Author's Note: I've had a rather profound epiphany; midterms might be a pain in the arse but they do wonderful things for my creative procrastination gene. On another matter, one slightly less random, I send out a heartfelt thanks to my beta- you know just what to say to keep my ego inflated. Any and all mistakes found within are my own; if you find any let me know and I'll happily fix them. Now, enjoy!
Disclaimer: I do not own Rurouni Kenshin, Hitokiri Kenshin, or any Kenshin in between.
Calculated Innocence
Chapter Three: Wayward
The walk into town was horribly silent, an almost visible tension arched between the two moving figures. The taller of the two, with hair darker and longer than any current fashion would inspire, looked blankly on ignoring the serenity and beauty of the day. Movements static, stiff, as if unable to completely disregard the emotional turmoil caused by duty and honor. Long tapered hands shoved into pockets, caressing the hidden bamboo case dipped in blood and ink.
In contrast the smaller of the two moved gracefully a step behind, eyes solemnly searching the surrounding forest. They were in direct contrast in appearances, light where the other was dark, short to the other's height, androgynous in form to his companions hard and sharpened features. He was the first to speak; "You are certain – is there another way to interpret the orders?"
"I have found no other."
"No loophole?"
"I have found none."
"Is there truly nothing we can do?"
Silence.
Quiet contemplation, she had once been told, feeds a vicious cycle that is insanity. It was a saying that held no meaning then, touching on subjects even her advanced maturity was unable to grasp. Now, as she trailed silently behind Kenshin, she understood it all to well. Her mind was trained not on the future and the problems that needed attention, but to her past and the many failures of her youth; a time she was only known as Nomiko.
For five years she had been raised with the other children, taught and played side by side. For five years she was nothing but a child, one of twenty who received specialized training. Honed to be a warrior for the coming years like all the others. She lived in the small community made of teachers and students, on a small island off the coast of Tejinho in the Sea of Japan. It was an island that had no name, for it existed on no map ever made by man.
There, children were separated into three groups each determined by ability and age, each taught specialized skills. For five years she lived on that island, learning how to weld a sword, bread and taught to be a warrior for the cause. The first time she dreamed in quicksilver flashes and bloodied grays she had been seven, unable to grasp the severity of the images.
Two weeks had past and it had nearly faded from memory, the day started out normal enough in the face of the five-day raging storm. Intense exercises to strengthen muscles and improve agility with Tuskamoto Yuji-sensei were conduced in the dojo. Her sensei had been wearing his customary morning glare as he threw out sharp commands and reprimands. Then her dream was reenacted in reality and the elders knew.
Daichi-sempai, with his cropped brown hair and mud colored eyes, stumbled into the dojo his face alight with morbid excitement and delight. Lost sailors, thrown off drastically off course, had landed on the southern beach. Seven confused and relieved men where at that very moment, given warm soup and sake while the elders were making the necessary arrangements.
Tomorrow all seven would be publicly executed on the very same stretch of beach they landed upon. It was nothing new, each and every individual was taught the consequences of such an act, it mattered not that the unsuspecting visitors held no actual knowledge of what the island was. They were "…a danger to Japan," the elders said at dawn to the crowd of students and teachers alike, "these deaths would serve the country and insure the safety of the emperor."
She cried that day, kneeling on the beach in the rain and chilling wind, an act that disappointed her elders and weakened the respect she had been gaining in her teachers' eyes. Yuji-sensei was especially hard on her the next day, teaching her without a direct confrontation she was a failure.
Her life drastically changed after that.
She was moved to a separate location, setting foot for the first time on the mainland, and presented before eight prominent members of their group. Wanting farther proof of her 'talents' they kept her a prisoner in the lavish home of Niibori Matsusuke, and left in the care of his cold wife Yuuka. It was the elder's hope that by positioning her just close and far enough away from the country's civil-war, any prophetic dream would be focused on information they could use.
She was immediately locked within an inner room of the large estate, out of the way and easily forgotten. Her only companions were four guards who knew almost nothing about children. Every morning Yuuka-san strode into the larger of three rooms that made up her new home, and demanded to know if she had a dream. Every morning for six months Yuuka-san left, leaving the youth she had been close to tears after the onslaught of words that only reiterated her worthlessness. After that she put all her attention and energy into practice. It had been the youngest looking of the four that made her realize that while she was unable to force her dreams into existence, she could continue her training and be of use as a warrior.
The days seemed to grow shorter every month, and soon a year had passed. The guards, behaving more like brothers, seemed to take great delight in correcting a sloppy stance and introducing new methods of combat. She was their new project; from the disregarded and neglected little girl she had been, they aspired to transform her into the perfect warrior. Her dreams revolved around a flying phoenix, and perhaps for the first time she knew hope.
She should have known it was not to last, for on the 428th day living in the Niibori estate she dreamed in quicksilver. Flashes of black and white and red showed the images of a gruesome scene; a girl not much older than her upon a hard stone surface, she appeared asleep but for the brilliant streaks of blood smeared on her face and collecting in a pool around her. The face was towards her, a peaceful expression forever frozen in time despite the pain she must have felt. Next, there was an image of a finely dressed figure, kimono neat and hair accessories holding up an elaborate style.
Even from the back she would recognize Yuuka-san.
The nightmare continued with the next flash, almost to quick to take apart from the others: a well manicured hand holding a bloodied knife to dark and thin lips; a delicate jaw line and a long pale neck; the embroidered neckline of an expensive kimono spattered with flecks of blood. Then, Matsusuke-san laughing an arm thrown out wide as if to invite someone closer; only to be draped over a rumpled futon as dead as the girl.
It was almost to much and the next morning she would not speak to Yuuka-san, no mater the threat. As soon as she was left with her guards she begged them to investigate, to search the estate for the girl and get her to safety.
In the end, she had been the cause of that girls death. She considered herself the true murderer even though it was Yuuka-san's hand that held the knife. She blamed herself for the attention she inavertedly drew to the girl as it shed light on a situation that existed for years as nothing but shadows. The girl's name was Shimane Haruko, and she had been Matsusuke-san's latest acquisition.
"Kaoru-dono?"
She blinked, having missed the transition from forest to town, and looked around main street where venders were happily pedaling their wears. Hastily she turned back to Kenshin, her embarrassment quickly turned to an apologetic smile seeing the worry on his face. There was a type of strength, a glint almost like steel, in his eyes and she knew she would need a quick diversion.
Short of that some fast talking might work.
"Yes, Kenshin? It's so beautiful out today, do you think we should take the road home by the lake? I know its longer but I would like very much to see the momiji trees reflecting in the water's surface. They always have the best color this time of year… hm, perhaps I should think of planting some in the yard. What do you think?" Everything she had was put into body language and the inflections of her speech, hoping to appear as nothing but happy and energetic.
She would never truly know if she was able to defuse what could have quickly become a tense situation for a diversion sauntered by. A whiff of curling smoke and the tang in the air the only warning she got as to the type of diversion.
Sometimes, despite her best efforts, the situation would always go from bad to worse.
Also- I want to send out a thanks to Jasmine blossom625; wouldn't you know it, even in word document those spelling errors were nicely underlined with a red squiggly line. Don't I feel sheepish. Baaa. A nice chocolate-chip cookie for you! ;p