Chapter Seven: Crossing the Sanzu River (Part III)
The patter of rain filled the quiet as Shiori sat near the cook fire, sipping a cup of warm tea. It did little to calm her nerves as her hands still lightly trembled, sloshing the liquid about the edges of the cup.
She looked to the dark edges of the room and felt particularly lonely. She missed her husband and wished he were not attending a conference. It was something he did twice a year, to gather with fellow colleagues to discuss healing techniques and innovations reaching their valley. She knew he enjoyed these visits to the larger city further up the river, but she always missed him so much during his absence.
His comforting touch would dispel the nightmare.
Maybe it was that stress, coupled by those evil men who had made life difficult for their village that brought it to surface. She sipped her tea, trying to focus on the warmth and the smooth flavor.
Piercing her memory like the finest blade, she still saw the blood at her feet as she had so many years ago.
Her breath hitched and she pressed a hand to her face, covering her eyes. It would not blind her to the memory as she could still see her husband and his gore streaked sword.
After cutting down a man he called friend and surviving the plunge into the raging river, her husband had sworn never to raise his sword again.
All these years, he had kept that promise, even when she knew it pained him not to.
Setting her cup down, she paused to light a small paper lantern she had prepared and then slowly rose up, walking through the dark home to a chamber at the back. Through the shutters, she spied the bluing of the sky and knew morning would soon arrive.
Shiori was grateful for the new day and prayed the sun would burst through the clouds and burn away the dark memories.
Sinking to the floor, she set the lantern down and brushed her fingers along the smooth, wooden panels where she found a slight indent and slid her fingers into the opening, drawing up the board. Easily pulling two more up, she exposed a sizable section. Drawing her lamp close she looked down into the hole and smiled at the sight of the long, lacquered box sitting under a layer of dust.
Carefully removing the box from its resting place, she brushed her fingers over the red ka-mon painted on the center of the dark lacquered wood. It had been years since she had seen the Sono crest. Her husband would be upset if he knew she had disturbed the box from its hiding place, but she just had to see it. Gentle fingers slid the lid off, exposing crimson silk. It was just as she remembered it as she brushed her fingertips over the fine, aged cloth.
When she was a child, she could look out and see a sea of red in all the men that served her father. She used to swell with pride seeing that color, but now, the red only reminded her of blood. She saw it in the injured her husband treated. She was it spilled at her feet as Karasu fell before her.
Lightly gripping the material, she drew it back revealing a matched daisho lying on a bed of red silk. She drew her fingers over the red wrapped tsuka of the katana. The dragon pattern carved into the tsuba drew a small smile. Once the sight of these swords was all it took to identify their owner as Matsuura Kiyohito.
These days though, that name had passed into memory and she called him Seijun, her husband and village doctor.
Dressed warmly as the rains left the air chill in the early hours, Shiori, armed with a lighted lamp and he umbrella struck out from her home and walked along the quiet streets of the village.
The wooden planks shifted underfoot, the softened ground barely holding them in place so she treaded carefully. The last thing she wanted was her husband to come home to find her crippled from a fall. Though he would probably tell her that it served her right for being so stubborn.
Light rains fell, making soft drum beats on her yellow umbrella as she walked carefully toward the path at the eastern edge of the village that would lead to Akita Nobumura's shrine. The distant horizon glowed with the paling of the dark night, but the heavy clouds seemed determined to keep the sun's warmth at bay.
The sound of wet footsteps along the narrow street made her turn, her startle vanishing as quickly as it appeared the moment she saw a young man racing toward her.
"Shiori!" he snapped as he came to an abrupt stop.
She stared at her husband's apprentice, Masashi. He looked drawn and tired, but it did little to dampen the worry in his eyes. "What are you doing out at this hour?" she asked.
"That is what I was about to ask you."
"I am going to pray," she said defiantly, knowing Masashi would not approve and worse scold her like a child. She was practically old enough to be his mother, not that she would ever admit it.
With an exhausted sigh, he reached out and wrapped his fingers around her wrist, holding firmly to her. He stole a quick glance about, and then met her straight in the eye. "You must stop this nonsense. You only make them angry by your defiance."
"Since when does a gang of ruffians decided when and where one should pray?" she demanded.
The sound of doors drew Masashi's attention toward the darkened houses that lined the road. He twisted and looked toward the inn on the corner. Shadowed figures moved. Terror lit his eyes as he turned back to Shiori. "Go home and pray to your family shrine."
Shiori watched the young man, who had once been so vibrant tremble. "I cannot do that," she said, knowing as long as the members of the Shinku Kiba remained, her village would wither with fear like Masashi had.
"They blame you for Kyoudai and Yamainu."
"What?" She knew these two names, they were brothers and there was a third, all members of the Shinku Kiba.
"A ronin tried to cross the bridge to the village yesterday. He killed Kyoudai and severely wounded Yamainu before being killed himself. They threw his body over the rail into the river. They think your prayers drew him to the village."
A smile drew across Shiori's painted lips.
"Do not be so proud of yourself," Masashi whispered. "They are very angry. Yamainu is badly wounded. I do not think he will live."
"Good."
The shadows at the in took on the shape of three figures that slowly approached.
Shaking his head, frustration knitted Masashi's brows, "You do not understand. Go home. I will explain it to you later."
"Why would she listen to you, doctor?" Hisuiiro said in a silky tone as he stepped into the light of Shiori's lantern. "She does not listen me, what hope would you have?"
Masashi's shoulders sank as he retreated from her. Terror danced in his eyes as he was stopped by two of the leader's subordinates, the shaven-headed Hagetaka and the massive, Guma.
"Kaitou is agitated with you, doctor," Hisuiiro said. "You should be tending to Yamainu, for if he dies—"
"It is nothing that I can change," Masashi said sadly, though his voice wavered. "His wounds, I doubt anyone could save him. He has only lived this long because he wills it."
For a moment, Shiori thought she saw pain in Hisuiiro's look, but decided it was just the shadows playing tricks on her eyes. She doubted he cared much one way or another. She doubted that he felt anything for any living being outside his needs.
Hisuiiro motioned to his two men, "Escort him back to Yamainu's room so that he may tend our brethren."
After a startled cry, Masashi fell silent as Guma roughly grabbed his arm and followed Hagetaka back toward the inn and left Shiori alone with the leader.
Reaching out, he brushed a finger along Shiori's chin. She recoiled in disgust. His gentle voice rang out over the falling rain, "Why do you insist on defying me?"
For hours, sitting by the cook fire, sipping her tea, she had contemplated why the memory of her former life came back to her. But standing before this man, she now understood the specters of her past.
She reached back to the girl she was and grasped the memory. She grasped the tanto, the fear of being forever separated from her beloved husband and the grief she felt when Karasu fell before her. She even gripped at the wispy memory of teachings her father had imparted to her so long ago.
With this newfound power, Shiori smiled at the leader of the Shinku Kiba, the most ferocious of the seven. She tilted her umbrella back so she could get a more complete look and so he could clearly see her face. "Why would a man like you fear an old woman praying to the spirit of Akita Nobumura so much?
He returned the smile. "You are a very vexing woman. Were you younger or I older, I would challenge any man for you. I enjoy a good adversary."
"Adversary," she laughed. "You make me out to be some sort of warrior. I am hardly that. According to my husband I am a nag with a one-track mind. You think too highly of me."
While her façade remained calm, her insides were screaming in terror, as he carefully looked her over. She wanted to throw down the lamp and umbrella and flee.
Hisuiiro's careful examination came to a halt as his lips pressed into a thin smile. "Yesterday, on the surface you were a frightened leaf, but today—"
"I am still the same woman as before, as I have always been. I would be lying if I said I was not afraid." She lightly twirled her umbrella as she spoke. "But I also remember that there are few things in this world that frighten me. You, Hisuiiro of the Shinku Kiba are not one of them."
The man narrowed his gaze. "Undoubtedly, I must work harder on my impressions."
Deciding she was finished with the conversation, she turned and started to walk away. Over her shoulder, she said, "I have much to tend to today and I want to start it with a prayer."
"I have not dismissed you."
She turned sharply and glared at him. "I have not asked your permission, nor do I need it. I will do as I please," she boldly added. "If you want to stop me, you must run me through with your sword." As she walked, her heart was thundering so hard that she thought she would fall faint and collapse but as the distance between them grew, she silently felt vindicated. She had stood up the man and his bark was far more menacing than his bite.
Now if she could just prove this to the rest of the village.
Any bravado Shiori had felt while walking along the path to the shrine was crushed when she reached the small clearing. She found the shrine in splintered ruins.
Tears burned hot in her eyes as she allowed her umbrella to tumble to the wet ground as she covered her mouth, desperate to stifle a pained cry.
She understood now that Hisuiiro had not been set back by her bravery, he had let her go, knowing what she would find would be punishment enough.
Struggling the few steps it took to reach the edge of the shrine, the roof caved in where the walls had been hacked apart, she fell to her knees, the soft earth squishing and separating, mud soaking into her pale yellow kimono.
With her head tilted forward and her hands still clutching at the lamp, she cried. "I'm so sorry. Please, please forgive me," she begged. "This is all my fault."
In the distance, an angry caw called over the rain. It was answered by more, high up in the trees.
The rain soaked into her neatly done hair and ran down her face, mixing with her tears as she looked up into the trees, silhouetted against the dawn. She imagined a thousand carrion birds watching with their dark eyes. The caws filled the air and several black birds burst from the tall oaks at the edge of the clearing and flew off into the dark morning.
Turning her attention to the damaged wood in front of her, she fought back the tears again. "I am a foolish old woman," she whispered. "The dead cannot save us when even the living will not rise up against their oppressors." She hated the Shinku Kiba and everything they represented. Vile ugly creatures, she thought.
The lantern light flickered in her tightened grip as she struggled with her pain. "Forgive me."
A sound snapped her head up. Her dark eyes darted about, staring into the many shadows that surrounded the small clearing.
"Who is there?" she demanded, but remained frozen in place.
Standing beyond the shrine was a shadowed figure, sword drawn, the morning light burning along the curved blade. Fear tightened around her as she imagined that one of the members of the Shinku Kiba had been in hiding, waiting for someone to come to the shrine to punish them.
"You have taken the shrine, is that not enough?" she demanded as the figure stepped closer. Overcome with fright, she scrambled to her feet. Stepping in a soft patch, the mud grabbed her sandal and pulled it from her foot. Stumbling, she twisted about to see if the figure was coming at her, but to her surprise, he did not move.
The yellow light of her lantern splashed off the exposed blade of his sword as he held it before him defensively.
Shiori just stood there, trying to decide to recover her sandal or to flee without it. Her attention flitted back to the still figure where she noted the slashed blue-gray gi with a bloody sleeve and his hand gripping his side.
Holding her lantern up, she tried to see this man's face, fearful she would see one of the members of the Shinku Kiba.
At the sight of blood, memories crashed like waves in her mind's eye. She saw Karasu fall before her and a sea of crimson at her feet.
She wanted to run away.
The tip of the blade dipped as the figure's arm sunk to his side, revealing the deep gash at his shoulder as his head drooped forward and he stumbled a step.
The lantern fell to the ground going dark as she raced around the shattered shrine. Mud filled around her bare toes as she ran unevenly, forgetting herself as she drew close to the swordsman.
The tip of his blade sank into the mud. He was only a heartbeat behind; falling to a knee, wavering as his head bobbed slightly, his only support was the death grip on the indigo wrapped hilt.
Concern overrode her fear and she fell before him and reached out, brushing her fingers along a pale cheek. "You need treatment. With your wounds and the cold, you will certainly die." His head dropped lower and he became heavy in her arms. "Listen to me. I have to go for help. You need help. Do you understand me? You have to hang on."
A soft, slurred voice responded, "Yeah."
She remained kneeling there, supporting him. "You are the ronin who killed them. You killed Kyoudai and Yamainu." She stared at the long black hair that fell across his face. "What kind of a man alone can wound and kill two members of the Shinku Kiba and survive a fall into an angry river?" She shook her head. "You cannot be mortal."
Without fear she brushed her hand along his chill cheek. It was like touching death as she drew his dark hair from his closed eyes.
The entire world seemed to stop. Shiori did not feel the rain or the cold, she could not hear the angry Subayai, she knew not loneliness or rage, and she knew only an unnamed fear that rose up from the very depth of her being.
The long blade sank deeper into the mud, losing the bit of support he had, the swordsman toppled over into the water soaked ground with a splash.
For a time, Shiori just sat there, her fingers entwined in her muddy lap as the morning light fell across the clearing.
"Do you come to help us or to destroy us? Have you come for revenge?" she asked as she leaned forward and pressed her hand to the cold skin of his forehead, then gently caressed his cheek. A sad smile painted her features. "I have missed you, Karasu."
roterritter - Thanks! meow - I don't think you will have to worry about Mugen making too much fun. He's going to have his own problems soon enough...
Next Chapter - Fuu makes friends and Mugen raises a ruckus.