Chapter Nine: Bindings

The gentle rains tapped against the flatbed of the cart sitting empty in front of the doctor's home. Each splash darkened the wood, pooling and running down the slant that the cart sat at. Large drops gathered at the corners of the cart and dropped, splashing into the saturated earth below.

The air was chill as Shiori paced the veranda along the front of the house. She was keeping an eye on the inn down the street, hoping the commotion around her home had not drawn any unwanted attention.

Gunpei, a local farmer who lived at the eastern edge of the village had used his cart to move the fallen swordsman. He had left the swordsman to the back of the shops and business fronts that lined the street. Masashi had been horrified, left to take care of the man as the farmer drove his empty cart to the front, under the guise of a farming accident.

All she could do was wait as the two men aided the wounded samurai and prayed that the members of the Shinku Kiba were too wrapped up in their mourning.

Moreover, she prayed that they did not notice her change of clothing from their morning encounter. She had shed her wet and muddy kimono and was now dressed in a dry yellow one with a plum pattern. The only bit of red she owned was a lovely crimson shawl. She rarely wore it, even for warmth, but this day, she wanted it wrapped around her shoulders. She did not know why, but if felt like the right thing to do.

From a quiet distance, she watched the village slowly come to life. Children splashed in the mud to their mothers' horror and shop fronts slowly opened up. At the local teahouse, the smell of warm food danced in the damp air and reminded Shiori she had only had a bit of tea hours ago.

From the dry safety of the veranda, she smiled and waved to Okimi and Rana as they walked along the wooden path. She noted that Rana paused and looked back toward her and she wondered what rumors that gossipy woman would spread.

Her luck, Rana would have the whole village believing she and Gunpei were having an affair before the day was over. Any other time, she would be furious, but today, she would settle for such a story. Seijun would never believe it and it would mask the truth.

She looked back at her home and felt the worry creep into her. She had not been thinking; her terror and hope had mixed into a lethal energy. Who was this man whose face she knew so well? Had he come back from her past for revenge or was he the savior she had desperately hoped for?

When she had brushed her fingers against her his icy cheek, she had felt the chill of death. She had felt her heart clench in a terror she had not know in decades when she saw his face, calm features framed by raven hair.

"Why?" she whispered as she closed her eyes. "Why have you come back?"

"I didn't know I ever left."

With a start, Shiori opened her eyes and gasped as she was met with stern figure of Hagetaka standing by the cart. She had not heard his approach.

This one, one of Hisuiiro's loyal thugs frightened her more than the others. Each was unique and Hisuiiro their leader was the most terrifying for his calculations. Every time he looked at her, she could feel him dissecting her. But Hagetaka was different. She saw no calculating mind, no brute strength, only someone who enjoyed the kill and thrived on other's pain and knew that Hisuiiro only had limited control over him. She stared at his cold face, his shaven head, the strings of mala that looped around his neck and tied into the hand guards and spiraled around wrists and forearms. She wondered how many priests he had killed, when he, himself looked like a monk gone mad and something told her that was close to the truth. He did not carry a sword; instead a naginata was his weapon of choice.

With the long staff of the polearm, he tapped the cart. "Why would a farmer's cart be in front of a doctor's house?"

Shiori narrowed her gaze. "Why do you think?" she demanded. "The front is my husband's office and—"

"Your husband is off at a conference." Hagetaka's dark robes glowed with fresh rainwater soaking into them as he took a few steps closer to the front of the house.

"Masashi is treating a farmer who had an bit of an accident early this morning. He needed access to my husband's medical journals."

The man looked her over suspiciously.

Shiori stepped forward slightly and well into the reach of his long weapon. "Have you ever lived in a small village with farming?" She challenged. "You stay up late, sleep until you are hungry and do as you please but many in this village to live must get up before sun up to tend their fields and animals or to prepare their shops for business. Just because you and your comrades move in does not mean our ways change."

Hagetaka looked as if her were going to say something but fell silent when the door behind Shiori opened and a graying farmer stepped out of and slowly approached the water glossed edge of the veranda. His earth-colored work clothing was stained dark with blood, but Shiori knew it was not his. She could see fresh wrappings around his right arm and felt the terrible weight lift from her shoulders at the ruse.

Fear lit Gunpei's eyes as he held his arm protectively.

"Would you like the wound unwrapped again so you can inspect it?" Shiori asked.

Aiming the curved blade of his weapon toward her, Hagetaka growled, "I don't know what about you interests Hisuiiro so much but I find you a pest and if I had my way more than your pathetic little shrine would be hacked up." He withdrew the weapon, but the fierceness of his presence never diminished as he growled, "Kyoudai and Yamainu are dead and I blame you."

It took all of Shiori's strength to keep still even as Hagetaka sharply turned about and stormed off. She gripped her shawl as she stared at the wooden planks laid between her and Gunpei. "I have put you at risk," she said softly.

The farmer laughed. "I could have turned you away when you landed at my door. You did nothing I did not want to do." He shrugged wearily as he looked toward his cart. "I have nothing to lose." He stretched his fingers and dropped his arm to the side. "My wife is dead and I have no children. The only one I have is myself. I would rather die than continue to live my life in terror of these men." He smiled. "Anything I can do, just call on me." Stepping into the rain, he picked up the cart and pulled it slowly through the muddy street and leaving deep ruts in the carts wake.

For a few moments, Shiori just stood there, watching the liquid seep into the ruts. Retreating to the door, she paused and turned back toward the inn where Hagetaka had returned too. On the balcony, she could see the tall form of Hisuiiro standing there, watching. She narrowed her gaze and sighted another member of the Shinku Kiba, Kaitou, just inside the doorway.

Turning her back on them, she went into the house and discarded her sandals in the foyer before moving through the receiving area and to the private area of the house. Behind her she carefully slid the screens into place as she passed through the small labyrinth of rooms to a guest chamber at the back.

Masashi met her at the door as he roughly pulled off the bloody apron he wore. He paused to study the red shawl over her shoulders. "You wear that like a declaration of war. Your husband would not approve," he whispered.

"Do not speak to me as if I am a child," she said curtly as she brushed past him into the small room. Off to the side stood a large lamp on a stand, warm light filled the room. While it did little to warm the room, it was far better than the chill outside. Her gaze flowed across the mats to the dark material of the futon that her guest was tucked into. The calm, resting expression on his face did not quell the rising terror in her, even as she tried to smile. "How is he?"

At first there was no answer, then Masashi spoke, softly, fear edging his voice. "I do not know. I think he could survive the wounds themselves, but the cold and the river," he sighed. "I don't know." Helplessness seemed to weigh down his broad shoulders. "I fix small wounds, broken bones, treatments for the ill. I don't know anything about sword wounds. He's covered in scars that look worse than those wounds. If he survived those—"

"What kind of scars?" she asked looking back at Masashi's frustrated face. She did not linger on it before slowly approaching the futon.

Masashi reached for her. "You should not be in here—"

The words died even as Shiori closed the space between her and the samurai.

"The scars," she said calmly.

"There are two long cuts to his right side, and smaller cuts along his arms and one to his right leg. He also looks like he was run through from back to gut."

Shiori's breath hitched with the last bit of information.

In her mind's eye, she saw her husband, Seijun—

Kiyohito

She saw the pain in Karasu's face as her husband's blade pierced his back, exiting through his abdomen. She saw blood at her feet as Karasu sank to his knees before her.

Weakness seized her legs and she sank to the floor. It was all she could do to keep from being overcome. Her fingers pressed to the mats below as she struggled to control herself.

"Shiori!" Masashi said as he raced to her side.

Tears burned in her eyes as she squeezed her hands together in her lap. She could feel the young man's hands on her shoulders, his worried voice urging her to her feet but she refused to move. "No," she whispered.

Even to Mugen's callused footpads, the dirty wooden floor was rough as he was pushed through the narrow hall between heavy cells. Voices jeered and the stench of cheap sake and vomit filled the air.

Behind him, his guards bellowed at the other prisoners, demanding their silence but he paid them little attention as he strained against the tightly knotted rope that looped around his torso and pinned his arms firmly to his back. Growling, he struggled with his bindings but it seemed the more he fought the deeper the rope cut through his thin shirt into his arms. He had been stripped of his geta, his weapons, and his red jacket.

The blunt end of a long jutte jabbed him between the shoulder blades as a large, yellow-coated samurai pushed him forward. "Quit wasting my time, get moving."

"I could walk easier if you'd untie me." Mugen's face pinched in pain as he was poked again with the weapon, in the same sore spot. "Hey! Stop that!" he barked, spinning about. Hopping, he kicked the big man in the gut but was quickly beaten down by two more guards.

"Are we going to have to tie your ankles together too?" One of the men asked as he smashed Mugen's face first into the worn floor, then a knee landed in his back.

Air exploded from his lungs as he growled, "Hey! Get off me you bastards!"

A cell door slid open and Mugen found himself suddenly airborne.

It lasted but a moment.

He cried out in shock as he slammed to the back of the dark cell. As he struggled to right himself, or at least roll onto his side, the door was slammed closed and the clack of a lock sealed him in. "Hey!" he called. "Hey! What about the ropes?"

"What about them?" came a laughing voice as the men walked away, barking at the other prisoners as they went.

"What the…shit!" Mugen yelled as his found his footing and threw himself at the cell wall, but was helpless with his arms bound behind him. "Untie me, you bastards!"

When no answer came, he sank against the crossbars and sighed as his stomach growled irritably. "Damn." Allowing himself to fall back, hitting the floor with a thud, he just laid there, uncomfortably on his side. Chicken feathers danced about in the storm of disturbed air around his head. He puffed up his cheeks and then exhaled, blowing the fluffy feathers out of his face.

Thoughts of Fuu crossed his mind and he wondered what she was up to but decided that she could take care of herself. Another unhappy noise as his stomach reminded him that he hadn't eaten in more than a day. "Damn, I'm hungry."

roterritter - It really wouldn't be Mugen if he didn't act like him, glad you enjoy the characterization. gabby - Thanks! Water/Air - Thank you very much! poornmiserable - Pairings? Um, I'm trying to stick to what was in the series. Take from that what you will. dupidnavagog - Yeah, I never really meant for the darkness that's so strong in the story, but hopefully things will lighten up as everyone gets closer to colliding. ;) meow - Jin isn't Karasu, Shiori's memories are a number of years older than Jin is. Hope that helps. ODST girl 058 - Thanks!
Next Chapter - Jin dreams and Fuu gets large.