CHAPTER TWO

Disclaimer: I do not own Rurouni Kenshin characters or plot.

The sun was now closer to the far mountains on the horizon, and the sky turned pink. Seta ran onward, determined to make the next village by nightfall, despite all signs that the track was only leading him further up desolate mountain territory. Surely some farmer would open his home or barn to a poor smiling wanderer?

He crested a small hill and began to run down the other side, careful to place his feet on the dirt path's level portions so he wouldn't trip and fall. With the sun beginning to sink, the rock and scrubby trees on either side of the path were being veiled in shadows. The gulley he was descending, the low portion between his hill and the next, was already a darkened pool.

That was why Seta almost didn't see the motionless bundle by the side of the road.

There were hoof prints spotting the path beneath his feet, a profusion of them facing in odd directions as if horses had circled about each other rather than all going forward in the same direction.

Curious, Seta slowed his pace and noticed dark splotches interspersing the hoof prints like pieces of midnight in the grey shadows. They were drops of blood. That was when he raised his eyes off the path and noticed the body lying next to a group of rocks.

When Seta stopped, the cloud of dust he'd been producing as he ran billowed around him.

It floated past him and over the still form at his feet. The body didn't move, but a darkened shape a distance away did. It was the bandit's lame horse. Seta stared at it for a moment, and saw that it was calmly grazing on the weeds that grew by the trees near the road. It looked like the bandit got his replacement horse after all.

Seta walked forward and knelt down in the dirt. Reaching out, he grasped the corpse's shoulder and felt rather than saw the circular mons, the family crest, sewn onto the haori jacket under his fingertips.

He pulled the body onto its back, confirming his guess. It was the boy on the horse who'd ordered him to go with him to fight the bandits. The boy's eyes were open, staring into nothing. His head was still on his shoulders; the killing blow had gone in by his neck, breaking through the collarbone, and slicing midway down his torso.

Such wounds were nothing new to Seta. He'd inflicted ones like these himself.

Blood had soaked through the boy's kimono and jacket and was now on Seta's hands as well. He scooted back on his knees and let the boy's body come all the way over to rest flat on its back.

The boy must have caught up with his bandits. Judging by the amount of hoof prints, it was probably just the two bandits whose lives Seta had spared not long ago.

What sort of a fool would try to fight two older warriors alone?

Seta could do it because Seta had mastered the Tenbu no Sai Niyoru Ken style, but Shishio Makoto had taught Seta. Who had taught this boy his swordsmanship? Swordplay was going out of style in the new Meiji era. It was one of the many reasons Shishio Makoto despised the Meiji and tried to destroy it.

"The strong live, the weak die," whispered Seta to himself. Kenshin had shown him that this wasn't always true, that there was a better way to live; yet time and again Seta kept finding examples that seemed to confirm Shishio's mantra. The boy was too weak to defeat the two bandits, so he'd died. His horse was gone as well, taken by the men who'd defeated him.

From behind Seta came the sound of horsemen, a group of them, galloping. It was samurai, five of them, all older men who split their forces and expertly used their horses to circle around, surrounding him and the corpse.

Seta let them. He stood slowly and left his hands at his sides.

The oldest samurai, a grizzled warrior with piercing black eyes, glanced at the body, then at Seta's bloodstained hands, and spoke. "Where is Chizuru?"

Seta glanced down at the body, but realized 'Chizuru' was a woman's name, and besides, the samurai had already noticed the corpse.

"Who?"

The samurai's eyes hardened. "The daimyo's granddaughter." He nodded to the body. "Uriu's sister."

It all clicked into place then. The boy, Uriu, had been trying to save his sister from the bandits. Why else would a group of samurai be riding after bandits instead of letting the Meiji police force go after them?

That hadn't been arrogance in the boy's voice, but desperation. He'd demanded help from Seta, and Seta turned away.

Protect the weak.

It was what Kenshin lived by, and what Seta had tried to understand in the past year. In dying, Uriu had done a better job of it than Seta had. At least he'd fought for something other than himself.

His silence was making the samurai angry.

"Where is she?" he shouted, standing up in his stirrups.

"I don't know," muttered Seta, and then he did what he always did when confronted with violent emotion in others. He smiled.

The samurai urged his horse nearer and glared. He jerked his chin at the horsemen behind Seta in an unmistakable signal.

Seta could have escaped, could have run between the horses quicker than a blink, but he didn't. He also could have gone with the boy, protected him, but he hadn't.

It was better this way. He was responsible for the boy's death. The blow to the back of his neck caused him to see a bright flash of light, then all was darkness, as his knees buckled and he fell.

o-o-o

He woke to the swaying motion of a horse under his stomach, that and the warmth of strong legs, hard as tree trunks, against his left arm and hip. He'd been thrown belly down over the saddle of a horse, and was lying on the saddle's pommel, in front of the rider.

The next thing Seta noticed was that the familiar weight of the katana at his hip was missing. His arms were bound behind him, the complicated system of ropes twisting around his shoulders and upper torso, and looping back to his wrists, which were secured to the small of his back.

Seta raised his chin slightly and opened his eyes a crack, watching the blurred roadside trees and shrubs go by. His captor held the criss-crossed ropes with one hand firmly on Seta's back, making it impossible for Seta to slip off the horse and make a run for it.

Not that Seta planned to do such a thing. A boy, whose only crime was trying to save his sister from bandits, was dead because of him. It was Seta's fault for not helping; therefore he would pay. The girl was probably dead by now, or worse. Since the Meiji era many samurai had turned to banditry to survive. Any sense of honor or compassion they may have had was gone along with the Tokugawa shogunate and the complicated medieval system of loyalty and service that tied them to their lords.

"Stay still." growled the rider.

"Yes." agreed Seta, and lay his cheek back down against the horse's flank. He kept his eyes open and glanced around.

It was gloomy. The sun had just set. There were three other horsemen riding in a group behind the lead horse. There had been five before. That meant one was missing.

When the path bent around a boulder, Seta noticed that one other samurai in the group was carrying Uriu's body slung across his saddle. So the both of them, the living and the dead, were being transported the same way. He sighed and moved his fingers experimentally, testing the ropes against his wrists. They held without any give. Whoever had tied him knew what he was doing.

The path, evidently a shortcut, gave way to a wider track, which led up a steep hill. Turning his head, Seta gazed past the horse's nose at a tall, three storied house, not quite a castle, but giving the impression of a fortress, which grew larger and larger the closer they came.

Stone lanterns with candles lit inside them appeared on either side of the entry gate. As soon as the horses passed the gate, a cluster of servants ran out the door and met them. From his vantage point, Seta had a clear view of their faces as they saw the body of Uriu, slung across the saddle of the horse to his rear.

The men blanched. The women's faces crumpled in grief and shock and they began to wail. Seta's captor swung off his horse just as the male servants ran forward to take the corpse from the samurai who'd transported it. Reverently, they carried it into the house, the women trailing behind, still crying.

Seta's captor yelled out a name, and one of the younger male servants broke away from the group and came running.

"Yes, Shimizu-san?"

"Take the horses to the stable," the samurai ordered.

"Yes, of course." The servant bowed and took the reins that Shimizu handed him.

Shimizu turned quickly and hauled Seta off the horse expertly by grasping the elaborate mass of knotted rope at his back and sliding him off. He set him down on his feet. Keeping his hand in the ropes, the samurai, Shimizu, pushed him into a walk.

As they came to the door, Seta glanced up at the taller older man walking next to him. Shimizu was the one who'd first spoken to him, evidently the leader of the samurai.

A younger samurai, middle aged, with horrible cuts on his face and neck, came up to Shimizu. "Who will tell Muneiwa-san about his grandson?"

Shimizu's face tightened. "He knows."

It was true. The daimyo of the house would have to be deaf not to hear the servants' cries of grief.

Shimizu tightened his hold on the ropes binding Seta, forcing him to stop. Then he spoke to the other man. "Beppo. Take this one and lock him up."

Beppo's scarred face grimaced, but he reached out and took hold of the ropes just as Shimizu released them. "The shed?"

"No." Shimizu's voice was sharp. "Put him in the far guest chamber on the first floor."

Beppo's eyes flashed surprise, and he opened his mouth as if to speak, but thought better of it, nodded, and lowered his chin.

Shimizu seemed to sense the disapproval Seta felt coming off the younger man in waves, for he reached out and grasped his arm. "Muneiwa will decide that one's fate, but not tonight. Tonight is for mourning our dead. Guard him well."

With one last nod, Shimizu leapt up the steps and strode away into the house.

Beppo shoved Seta forward, barely giving him time to catch his balance before pushing him up the steps and they followed Shimizu into the daimyo's abode.

The room Beppo pushed Seta into was small and bare. There was no futon, and Seta didn't think that asking for one was the wisest idea. Neither, judging by the angry, grief-stricken look on Beppo's face, was talking.

So he stumbled over to the wall Beppo nudged him toward and sat down. Beppo pulled his katana from his obi and sat across the room from him, laying the sword at his left side, so that it would be easy to draw if the need arose.

Seta got the message. Quietly, he lay against the wall, closed his eyes, and tried to sleep.

Despite the wailing and grieving sounds coming faintly from deeper inside the house, Seta must have managed it. The next thing he knew, it was morning.

Beppo was replaced by a hard-eyed servant who clutched a butcher knife in his hand. He looked as though he was aching for a chance to use it. Seta smiled at him, but for once his smile didn't have the usual affect, so he subsided and waited.

They fed him, the servant lifting the bowl of soup to his mouth without untying him, let him use the privy untied with a samurai standing guard, then re-tied him and took him back to the featureless room.

An hour later, Beppo returned.

"Get up," he ordered brusquely. The man's eyes looked bloodshot and tired in the light diffusing through the paper panes across the room. Seta felt obscurely guilty for having slept. He wished he could have told the man that he had no intention of escaping, so Beppo could have slept too, but why should Beppo believe him?

He stood up as quickly as he could and made his way to the door, allowing Beppo to grasp the ropes at his back and shove him down the corridor.

Beppo propelled him down various hallways into a large room. At the far end was a man, older even than Shimizu, dressed in a grand white kimono with a black Kataginu, the stiffened wide shouldered garment with the family crest embroidered on it. His hakama trousers were tucked under his knees as he sat and stared out of watery brown eyes.

By the way everyone else in the room was clustered around him, he had to be Muneiwa, the daimyo. Despite his air of authority, the old man had a glazed, beaten look on his face.

Seta recognized Shimizu, the grizzled samurai, and two others who'd been with the party that captured him, all seated before the daimyo, along with some others, servants he supposed.

Shimizu was reporting to Muneiwa that the samurai he'd left behind to keep tracking the bandits hadn't come back yet, and Muneiwa was nodding, his wrinkled face set like stone.

Without warning, Beppo shoved Seta to the floor. Seta bowed awkwardly at the waist, so low that his forehead touched the ground, and remained there politely, waiting in silence.

"Is this the one, Shimizu?"

The daimyo's voice was the voice of an old man, wavering and querulous in his grief.

"Yes, Muneiwa-san."

There was a silence, then Muneiwa spoke again. "Our heir is dead. His sister is lost to us. I am the last of my line, and I have no one dear to me to take on the Muneiwa name. These bandits have taken everything. They scour our countryside. They steal from my people, and think me powerless to stop them."

So, the dead boy's parents must also be dead, if Muneiwa had no other heirs.

Muneiwa paused. There was a faint rustling from Shimizu and the other samurai. Seta realized the daimyo's words had pricked their pride as warriors. Before the Meiji Era it was the daimyo and his samurais' responsibility to keep the peace. Seta remained bowing low. Muneiwa hadn't given him leave to rise to a seated position yet.

"I say to these worthless enemies that not everyone has forgotten the old ways." Muneiwa's voice rose to a shouted growl. "There will be justice. Our forces may be small but we understand the price of honor. Uriu and Chizuru will be avenged."

The words reverberated throughout the audience hall. Seta figured that the servants in the hallways outside heard everything for there was a stirring within the house, mirroring the fierce muttered "yes" of agreement from the samurai warriors within the audience chamber.

"Sit up, prisoner."

That must mean him. Seta rose slowly to an upright-seated position, wiggling his fingers to get some circulation back in them now that Muneiwa and the others couldn't see them anymore.

He gazed back at Muneiwa who was glaring at him with a mixture of hatred and incredulity.

"Konichiwa." Seta greeted him calmly.

Muneiwa grimaced and looked away towards Shimizu, ignoring Seta's words.

"Tell me again where you found him."

Shimizu bowed his head for an instant, as if gathering his thoughts, then raised his chin and spoke. "The prisoner was found crouched next to Uriu's body. He had blood on his hands. There was a lame horse wandering nearby. Uriu's horse was gone."

"His comrades murdered my grandson. This one must have been left behind when his horse went lame," Muneiwa guessed in a flat voice.

Seta drew in breath to speak, then let it out with a sigh. Nothing he said would change Muneiwa's mind. He recognized the look in the daimyo's eyes. It was the same look Shishio had whenever he spoke of his plans for a newer, stronger Japan. He'd made up his mind.

Muneiwa glared at Seta, and hunched his shoulders. "He is a bandit. Take him out and execute him. Get him out of my sight."

"No." A strong, masculine voice rang out from somewhere behind Seta.

All eyes, including Seta's, whipped around to the open shoji screen at the back of the room.

A man stood in the doorway. He was tall but stocky with broad shoulders to match his broad face. He was dressed in a modern western style police uniform of navy blue buttoned tunic and narrow pants. His face was rounded with almond shaped, intelligent eyes, and his air of command matched that of Muneiwa.

Seta looked back at Muneiwa and saw the old man dip his head grudgingly out of respect.

"This is the Meiji Era now. The government is in charge of law and order, not the daimyos, Muneiwa-san."

Seta looked back and saw that the police officer had entered the room, other policemen with handguns holstered at their waists, spilling into the room behind him, as their leader continued. "There must be an official trial, Muneiwa-san." He said, his voice softening a bit as he took in the grief stricken old man's impotent anger.

Muneiwa glared. "I did not invite you into my house, Kanagawa-san." The old man nearly choked on the 'san', the honorific title signifying that the policeman was of equal rank to himself.

Kanagawa bowed correctly at the hip. "I apologize Muneiwa-san, but I thought you would like to know as soon as possible that we have captured some of the bandits and retrieved your granddaughter."

Muneiwa froze.

Seeing that surprise robbed the Daimyo of speech, Kanagawa turned and snapped his fingers at the doorway. Two policemen dragged in a man Seta had never seen before, his hands fastened with modern style iron manacles. The man wore stained brown hakama and lighter brown gi. His hair was shoulder length and unkempt, and there was a large bruise on his cheek.

"This one, we believe, is the leader. His name is Gombei," Kanagawa observed dispassionately as the bandit attempted to spit on his shoes, and missed.

Seta figured that Kanagawa's men hadn't been particularly polite when they'd captured the bandit, judging by the raging hatred in the criminal's eyes.

Another policeman entered the room, herding in a young girl who entered timidly with small steps. At least Seta thought she was young by the way she held herself, back bowed, arms crisscrossed hugging her chest. She had long bangs, and with her head bowed it was difficult to see her face. Like the bandit's garb, her clothing, a green and white kimono, was dusty and wrinkled.

"Ah." Kanagawa caught sight of the girl and motioned to the policeman to bring her forward. The young man reached behind her to touch her on the back, but she reacted first, jumping forward in a startled manner, and dropping to her knees on the floor to bow before her grandfather.

"I have returned your granddaughter to you." said Kanagawa.

The bandit leader took that moment to wrench his arm free from one of the policemen holding him and lunged toward Kanagawa. "Yeah, but not before I had her." He snarled as the policeman secured his arm again. Kanagawa merely stared his contempt at the man. He hadn't moved or reacted at all, trusting that his men would restrain the bandit.

The bandit struggled briefly, then barked an evil laugh, glared at both Kanagawa and Muneiwa, and subsided.

Seta blinked as he took in the bandit's meaning. He happened to be looking at the daimyo and saw the shock, saw his wrinkled face muscles slacken, then tighten.

"Is this true?" Muneiwa's voice thundered.

The bandit grinned, kicked at the policeman next to him, and opened his mouth, only to have the longsuffering guard finally snap and elbow him sharply in the ribs. His triumphant smile turned to a curse of pain and he doubled over.

Seta knew, however, that Muneiwa wasn't even looking at the bandit. His eyes were focused, as were everyone else's, on the girl.

She pulled her torso upright, her arms still crossed over her chest. Her eyes glanced around the room wildly, realizing that she was the center of attention.

Without a word, she burst into tears and hunched over again.

Seta looked back to Muneiwa, whose face was once again set in a dignified mass of stone.

"Give him to me," he ordered quietly.

Kanagawa's eyes filled with sympathy, but he shook his head slowly. "He is already logged in the official records as being in my custody."

Muneiwa stared down at his knees and began to shake with rage.

Kanagawa continued. "However, your prisoner is not logged in. My jail is full. You may keep him until the trial."

Muneiwa refused to answer, so Kanagawa shrugged and motioned to his men to drag the sagging body of the bandit out. An older female servant scampered over to the girl and gently pulled her from the room as soon as the bandit was gone.

Just as Kanagawa turned to go, Muneiwa spoke. "In the old days, that man would be pressed to death before me for daring to insult my family. This new era is worthless."

Kanagawa stiffened and his almond eyes went cold. "I will pretend I did not hear that, Muneiwa-san, but rest assured, if your prisoner happens to die before the trial, I will remember it."

He bowed, and marched out, leaving Seta to an uncertain fate.

"My lord?" Shimizu's voice, silent while Kanazawa and the police were in the room, rang out as the silence left in their wake stretched on.

"Remove the prisoner from my sight." Muneiwa sat with his head still bowed.

Shimizu snapped his fingers and the samurai nearest Seta got up, marched over, and hauled him to his feet by grabbing the knots at his back and lifting.

Seta let his shoulders slump in disappointment. It was just getting interesting again and he had to go.

It had certainly been an eventful morning. He gave a last glance around the audience chamber. There was Muneiwa, holding court, with his anxious, loyal retainers gathered around him. Muneiwa had no power anymore, not really now that the daimyos' Hans had been turned into provinces ruled by governors with government troops and police forces at their disposal. Yet still he clung to the old ways.

Seta wondered what Shishio would have made of all of this. Would he have admired the bandits for taking what they could by brute force? Or the Daimyo, for trying to grab onto the old power and the old ways? He definitely would not have liked Kanagawa, who was a Meiji man through and through.

Then Seta thought of Kenshin, and was ashamed of his speculation. Over a year of wandering and Seta still allowed Shishio to influence his thoughts. Perhaps death was a fitting punishment. He didn't seem to have changed all that much.

With a sigh, Seta allowed himself to be propelled out of the audience hall and back to his chamber.

A/N: Thanks to all my reviewers (Ayumu-in-Blue, Applesoveroranges, Yoko the Demon Fox, Smiling Blue-Clad Wanderer's Obsession, Genki Ninjagirl, Kie-san, Wyrd, Crystal Snowflakes, SailorEarth13, Lolo popoki, Moeru himura, and Misaoshiru) who tried to help me figure out Seta Soujiro's age. Every website I consulted seemed to give a different story – some said he was born in 1861, others in 1857. The anime series never mentioned his age when Shishio took him on as apprentice, but Shishio was burned when they met and the burning probably happened after the battle of Toba Fushima (when Kenshin hung up his katana and started to wander) in 1868. If you figure that Shishio met Soujiro shortly after that, and from the consensus of my reviewers, Soujiro was at least 7 or 8 at the time, that would make him, say, 18 or thereabouts 10 years later when he fought Kenshin. Unfortunately we can't go by looks/appearances since Watsuki is notorious for drawing characters who appear younger than they actually are (Kenshin and Hiko positively spring to mind as examples). For the purposes of my story, I'm going to make Seta Soujiro approximately 20 years old when he meets the bandits and the samurai kid on the road.

Note to Reviewers:

Ayumu-in-blue – Glad you liked the battle scene. There will be another one soon.

Applesoveroranges – Hey, if you have to be obsessed, at least you're obsessed with a truly fascinating character. You had a lot better luck with websites than I did, the ones I found gave contradictory ages!

Skenshingumi – I'm glad you found the line about 'the weak' amusing! Taken as a whole, the bulk of humanity tends to be easier to love in theory than in practice.

Larie-chan – Yes, I know Seta is his last name. I decided to use it because it seemed less familiar than using his first one, and Soujiro is a stranger in unfamiliar territory in this story. Thanks for sending me muses!

Smiling Blue-Clad Wanderer – I think half your review got cut off! I do agree with your assessment of Seta Soujiro though, he's a cutie-pie!

Genki Ninjagirl – as for why I asked, see the 'Author's Note' above – I had to guess on age since Watsuki (the creator of Rurouni Kenshin) left it pretty vague.

Erica Madarine – Glad you liked the beginning. As for the name, I called him 'Seta' for stylistic reasons, but if you hold on until the end, I will slip in a 'Soujiro' or two.

Flamer – Actually, it's BOTH 'Seta' and 'Soujiro'. 'Seta' is the family name, while 'Soujiro' is what we in America would call his 'first name' or his 'christian name'. In Japan, the family name comes first when properly introducing a person, so his full name is: Seta, Soujiro-which is how he is introduced in the anime if you watch the Japanese version. I've chosen to refer to him by his family name, since Seta is a stranger to everyone he meets in the story and they would think of him as Seta (with a possible honorific title attached, though I doubt anyone would be too polite to a presumed bandit!). Historically, until the Meiji era, only the upper classes in Japan were even allowed to have a family name. Family names were adopted for everyone once the corrupt Tokugawa Shogunate fell and Japan adopted a more democratic government system. Even today, in formal or business relationships in Japan it is customary to refer to a person by their last name, at least until you get to know them very well. But you're correct in a sense, to the fans who love him, Seta Soujiro will always be just 'Soujiro' – or Sojiro or Soujirou – depending on which translation you prefer!

Kie-san – Glad you liked chapter one! You told me what you liked about Soujiro, but what are your favorite things about Kenshin and Sano?

Wyrd – So far as I know, it's never mentioned in Rurouni Kenshin about Okubo having a son, but as I'm sure you've read by now, Uriu turns out to be the grandson of a daimyo, and I had to kill him off to make the story work. So you know how to ride? I don't think I've been on a horse since I was in Junior High! I'd probably fall off if I tried to ride again!

Sueb262 – Thanks for the compliment! Soujiro's inner voice is tough to write. Reformed sociopaths are really difficult to portray well!

Moeru himura – I too thought it would be nice to show that Kenshin's influence 'stuck' on Soujiro. Soujiro is turning from depraved indifference to a caring human being with a sense of social responsibility, but it isn't easy for him. I gave him a sword just because I couldn't imagine him without one. After all, even Kenshin had a sakabatou when he went wandering!

Misaoshiru – Good point! I don't think a five year old would have the upper body strength necessary to slaughter his abusive family. I'm glad you liked chapter one. Thanks for saying so!