Cleansing: A Samurai 7 fanfiction

Author: Cal-Reflector

Disclaimer: I do not own Samurai 7 or the characters contained therein.

Chapter 2: Moonlight.

Inside the village hall.

Katsushirou never knew that farmers could drink so much.

In these past few years, he had seen his share of banquets and feasts that samurai participated in, and while they could hold their liquor well, the farmers that surrounded him tonight could obviously drink them to the floor in a contest.

"Whachya' thinking about, Samurai-sama? Drink up! Drink up! We're here to celebrate!"

"Thanks, but I think I've had enough…" Before he could decline however, the man had already filled his cup again and moved on to another table. Katsushirou frowned; he had never been much for liquor, aside from the occasional bottle after dinner where wine was available, having seen too many lose all sense of discipline after they throw down cup after cup of sake, swallowing without tasting but merely losing their heads.

Just when he was considering whether or not he should excuse himself from the party, which was starting to grow rowdy as people drank their fill, a man, already red in the face from too much drink, stumbled unsteadily onto the center of the floor where he asked with a slurred tongue for everyone's attention,

"Everyone, for yo… your viewing pleasure an… and our 'onored guest tonight, Katsushirou-sama, I… will now dance!"

The moment the man's shirt came off, Katsushirou decided to retire quietly from the scene as the room went up in an uproar of approval. Sliding the door shut behind him quietly, he hoped that his abrupt departure would not disappoint his hosts too much, though in their spirited merry-making it was not likely that his absence would be noticed.

When he stepped out into the street, he was refreshed by the night air, the room having been warmed considerably by the activity of so many bodies. Outside, decorated lanterns and bonfires illuminated the center of the village, where many adults and children were eating, playing, and enjoying themselves.

Katsushirou walked around the perimeter of the area where the activity was taking place to a small clearing, from where he watched some children chase after one another. He felt that it was good that they could finally enjoy the fruit of their labor without fear of having it stolen from them. Times of peace had come hard for these people, and he saw that it was best that they could live once more without knowing how to handle bows and guns; their farming hands were never meant for wielding weapons and taking life.

"That's our job, right, sensei?" Katsushirou placed his hands on the hilt of the katana at his waist, his thoughts drifting to the older samurai who had passed his sword onto him. He never saw Kanbei again since he left Kanna village three years; it had been a summer night as well.

"Katsushirou-sama…?" The sudden voice startled him and he spun around, his solitude not as complete as he thought, and when he saw who had addressed him, his eyes widened in recognition.

"Kirara-dono…"

The thin clouds over the moon dissipated, and her face came into full view under the pale light. Long black hair flowed down her back, moving slightly in the breeze, and in Katsushirou's mind the images he had of her came to life in the form of the young woman who stood before him now, with her hands folded meekly in front of her. A moment passed before he continued.

"It's been a long time, hasn't it?"

"Yes…" Kirara looked at the ground, still surprised to have found Katsushirou alone. "How is it that you are not with the men celebrating in the village hall?"

Katushirou frowned a little, slightly ashamed that he had been caught leaving the party when he had been the guest of honor. "Things became… a little too exciting for me, plus I had drunk enough, and so I decided to come out for a walk."

"I see…" An uncomfortable silence passed between the two who, after being separated for three years, were still unused to suddenly find themselves in the company of the other once more. "Have you been well?"

"I have been traveling to many places, training, and… fighting." His looked away for a moment, at somewhere far away. "And you? How have you been?"

"I have been… fine." She felt a wave of relief when he did not seem to notice the hesitation in her answer. "Why have you suddenly decided to come visit us after all these years?" She winced inwardly, afraid that she had come across sounding as if he was not welcome.

"There was no particular reason, I have almost finished touring this region, and before I set out to the neighboring realms…" He turned towards the hills beyond the village. "…I thought that I might come back and see them again."

Kirara looked up towards him, and was able to scrutinize him up close for the first time since his return. She noticed that his features had truly matured, and the roundness that framed the young face in her memory had developed into firm, defined lines.

"He's really grown up…" She thought to herself. Looking closer, she noticed a scar under his jaw in the side of his neck. Though now healed to the point of being nearly unnoticeable, she knew at once that it had nearly been a fatal wound by its location. The thought struck her that he must have fought many more battles after he left, and her heart was pained by the thought of him having nearly died, as if he had not risked his life enough times fighting the bandits and the forces of Ukyo.

She wondered whether more scars lay beneath the cover of his clothes.

"Kirara-dono? Kirara-dono, are you all right?" Engrossed in her own thoughts, she did not immediately realize that Katsushirou had asked several times.

"Yes, I'm fine… Just a little tired."

"If that is the case, you should return home and rest soon." He replied, feeling slightly apologetic.

"Where will you stay tonight, Katsushirou-sama?"

"The village headman has kindly welcomed me to stay in his home. But before I turn in for the night, there is one place I need to visit first."

Kirara nodded, knowing where it was he meant. "I will accompany you."

Katsushirou did not respond immediately, and just when Kirara thought he would leave her and head off alone, he nodded.

"I apologize, for troubling you so late in the night… thank you." He began to walk towards the path that led to the graves, and Kirara followed after him.

-----

Twenty minutes later, during which no more conversation was made, they arrived at the site. The moon was unusually bright that night, and its fullness illuminated the graves and the swords that served as markers. Katsushirou knelt down in front of the four mounds and closed his eyes. Even after three years, he still recalled the faces and voices of his fallen comrades vividly: Gorobei's hearty and infectious laugh, Heihachi's ever present smile, Kyuzo's calm demeanor, and Kikuchiyo's deep booming voice.

He remembered all of this; in the days of his journey alone, as he drew his sword against innumerable foes—typically renegade samurai and their mercenary companions who had rose up everywhere to establish their own fiefdoms after the fall of the capital—he often felt that the time had come for him to join his fallen comrades in the afterlife.

But he survived. Alone, always outnumbered and in the face of seemingly insurmountable odds, he had remained standing each time after the dust had settled and the earth was covered in a rain of red.

His experience and skills had grown each time, until his strength had gained such repute that his appearance alone was enough to compel most enemies to abandon their arms and flee. Those who he protected, grateful for the service he rendered even when they had not the means to reward him properly, spread word of his deeds. Fame meant nothing to Katsushirou, but if there was one thing that he appreciated from his growing reputation, it was that it lessened the number of instances in which bloodshed became necessary. Strong though he may have become, it was impossible to come away from every battle unscathed, his foes being either former samurai themselves or in much greater number, sometimes both.

He never stayed long in one place to take advantage of the hospitality of those he rescued; they of course did not mind at all, and would have welcomed him to stay forever had he felt inclined to settle down. But this was never the case, and so he continued his journey, thinking, hoping that with each battle he fought, each drop of blood he shed, he would come closer to finding the answer for which he had set out in the first place.

Kirara had knelt down beside Katsushirou with a respectful distance between them to give him privacy. Apart from the shadows cast by the clouds that moved across the moon face intermittently, time seemed to stop. Kirara's own thoughts were on the young samurai beside her, and as he was reflecting in his private world of memories, she could not help but wish to know the thoughts passed through his mind. When Katsushirou's eyes finally opened, he stood up slowly and stared far into the distance, as if in a trance.

"Kirara-dono…"

"Yes?" She replied in a voice hardly a whisper.

"Do you remember the last time we were here, together?"

She did, it had been some months after the war. After everyone had gone to bed, she had found him there, both of them having no room in their minds for sleep that night. "Yes… the moon was just like tonight's, full and bright."

Katsushirou breathed in deeply, inhaling the air that carried the scent of the flowers in front of the graves. During the day, they had blossomed further under the basking of the sun, and now their fragrance sweetened the air around them. A cloud came over the moon then and shielded its light from the night as Katsushirou went on.

"Nothing's changed… long ago, when you had told me that you would share my sin, and clean the blood that stained me… how those words had supported me. But now…"

She had forgotten, and the memory that came rushing back to her filled her with such a grief that it was all she could do to hold back the tears that threatened to overcome her. It seemed as if Katsushirou had been about to say something, but he paused mid-sentence, and now turned so he was facing Kirara, "… has the scent of the battlefield on me grown stronger?"

A tear fell, followed by another, and then more; at hearing those same words from a faint memory that now seemed just like yesterday, her barrier had fractured. Katsushirou, at a loss for a moment by Kirara's sudden tears, reached out to lay one hand one her trembling shoulder, while she amidst her tears was unable to return his gaze. "I… I'm so sorry…"

"It's not your fault..." His voice was calm, so placid that it seemed to carry no emotion. She looked up. "I took up the sword of my own will, and I do not regret the consequences…" And here he smiled a smile that seemed so empty yet contained such sadness that her heart nearly broke for him, "… even if it means an unclean conscience for the rest of my life."