forward with an angry roar, "What kind of good-for-nothing cowards
are you people? Afraid of just one brat barely out of the cradle?!
Idiots!!"
He planted his foot
firmly a few feet before the samurai and crouched down in the identical stance
of a battou-jutsu, his left hand gripping the sheath of his katana tightly. The
samurai observed him with cold eyes. The leader at least seemed to have some
proper sword-training, and the adrenaline seemed to have sobered him up.
"Come on,
samurai," he grated angrily, twisting the last word into a curse.
"KURRAAEEE...!!"
With that shout, he grounded his left feet firmly on the ground and leapt
forward, pulling his katana out of the sheath with twice the speed of a normal
sword slash. But to his opponent, it was simply too slow.
The samurai uttered no
battle cries. His eyes blazed with a sudden cold light and faster than his
audience could see, he sprang forward on his right feet. His katana transcribed
a perfect smooth curve ending precisely before the hilt of his opponent's
weapon, barely half out of its sheath.
A loud ring of metal
against metal jarred the air. The force of the blow, aided by the incredible
speed of the draw wrenched the katana out of its owner's hand. It slammed into
the wooden support structure at the eatery's awning where it continued to
tremble from the residual force.
For a moment, an eerie
quiet fell across the crowded street. Then, as if a bubble had burst, the
cheering and clapping started. But the two main participants simply stood
silently regarding each other. The older man's face was a study of mixed
emotions - stunned disbelief, anger, and reluctant fear mixed with something
akin to awe.
When the rest of his gang
members approached him, he wordlessly turned around and left the clearing,
ignoring his katana that was still stuck to the awning. After shouldering their
two unconscious members, with many wary glances at the samurai, the rest of the
gang took off after their leader, their previous bravado and belligerence gone
without a trace.
The young samurai
re-sheathed his katana, and staring at all the audience, gave a small shake of
his head, tiredness warring with disbelief at the surreal situation. He saw the
owner of the restaurant, a portly middle-aged man, standing near the door. He
counted out some coins and pressed them against the man's hands. Meeting the
owner's startled gaze, he quietly said, "I'm sorry for the trouble. I hope
this is enough to cover any damages." With that, he turned around to leave
the place.
"Wait," the
owner suddenly called out. He turned his head to see the man coming towards
him, smiling widely, "I remember you, you often came here a few months
back, didn't you?" He laughed loudly, slapping the young man hard across
the back, making him stagger a little, "Yes, and the last time there were
a bunch of good-for-nothings asking for a fight, too. Harassing that pretty
young lady, wasn't it?"
He chattered on, not
seeing the samurai's face turning pale. "Did you see her? She left just
after you did, in a hurry too! I thought for sure that she was going to go and
thank you for your help. So, did you see her?"
The samurai raised his
head weakly to meet the boisterous owner's grinning face, and softly replied,
"No."
The man frowned,
"Ah, too bad I suppose," then he brightened again, dismissing the
answer, "You're welcome to come to my place anytime, young man. It was
rare nowadays to see such good young people. Too many people simply don't care
about what's right, and what with the Shinsengumi and Ishin Shishi clashing all
the time, us ordinary people need all the help we can get."
"Thank you,"
the young man murmured, his eyes lowered. "I'm sorry, but I need to go
now."
The owner blinked,
"Ah, yes, yes. Go quickly before you were caught for disturbing public
peace. Although we could all testify that you're only helping to preserve
public peace. Ah, hah, hah!"
The samurai hurriedly
left the circle of people surrounding him and disappeared into a side alley.
Without anything else to watch, the crowd began to disperse, some still talking
about the fight they had just seen. But one person did not go back to the
revelries. He left the area with quickening footsteps, as if on a pressing
business.
***
The night was silent once
again, the celebration having come to an end hours ago. Even the most foolhardy
of drinkers had already seek their beds, or the nearest convenient resting
place. The only sound was the occasional banging of the nightwatch, marking the
time.
A silent shadow flitted
through the rooftops of Kyoto, a male figure covered from face to toes in
black. He reached his destination and crouched down on the tile roof of a small
inn. Slowly, he lifted a few of the tiles, careful not to make the smallest
noise. With barely more than a whisper of rustling fabric, he dropped down the
hole he had made into the dark corridor in the building's upper floor.
The intruder went on
silent feet to the room at the end of the corridor and stopped in front of the
sliding door. Reaching inside his waistband, he came up with a thin reed tube.
Carefully, he pierced the tube through the paper covering of the door, pressed
his mouth against the tube, and blew softly. On the opposite side, a silent
puff of white smoke came up from the tube mouth, quickly dispersing into the
air.
After waiting for a few
moments, to make sure the sleeping powder had taken effect, he slowly slid the
door noiselessly aside, and step warily into the room. He could see a lump
nestled under the blanket on the futon in the corner. Quietly, he slid a dagger
out of the sheath in his waist, and moved closer to the futon.
The faintest rustling behind
him was the sole indication that something was terribly amiss. But before he
could turn around, a cold steel edge was pressed against his throat.
"It is a bit too
late for a friendly visit, isn't it?" a soft voice murmured behind him. A
slight pressure on the blade pressed him to move further into the room. The
door slid shut with a whisper. The intruder was beginning to sweat.
"Who sent you?"
No answer. "Very well, I can guess the answer anyway. Tell Captain Okita
Souji of the Shinsengumi First Troop," the blade pressed harder against
the throat, "meet me tomorrow same time as now, at the clearing near White
Fox Shrine west outside of Kyoto. We'll continue our 'unfinished business'
there."
Swallowing against the
sharp steel, the newly-drafted messenger quietly asked, "And who should I
say the message came from?"
The small room was silent
for a moment - then,
"Hitokiri
Battousai."
With that, the cold
pressure against its neck was lifted. The black-clad man turned around and
scrutinized the red-haired samurai standing behind him in his black tunic, his
unsheathed katana on his right hand. A large cross scar could be seen on the
young man's left cheek. Wordlessly, he passed the samurai and disappeared down
the dark corridor.
Himura Battousai slowly
sheathed his katana, his eyes glinting colder than the steel blade in his hand.
"So it begins ...
Okita Souji."
***
Notes :
1. This is kind of an introduction chapter, explaining
the recent past and the current circumstances, and setting the stage for the
next chapter.
2. "Katsura-sama" is Katsura Kogoro,
Kenshin's superior as shown in the manga.
3. 'roshi' is masterless samurai, a lot of those
during Bakumatsu. I got the impression that many of them join either sides,
Ishin Shishi and Bakufu (including Shinsengumi).