From his youth, he knew that he was in all likelihood a nanshoku zuki – a 'lover' of men, and exclusively so. It did not matter to him. His conduct would have been exactly the same had he been a 'lover' of women. 'Lover' was probably the wrong word to use. Kyuuzou desired no one. Or at least he had never felt anything strong enough to be called desire. Not until Shimada Kanbei. But Kyuuzou did not want to call that 'desire' either. He preferred the word 'obsession'. An impersonal quest to be the best. Nothing more.

In the past, the crimson samurai only felt vague, fleeting yearnings towards other humans. Nothing he needed to act on. There were always other things to do, more important things to think about. He got his pleasure from the danger of the battle and the thrill of the kill. Nothing could beat that heady rush of skating on the thin line between life and death. In the killing zone, one saw nothing. No people. No friends, no foes, no love, no hate. There were only heads, torsos, limbs, hands and feet. That was how his teacher had taught him. Break each human into individual components in your mind. It is not a man. It is just an arm, an eye, a leg. Focus on the parts, and not the person, and then you can kill without blinking.

The peasant offered him her friendship after he saved her life. No one had wanted to be his friend in many, many years. Perhaps it was because everyone else around him saw him as a killing machine to be put to good use, or a piece of flesh to be cut up, and not as a person with a soul. But she was not like everyone else. She was a life-giver – a finder of water, not a death-dealer like himself and his cohorts.

The red samurai had been indifferent at first. He did not care one way or another if she liked him. But still, she offered her trust, and he felt almost obligated to trust her in return. She would come to find him in Kanna Forest when the day's work was done. And she would talk about many things. Kyuuzou would just listen. He was not an interesting person. He did not have much to talk about.

Little by little, the silent samurai came to appreciate this strange companionship. Sometimes Kyuuzou would even seek out the peasant of his own accord. He would come looking for her in the Water Shrine. Even then, the quiet loner would not have much to say. They would just sit side by side in companionable silence. Kirara had learnt long ago that it was pointless to ask Kyuuzou questions about himself. He usually gave no answers.

The water priestess seemed very comfortable being alone with him. Perhaps she knew. Knew that the cold warrior was not capable of looking at her with desire. In the company of the willowy androgyne, the peasant girl had been free and bold in a manner she would not use with other men. The elders said the priestess could read the energies of people with her magic pendant. And they say men who love men have a different energy aura from men who love women. Kyuuzou once asked her if it was so. And she had said, yes. She knew he was different on the first day she saw him.

Then he asked her if she could read Kanbei's energy aura. She said it was harder. The older samurai seemed to have many layers to him. She couldn't fathom the depths of his being. All she could say was that he was a good person deep within, though there were some dark things clinging to his soul. But then which veteran of the Great War did not have dark things clinging to his soul?

She spoke to him of Katsushiro. Confessed her guilt at having caused the boy to start on the path of killing. The quiet warrior told her not to blame herself. Katsushiro would have chosen that road sooner or later, even if she had not come into his life.

She cared very much for the boy, Kyuuzou could tell. And she did not hide the fact from him. The maiden declared that she would cleanse away the stains on Katsushiro's soul if she could. Kyuuzou told her not to bother. No one could cleanse anyone else's soul. Most people could not even cleanse their own souls. He knew he could not.

The respected priestess told him that she was glad he had come to Kanna. She would not speak of such matters to anyone else. The villagers needed her to be strong and sure at all times. She could not show her doubts in their presence. He was an outsider who would not judge her as they would.

The silent killer had been oddly pleased to hear those words. Pleased that for once, someone valued him for something other than his killing abilities. Thus Kyuuzou thought that his friend kept no secrets from him.

Then Gorobei died and Kanbei left, leaving Shichiroji in command. When Gorobei was alive, the soldier-turned-entertainer had been at least civil to Kyuuzou, even when the others ignored the haughty loner. The big man and the slight androgyne respected each other as warriors even though they did not consider each other friends. Now that Gorobei was gone, Kyuuzou had even less of a connection to the team. The other samurai all had their reconstruction duties, but Shichiroji did not give Kyuuzou anything to do. The crimson warrior was bored and restless. Still, he was too proud to ask Shichiroji for an assignment if the blond man was purposely ignoring him. So Kyuuzou decided he would approach Kirara instead. Maybe she could tell him where he could help out.

The samurai went to look for the priestess at the water shrine. He had just rounded the corner of the shrine and was approaching a window when he heard two voices within. His friend was in conversation with her grandmother. The silent samurai did not want to be an eavesdropper. He would have turned and left but it was too late. He had already heard their words.

"You don't even know your own heart."

"But I do know my own heart," his friend had said, "I realize that my eyes have been following him all these days. But he had not noticed this at all. Of course I dare not aspire to things above my station. Nothing will come of this."

The crimson warrior could not help looking in through the window. He saw that his friend held a blood-stained cloth in her hands. Neatly folded.

He remembered where he had seen it. It was after they had escaped the Nobuseri ship and were climbing up the face of the mountain. Kyuuzou had been the first to reach the ledge. Kanbei came up after him, and then he saw the dark warrior reach down to help Kirara up. She had averted her gaze and refused his hand. Then the peasant priestess turned pale when she saw the blood-soaked cloth bound around the samurai's arm. Kyuuzou recalled how she had insisted on tending to the dark man's wound even though he had at first refused her. He saw how she quickly and carefully replaced the bloody cloth with a fresh bandage. But he did not notice then that she had not discarded the blood-soaked cloth. There were other matters he had to worry about at that time.

But it was all so clear now. The priestess always seemed somewhat nervous around Kanbei. She was not that way with Kyuuzou or with the others. Kyuuzou thought nothing of it then. After all, he himself was a little nervous around Kanbei too. But he was not in love with the dark-haired warrior, so why should he think she was? That dark ronin just had a way of making people nervous, Kyuuzou had thought. There was no reason to it. At least none that he knew of.

On looking back, the scarlet warrior could tell there was more than just concern in her eyes when she looked upon the white-clad samurai that day. Her touch was not just careful. It was tender. Why did he not see it earlier? Because he thought she loved Katsushiro. How could this be?

Kyuuzou felt an odd sense of betrayal. Then he wondered why he would feel this way. Was it because his friend did not tell him this 'secret' when she had kept nothing else from him? But she herself had probably not realized the state of her own heart until after Kanbei left. Then why did he still feel betrayed?

The old grandmother spoke again, "There will be much pain ahead for you."

Kyuuzou left as silently as he came. Yes, there will be much pain ahead for her, especially when the time came for him to kill Shimada Kanbei. He would not give up his right to a death duel with that man. Not even for a friend.

When the water witch sought her friend again, he was gone. The silent warrior was no where to be found. The children told her he had left Kanna. There was no longer any reason for him to stay.

---

Note:

From what I gather from the nonfiction book Male Colors: The Construction of Homosexuality in Tokugawa Japan, the term nanshoku zuki – literally (one who) likes male eroticism – referred to men who enjoy male youths (age-set relationships were the traditional model for male homosexuality in Japan and other parts of the world). But I'm using it more loosely in this fic to refer to men who like men. So my usage of the term is probably not in line with tradition ;-) Just FYI so that I don't end up giving too much misinformation about East Asian homoerotic traditions.