Forever Love
By: Sissi
Disclaimer: RK is not mine.
Chapter VII
The place was crowded, but it was to be expected for it was raining heavily outside. The large droplets which were falling from the sky washed the dirt marring the city, taking away the litter lying in the corners of the alleys. The roofs trembled as the pressure caused by the water increased with each passing second. People watched with trembling eyes the grey sky above their dry heads, safe within their homes.
Shinji sighed and placed the small cup of sake down. He eyed the other Japanese men around him, chatting merrily while their cheeks gained a rosy colour. The air smelled of wheat alcohol and sweat. He took the cup and gulped some more of the bitter liquid down. It burned as it touched his throat, yet he did not care. The drink made him forget and that was all he wanted at the moment. The image of that geisha, now in Enishi's hands, was printed in his mind.
She had fought bravely, trying with all her might to escape from her capters. Yet, she had succumbed to unconsciousness, and now, he could do nothing for her. His work was done, and he was back to his simple and ordinary life. He scratched his chin, imagining what would have happened if he had not given her to him.
He smiled, licking the corners of his lips.
A hand touched his shoulder, bringing him out of his reverie. A bearded man with shining eyes, too brilliant to his taste, looked at him warily, the grip on his shoulder getting more and more painful. Shinji stood up. The place was too crowded to his liking, filled with disgusting people. It had nothing to do with the strange sensation bubbling inside of him, consuming him like hungry flames.
He threw some coins on the table and left the room, feeling the fat droplets hit squarely on his face. He wiped his eyes and peered around; the narrow road was empty. He pulled the hem of his thin shirt up, a futile attempt to protect his neck from the chilling wind. He bit his lower lip, tasting his blood.
It felt metalic.
The laughter inside the room floated in the air and reached his ears. He furrowed his brows together. Smoothing his clothes, he raised his face to the gray sky. He would not go back, that was beyond him.
The only sound he could hear was the one made by his feet touching the soil, along with his hard breathing. The air left his lungs in short and difficult gasps. He wiped his face once more; the rain was getting heavier, and his clothes were already clinging to his cold body.
His home was still far away and it would take him some more time to reach there. He needed to find a secure place now, or else, he would not survive the harsh weather.
He stopped in front of a wooden small building, a strange light escaping from the dark place. He turned his face to the right and then to the left. He clenched and unclenched his hands. The place seemed cozy enough, yet... he was unsure.
The place looked too sinister, as if holding long lost secrets. A small flicker of light could be seen from his spot, and the light emanated would shine through the colourful glass of the windows, creating an artificial rainbow in the middle of the rain, with the sun still hidden behind the clouds. The doors were made of a hard and solid wood, with strange figures painted on them, one with the form of a cross.
Distant voices reached his ears. Ah, they sounded like music, the melodic sound comforting his tired body. He closed his eyes, feeling his knees getting weaker and weaker.
...in nomine patris et filiae...
"May I help you?" a male voice asked him. He widened his eyes when a man wearing a long black tunic approached him from the doors. He was a gaijin!
"Are you well?" the man asked, walking to his side and inspecting his eyes. Shinji trembled when the other man's warm fingers touched his skin, feeling warm and comfortable. He stared at the strange man with dark hair and blue eyes. He wondered to himself how a man could know Japanese so well.
"Come, you must be freezing to death," the man whispered, pulling him into the dark building. Shinji let him pull him along, still stunned by his discovery. No, it was not unheard of gaijins talking in Japanese, but fluently? That was too much.
He watched with curious yet afraid eyes as he entered the place. It was a church. The man beside him left him on a long wooden bench, where some people where kneeling down and whispering strange words. All of them wore the same long and dark tunic. Shinji scratched his head and looked down. He felt out of place.
The man was quickly back with a plate of miso soup. Shinji eyed it with warily. Could it be poisoned? He drank some of it, and noticing how his stomach reacted to the food, he drank all of it. He wiped his mouth when he was done, earning a smile from the stranger. He could feel himself blushing.
"Stay here until the rain has stopped," the man offered. "My name is Pedro and I am the main priest of this church," he said, smiling at the poor and confused boy. Shinji watched as the man bowed, and he did the same some seconds later – he was still dazed.
The man left him to his thoughts. Shinji walked around the hall, small if compared to the other Christian churches in Europe, though he had no knowledge of this. To him, the place made him think of how small he looked like. The walls could almost reach the sky, and the floor made of stone did not offer any warmth to his heart.
The place was barely illuminated, the candles placed on the walls were the only source of light. He stopped in front of the figure of a man hanging from a cross. His features were serene, as if he were not afraid of dying. The blood was flowing from his open wounds on his wrists and feet, along with the wound opened by a crown of a plant with sharp horns. He shivered slightly.
The entire place reminded him of pain and anguish. It could not be a church or a temple, for it did not make one feel in peace like the Buddhist temples. It smelt of coldness, nothing compared to the sweet and calming aroma of incense being burnt, offered to Buddha.
This was where the gaijins had their meetings, where they thought they talked to their God. He almost sneered at the thought. God talking to mere mortals?! Impossible!
He walked until he was right in front of the man hanging on the cross. He lifted his hand and...
"This is Jesus Christ, the son of God. He died for humanity," Pedro told him from behind. Shinji turned around, placing one hand over his chest. He could feel his heart beating rapidly.
"He died for us, to save us," he continued, never averting his eyes from the doomed man. Shinji watched this priest with uncertain eyes. Did this Jesus Christ also die for him?
Pedro walked to the figure and made a cross mark with his hand. He closed his eyes for a second, whispered words of a far away language, the words extremely musical yet powerful, and opened his eyelids to stare at Shinji.
"Do you feel better?" He asked. Shinji nodded, his dark bangs falling over his eyes. He turned his head to the closed door, sharpening his hearing. It was still raining. He rubbed his arms with trembling hands.
"Are you cold?" Pedro asked, disappearing behind a long red curtain and reappearing with a blanket. He offered it to Shinji, who accepted it with a small smile.
"Thank you," he replied. The priest seemed to find the situation quite alluring, for he sat on a bench and started to watch the boy. He placed his chin on the palm of one hand, while the other was set on his knees.
"Do you wish to confess?"
"Confess?" Shinji asked, raising his eyebrows. He had not commited any sin, and why should he tell him about his sins? He eyed the man carefully. He could mean harm. He clenched his fist and tightened his jaw. His body was alert to any movement.
This man was the enemy.
* * * * *
Aoshi nodded to his servants and took the torch, walking to the wooden construction where his father's body lay. His steps were slow and precise, and as he reached the last place where his father's mortal renmants were, he closed his eyes, sighed deeply, and let the fire touch the wood.
Stepping aside, his eyes stared at the lustrous red fire consuming the body, its hunger spreading quickly over the dead flesh. He could already smell the burnt flesh that once had been his father, the idea as repulsive as justice being shadowed by greed.
He closed his eyes and prayed.
It was not a beautiful day. The sky was gray and would soon rain, destroying the ceremony. He would see to that later. Now was the time to pay respects to the man who had raised him for so many years. The man who he respected and loved.
His father, his teacher of life.
Misao watched the scene with eyes full of tears. She bit her bottom lip, trying her best not to cry. She wiped her eyes and stared at the ground. It could not be happening. She lifted her face and peered around, hiding her eyes behind her bangs. She saw Aoshi's lips moving quietly, his back as erect as ever.
She wanted to have his strength and be able to look at her future with brightness. Yet, all she felt was tiredness and sorrow. She wiped her eyes again. It seemed like she could not stop crying, the liquid had a mind of its own, and it clearly said that it did not want to stay confined. She sighed and sniffed.
A large hand enveloped her small one, and Misao could not help gasping. She lifted her face and blushed when she saw her new father. His eyes were looking at the fire, a serious semblant marring his dark features. He showed no hint of tears, but Misao knew he was crying inside.
She caressed his hand nervously, eyes down cast. She wanted to comfort him, but did not know how. She could only wish the gesture would be enough for the moment. Like a baby deer, she was afraid of everything, even of her protector in the beginning of her new life.
"We'll be heading to Kyoto," he announced.
She nodded in agreement. Nothing else attached her to that place, so why should she stay? Kyoto was a new and different place, and hopefully, she would find happiness there, with her new family. She might even start a new one. She lifted her hands to her cheeks, warm at the mere thought.
"But before, we will go to the West, to where your grandfather was born."
She smiled at his unique way of demonstrating his love. The sky could be gray, but her soul was already gaining a new colour. A bluer one, just like the colour of her father's eyes.
* * * * *
"Where have you been?!" a loud voice demanded. Pedro closed the door behind him and turned, smiling at his friends. He placed the bottle of wine on the table, and took a seat among four man, one of them the owner of the previous voice.
"I had a visit," Pedro replied, taking a glass and filling it with red wine. He sipped some of it and licked his lips. The man had been right; it was one of the best wines he had ever tasted. When would he be back with more wine? Maybe next month?
"Want to share with us?" the same voice asked. Pedro turned his eyes to the brown haired man with green eyes. He sighed.
"You're a very impatient man, Santiago. It will be your downfall," he admonished him. Santiago merely flipped his hand, a gesture not lost to the other men, who laughed good-naturedly. Pedro offered the glass to him.
"No, thank you, maybe later," Santiago replied. He ran a hand through his hair and sighed. "So?"
"A poor Japanese boy, nothing to worry about," the priest answered. Santiago snorted.
"Everything related to Japan does matter, my friend."
"He was merely looking for a shelter to the rain, Santiago. He knows nothing of the politics of the country, nor does he care."
"Did you ask him this?"
Pedro drank more of the red wine. He was losing his patience. "No, he was too tormented to tell me anything, only personal problems, by the way," Pedro replied quickly, seeing the way his friend's eyes had brightened at his supposed victory.
"Please, my friends, let's be reasonable and forget about Pedro's delay and this boy, shall we?" A dark haired man intervened. Pedro and Santiago nodded in agreement, each silencing down.
"The King is worried about Japan. He believes the Shougun doesn't want to trade goods with us anymore. Do you think this might be true?"
Pedro clasped his hands together over the table and closed his eyes. If this ever happened, they would be sent back to Portugal. Could he survive with the loss of all his hard work on this foreign and wild place? He pursed his lips together.
"Nah, they won't do this, they need our goods , our guns and the silk the Chinese people won't sell to them. We have the upper hand here," Santiago replied, raising his arm to the air. The others cheered as well, except for Pedro. He remained silent during the optimistic outburst.
"Don't you agree with us, Pedro?" the dark haired man asked.
"I don't know, António. We shall see. By the way, I have to talk to the Shougun tomorrow. He needs me to talk to some Spanish merchant traders," he said. He opened his eyes and stared at the bottle of wine, the red liquid swirling inside of it. The drink tasted sweet, but it could damage the mind permanently. Sweet and dangerous...
Just like life.
TBC
A/N: I know, it's been a while, and I am terribly afraid that the next chapter will take at least two more months to be written. Not to worry, though; it has nothing to do with the story itself, but with my academic life. Hopefully enough, things will be solved by the end of January. I am truly sorry.
Thank you all for the comments so far.
Sissi