Chapter 13

Yukawa Shinichiro strode slowly up the east road, the rising moon shining yellow-white upon his dark clothing. The two swords, katana and wakizashi, hung at their distinctive angle from his left hip. His shoulder-length hair was pulled up sharply into a topknot, fluttering sideways in the breeze, made colorless by the moonlight. His long face was set into a mask of determination, grim and terrible, and the moonlight came nowhere near his eyes.

He could have walked out of any time in Japan's long history. Any time but the last eight years.

Kenshin was waiting for him, standing in the middle of the road at the top of the first rise just beyond the edge of town. The sight of Shinichiro's warrior profile in the moonlight made the hairs stand up on the back of his neck, but he kept his eyes wide and nonthreatening and his voice carefully calm.

"Shinichiro-dono, please reconsider what you're about to do."

Shinichiro came to a halt as Kenshin spoke, a good four yards in front of him. He glared at Kenshin with open hostility.

"Himura Battousai. Get out of my way." Shinichiro's voice was low and harsh.

Kenshin held his ground. "I won't let you do this."

Shinichiro's eyes narrowed. "I should have cut your throat when I had the chance." He gripped the hilt of his sword. "Now move, if you value your life!"

"Shinichiro-dono-"

Shinichiro drew his sword with a yell and charged forward.

Within the first swing Kenshin had identified his general style -- a common one among the samurai class of the Aizu region south of Kyoto, though Shinichiro's accent put him further north and west. It was a simple overhand slash, very powerful combined with the charge but not subtle. Kenshin sidestepped, reading the path of the blade and dodging it effortlessly.

Shinichiro spun, whirling his sword around and turning the follow-through into another attack. Some local refinements to the style, then. And he was out of practise -- Kenshin could tell he hadn't swung a sword in these eight years. He jumped back, letting the sword whistle past his chest. Shinichiro pulled back and dropped into a stance, sword ready. Kenshin faced him calmly. The cool night breeze ruffled his hair.

"Draw, damn you," Shinichiro growled.

"I don't want to fight you, that I don't." Kenshin kept his hands at his sides, carefully away from his sword. This was going badly already. He hadn't expected Shinichiro to be so quick to draw his sword. He'd hoped to be able to talk him out of it without pushing him further over the edge. Kenshin tried a shot in the dark.

"Shinichiro-dono, the revolution is over. Time has moved on. It's a different world now--"

That got a reaction. "Yes it is, isn't it," Shinichiro snapped. "A different world. You destroyed my world."

"What do you mean?" Kenshin asked cautiously. He thought he understood -- the old world of the samurai was gone -- but he wanted to keep Shinichiro talking. He tried another tack. "Clearly you know me, but I can't remember ever having seen you before."

"You may not have seen me, but I saw you. On the night you changed the course of history, I saw you do it."

Oro? Kenshin looked at him blankly. "What night was that?"

"How can you not REMEMBER!" Shinichiro slashed the air, his sword whistling. "The last summer of the Bakumatsu, when we raided all your damn patriot hideouts. We would have ended it all then. The revolution would never have happened. There was no way we could have failed, but YOU turned back an entire troop of samurai!"

Ah. That night. Yes, he remembered it. That had been a very bad night. A lot of people had died. The stifling air of a Kyoto summer, thick with the smell of blood.... But there was something odd about the way Shinichiro had said it. "What-?" Kenshin started, puzzled, but Shinichiro gave him no time.

Shinichiro charged again, brought his blade up and slashed downward. Kenshin jumped aside fast, letting the sword miss him, and circled to his right. No, he'd been wrong, Shinichiro had swung his sword recently, and quite a lot. Some of his arm and shoulder muscles were sore from heavy recent practice. Kenshin could see it in the way he moved.

"Of course, I remember that night, that I do. But there was nothing... historical about it." He paused to catch his breath, still circling. Not good, that he should be getting winded already. He could feel his heart pounding. "The Shinsengumi were always raiding us."

"No. That was no ordinary raid. It was to be the final blow." Shinichiro was circling around faster now, sword held ready in front of him. Kenshin matched his movement, stepping steadily around to the right. "It should not have been stoppable. Not by anything human!"

On the last word Shinichiro lunged at him, slashing quickly. Kenshin ducked under the swing then sprang up and backward, dodging the second attack on the follow-through. He landed badly, stumbling a little on the rutted earth of the road. The rhythm of Shinichiro's technique was easy to follow, but he was getting tired. It was starting to slow him down. Shinichiro swung again, the blade whistling past Kenshin's ear. A few strands of red hair drifted to the ground. He was breathing hard now.

"That was the turning point," Shinichiro continued, his eyes smoldering. "That was where history diverged. One impossible event, to change the path of time." Shinichiro was circling again, faster, forcing Kenshin to keep up. "After that night everything fell apart." He smiled ironically, showing his teeth. "You did a good job."

Shinichiro slashed downward again. Kenshin dodged it with a quick step backward, already preparing for the second attack. But it was a feint, swung with no power. Shinichiro flipped the blade fast, cutting short the follow-through, and lunged forward, slashing hard back to his right. Kenshin threw himself backward, but not quite fast enough. The tip of Shinichiro's sword caught him in a long horizontal slash across the lower ribs on his right side.

Kenshin fell back, eyes wide with shock, the sudden pain disconnecting him momentarily from his body. He dropped to his knees, one arm flailing out behind him to stop him from falling. He'd felt the sword touch bone, just barely. He pressed his left hand and wrist across the cut to slow the bleeding and fought the pain, breathing fast. He should have been able to dodge that easily, should have been able to see it coming. He shouldn't be so exhausted already.

Shinichiro was rushing towards him again, his sword held low at his right side pointing down and forward, coming in for the kill. He whipped it back, around, overhead and down--

Steel hit steel, sending a shock up Shinichiro's arms. Kenshin had drawn his sword, lightning-fast, pushing off from his back foot and launching himself forward to match the larger man's momentum with sheer speed. Shinichiro was thrown back a couple of steps by the impact, his lips parting in surprise.

Kenshin glared at him, back on his feet and rock-steady, his eyes narrowed, sakabatou held loosely in his right hand throwing back moonlight from its sharpened edge. Shinichiro wavered and took a step back. The fire had gone out of his eyes, replaced by... what? Was it fear?

Enough of this. "History doesn't mean anything!" Kenshin shouted. "It doesn't have a course; it's just what happened!" Kenshin took a step forward, and Shinichiro backed off, slowly, his eyes on the sakabatou. "What matters is the present. What matters is what you do, how you live, every day!" What did he have to do to get through to him? Kenshin's voice grew desperate. "What about your friends in this village? What about Eri-dono? You have a life here, Shinichiro, don't throw it away!"

Shinichiro's eyes were wide, colorless in the moonlight. He took another step backward, then stopped himself. His jaw tightened and he met Kenshin's eyes. "You understand nothing about history." His voice was bitter. "You understand nothing about honor, either." He stopped, looking at Kenshin for a few seconds as if searching for words, then shook his head. "Go back to the Tobes, peasant." Then he turned to face the rising moon and walked away.

Kenshin let out a breath and lowered his eyes. He squeezed the hilt of his sword, pressing the familiar texture of the wrappings into his palm and fingers. "Don't become a bandit, Shinichiro. It won't bring back your past." His voice was soft, almost pleading.

Shinichiro stopped, his back to Kenshin. He paused for a moment, saying nothing. Then without turning around, he walked on.

Kenshin watched him go, feeling depressed. The situation was more complicated than he'd thought. Shinichiro wasn't joining Kobayashi and his companions simply out of old loyalty to the samurai class. His motives were less transparent than that. Far less transparent -- Kenshin hadn't grasped half of what Shinichiro had said. All that stuff about history... what had that been about?

Still, Kenshin hoped he'd given Shinichiro something to think about. He would let him go, give him a head start and then follow from a distance -- after all, he knew Shinichiro's destination. Shinichiro would have time to think undisturbed. He had until dawn, plenty of long quiet hours to change his mind.

And Shinichiro aside, Kenshin would have to go anyway, to stop the samurai from whatever ambush they were planning. No point in letting innocent people suffer.

Shinichiro had disappeared by now among the leafless trees. Time to go. Kenshin started forward. Then the pain hit him again, and he reeled.