Back! It's been almost a year since I started this story and never did I imagine so many people would be reading! Thank you for all your support ^_^
I haven't replied to any of my viewers officially so here goes:
Thank you everyone for the birthday wishes! You are too kind! =D
Kitsunefire: i'm unsure if permits the use of urls in reviews but I could not access the video you mentioned. But thanks for thinking of my story nonetheless!
Ria L: No... I had no idea the polls worked only for those logged in. Explains the empty polls- I'll think of another way.
coffeetea07: right on the money, though I can't say if it is his fan girl who committed the crime. LOL, they are NOT dating and she is a peasant- FOREVER.
No one important: you are so important and thanks for the review. Glad you like the chapter- I was all smiles when I wrote it.
Cloud09: You have no idea how honored I am to have you say that. Unfortunately, the most I can describe of Ran'scharacter is the ebony hair, fair complexion, serene features. A lot of people want to know exactly what, how or who she looks like- but the truth is, I don't even know.
I've never known, even when I created Ran :)
She is more personality than a physique in my imagination. She exists differently in everyone's mind. When you read, her physical existence is what YOU imagine, not what I imagine. I believe in that freedom and creativity. Ran maybe the most breath-taking or ugliest creature to walk to the earth to the reader. However, the PERSON she is remains the same- which explains why she's with such a horrible, atrocious, ill-mannered man LOL! The most important opinion of course, is not mine, yours or any reader's...it's Mitsunari's xD I did my best, hope it helps! Keep me updated- thanks!
Four days- the time it took to write it. Two days- time spent editing/revising. One week- time expended on punting and overcoming writer's block.
This is the heaviest, most important chapter you will read in this story. Pay attention- enjoy the show!
Ch 13: Benevolence
The Iroha estate was cloaked in white when Mitsunari arrived after a day's ride from the Tokugawa bukeyashiki. Nestled in the bamboo forests of the Western lands, one could easily miss it if he did not know the way. Not Mitsunari.
Although he did not like the senior healer, he and a retinue of guards had personally escorted the elderly man back to his ancestral home. The old man's squabbling, Mitsunari never may forgive, but years of unquestioned servitude to the Toyotomi empire, the Ishida General would never forget.
It wasn't much of an estate- a derelict home frayed by time with a wild garden cleared in the middle of a forest. Perhaps come spring the building would be an idyllic summer home, but winter's ravage currently made the humble abode lose all habitational appeal.
Mitsunari dismounted, trekking across the field – the whooping of cranes echoing audibly in the foreground.
The stairs are paces away when a squadron of armored men files down from the halls to greet him by the stairs.
"Identify yourself! State your business here!" One of them demands, readying his sword. His entourage immediately follows suit.
The militaristic greeting of course. He had known no other. However…
He quirks an eyebrow. Since when had the old fool gone about erecting guards? The old man lived in the middle of nowhere and made no enemies from what Mitsunari could recall. Yet, from the armor and stance of these men they were no mere foot soldiers or mercenary for hire.
He glares at the older man, "my business is not with you. Be gone!"
"Such impudence," the soldier growls, slashing at him on a lunge.
An instant turn on his heels and slam from the butt of his sword knocked the soldier out cold.
"Che." A trained samurai. No where near his caliber- but from the speed and technique of the swing, a veteran regardless.
Countless vulgarities erupt, falling to deaf ears as Mitsunari felt the omamori move within the folds of his clothes. A physical reminder that sets his heart racing.
The rest of them lunge at him, spewing expletives, but the hammering in chest tells him time is fleeting. He curses under his breath, parrying futile blows.
Annoying rats. He changes his stance, left foot forward, balance shifted for bursts of speed.
"General of the Ishida Army," his words like the darkest of venom, o-dachi poised, "who dares bar my way?"
Mitsunair bounded up the stairs. He did not have to search long, for the next corner he took led him to the elderly healer.
"M-Mitsunari-sama," his voice cracks, the wooden bucket in his arms almost escaping his grip, more shocked by General's presence than the pile of bodies in the background, "this is unexpected. To what do I owe the honor?"
"Antidote for your foolish disciple," Mitsunari presents the purple charm.
Iroha considers the item.
"Ran desu ka?" he murmurs, considering the item but leaving it on the younger man's outstretched hand.
"Ah."
He gives the warrior a firm glance before shuffling by him. "I am afraid I cannot comply."
The number of people who can blatantly dismiss and disregard the Minister of Misfortune, were few. Even fewer can walk away unscathed with head intact. Iroha was the select few capable of both.
Mitsunari stomps after him indoors.
"She is your disciple!" O-dachi pointed at the old man's back.
The aged healer turns around. Eyes weathered by time and trials held the younger man's steel gaze. They were not soft unlike a certain peasant's, but Mitsunari doubts they were as sharp and fierce as his own grey ones. Still, the old man held his ground.
"She is no longer my responsibility," came his unflinching reply with eyes that although were firm lacked malice, " I have others who are in need of my care now."
The whippersnapper gave him a sour look. If the older man had not been so rushed and preoccupied, he would have smirked. Maybe a snide remark too. He had a gamut of them for the young, petulant General.
Mitsunari gripped his O-dachi tighter. Somewhere in the distance, a crane calls out to its other half.
Iroha continues his shuffle deeper into the chamber despite the tacit threat.
Death? Such a thing he cared little for. In his youth, while soldiers fought living, breathing forms of themselves, he battled an unearthly foe that threatened to whisk away young men such as the one who stood before him now. He had spent much of his youth attempting to best his spectral opponent but finally reconciling with it as a means of salvation.
From pain.
From longing.
From weariness.
Because despite years of witnessing the light fade from young eyes, he realized there were things far more important and transcendental than death. Eighty he will be when the sakura trees bloom, and by then perhaps he will greet death no longer a rival, but a friend.
So even when the Ishida general threatens him with a swift execution - Iroha could think of nothing but his current responsibility.
A sudden slam of the doors followed by scuttling feet. "Leave Iroha-Sensei alone!"
Instinct draws Mitsunari a step back as he casts a glare at the tiny, blue-clad interloper who scrabbles his way between the two men.
A child?
"Aiko-chan, what are you doing here?" The healer, yanking him by the collar away from the O-dachi's field of range.
"Ji-chan, he's being unreasonable," the boy protests, attempting to claw at the Ishida General.
Unreasonable?
This pipsqueak of a weakling dare call him unreasonable? He could feel his blood boiling.
"Yes, that he maybe, Aiko-chan, but-"
"Iroha-sensei?" A voice low and whispy echoing past open shoji doors from the darkness in the next room.
Mitsunari spares a glance at the speaker.
A woman.
Small and half concealed by the shoji door, kneeling on the ground.
"Okasan!" The boy shrugs off Iroha's hold, sprinting over to shield his mother.
She held the boy's hand and led him to the side. This woman's eyes were soft, much to his dismay. She raised her head. Serene expression mounted on top a fair countenance. The vision of lavender silk on cold, hard floors flashes before his eyes.
"Brave samurai, please forgive my child's rudeness," the woman inclined her head, tendrils of ebony trailing on the tatami. He had known only one other with hair darker than starless nights. How vexatious to be reminded.
Outside the wind howls against panels of screen doors, cranes gone silent.
He looked away. "Ii darou," he grunted. "My business here concerns neither of you."
As if on cue, the old fool begins his babbling of 'priorities'.
It bothers him a woman he neither met nor cared to know of could read him so well, for a moment into the old man's mindless chatter, she intervenes.
Thin, elegant fingers pry shoji doors wide open, revealing her gravid frame to the wide-eyed Ishida general. He knew nothing of woman and their monthly 'maladies', but even he had little doubt the purpose of this woman's visit.
"I was told Iroha-sensei would be best-suited to-"
"Silence." He held up one hand.
The cranes fell hush for a while now. Their cacophony a mere memory.
Mitsunari wheels about-face towards the empty pavilion leading into layers of woods.
The wind abates with deafening silence.
A frown spays on his expression as he treks outside. The few men who survived the brawl earlier were smart enough to vacate. With deliberate steps he descends the stairs, eyes trekking the perimeter while Iroha ambles behind him in speculation.
Snow crunches beneath his feet as he meets the ground.
"Show yourselves!" His roar, shattering the crisp winter air. The winter fowl remain hushed.
The aged healer looks on, puzzlement pushing him to speak. At first he suspects his impaired vision, but when the snow starts shifting and trees clearly begin bending, he thinks otherwise.
There, thirty paces away, figures coalesce together from the wintry scene. They form a loose formation, parting in the center for a central figure- their leader, the old man surmises, who saunters from the cloak of woods to join them. His garb a stark contrast to the pristine snow. His gait mirroring the Ishida general's- inevitably slow and solemnly deliberate.
"This does not concern you," the shinobi's voice rang out, dark and smooth. "I am here for the woman and her child. You and the healer are free to go. Leave now."
"Free to go? That is not yours to say," Mitsunari snaps, knuckles white around his weapon. First the old fool's pathetic guards, then the brat and his irritating mother and now this. Did the entirety of mankind strive to oppose him?
A moment's hesitation as the shinobi's eyes trailed the Ishida general's garb and weapon. Searching..seeking, but alas not finding.
"Hn, very well," he sighs, retreating back towards his squadron, "so be it."
From the soft patter of footsteps, Mitsunari knew the old man was no moron. He had already made himself scarce. But there was another pair of footsteps, small, light and bounding towards him.
"Haha-ue wo mamoritai," comes his firm reply to Mitsunari's expectant split glance. The pipsqueak stood with balled fists besides the General's towering frame.
What in the seven hells….
Mitsunari's free hand wheels the pipsqueak by the collar behind him, but tiny fists pound against his armguards.
"Are you mad? Go inside!" He barked, glaring daggers at the boy.
Young, brown eyes of reckless valiancy meet his sharp, steel orbs. Strange that they should remind him of her, but they did. "No! I am staying to protect-"
"This is no place for a child!" he snarls bitterness and fury that would send the bravest of veteran cowering. The child winces at the sting of his words, and Mitsunari looks away. He could see the frown on a certain peasant's face and he loathed himself for it.
Clearing his throat, he releases the boy's collar. "Inside. Protect your mother inside," dropping the volume of his voice, "she requires your presence."
"But, Samurai-ni-san-"
Across the field his opponent stops, back facing Mitsunari. His hand rising to signal…
"Go now!" his bark returning as he slips into a defensive stance he had not used since days of his retainer initiation. A squeak erupts before pattering footsteps retreat indoors.
Not a moment sooner, a nonchalant flick of the shinobi's wrist sends a flurry of white barreling towards the Ishida General.
To the untrained eye, it's a cloud of white fury ripping through the tranquil fields, but Mitsunari missed neither of the 4 sprinting shinobi. They moved fast- a squadron trained from early youth to collectively dispatch the most dangerous of enemies. For years they've been in such service to their Lord- Mitsunari could feel it through their strength and technique. The lack of hesitation with every blow, the deadly intent of every swing. The speed and agility to exchange 2 sets of blows before clouds of snow in their wake can return to the ground. Whichever Lord sent for these ninjas, was out for blood and the unfortunate soul foolish enough to intervene- a pesky afterthought.
But the Minister of Misfortune did not have time to play. Not today.
"Come," he beckons with his weapon, as they pause for breath. He pivots his right foot backward and pulls himself into a slant- ready to cut through the air. One of them hurls two kunai his way. The first is a decoy that misses, arcing past Mitsunari's arm, and the second, likely laced with a paralytic agent, is deftly deflected with spin of his o-dachi. In the blink of an eye, both fall with a hallow clink onto the ground. The minister of misfortune had yet to move from his stance.
Hn. Unlikely the same pathetic trick would work again. He'd hate to have another evaluation by the peasant for the same ailment. But it irritated him to fight enemies that were weak, dependent on the aid of poison, smoke and illusions. The strong would never fight as such- Lord Hideyoshi would never hide or deceive or debilitate his foes with useless ploys.
"How unsightly your cowardice ways," Mitsunari spats.
Lord Hideyoshi never sought to undermine the opposition- he crushed them!
The four readied their weapons to strike.
He sprawls into a wider version of his current stance, weapon raised by his hip. "Consider this your undoing. There shall be no mercy for your weakness!"
No sooner the words leaves his mouth, do the four shinobi see the world spiral out of control- the purple flash but a fleeting memory. A moment it takes them to register that the swirling is limited to their perception. An eternity it takes for them to realize the body they see from a distal angle is not Mitsunari's, but their own. And despite all attempts of the body to register pain, there is none. The vision of crimson spewing on virgin snow lost to a swift repose.
He barely had time to snap away the blood on his sword before it collided with another weapon.
"You will pay for your sins," the platoon leader hisses behind his mask, ramming his kunai against Mitsunari's weapon. The Ishida general inches away from the other man's cloaked expression. So close the odor of lavender was unmistakable.
Sins? Mitsunari scoffed. He will lay all of them to waste.
"Show me your hatred."
He pushed back, vying for power over the other. A game played since his youth.
"My Lord was to have your life. Who would have known you to outlive both my attempts," the shinobi slurred, voice dark and deep like the most dangerous of poisons, "Mitsunari Ishida."
Lavender…
Mitsunari parried with practiced ease and his opponent seized the opportunity to create distance.
"You!"
He had no chance to recover before the assault began again. Fast and furious, the quiet pavilion became an instant winter storm. The naked eye sees but flashes of silver, hears the resonance of metal on metal as an afterthought. But the trained warrior sees two combatants of similar caliber, matching blow for blow.
One final clash before the onset of silence. The transient flurry precipitating onto the ground, clearing before the two soldiers, poised to attack at a moment's notice.
Thin fingers reach for the mask, prying it off - a cascade of crimson tendril snaking down her frame.
A laugh so deep and rich it makes the most callous veterans shiver. " General Ishida, I am pleasantly surprised you did not recognize me after the second attempt at your life."
"It is you," Mitsunari confirms, "the raid...the temple."
The brief shock on his face, whisked immediately away by years of stoicism. Visions of withering purple on stems and tendrils of ebony against cold hard floors - all caused by this wench. The handle of his o-dachi crunching against his grip; he had never known it was possible to hold his weapon as tightly as he did now.
Her lips thin to a line. Yet he lived, much to her chagrin. He survived where others have succumbed to sweet paralysis and subtle delirium. Twice. Why? How?
"Who is your Lord?" He demanded, o-dachi pointed her way, "speak now!"
She twirled a lock of bright, red hair against her lithe figure. "You are not one to make demands, General. My Lord desires your death- that is all you need to know."
Before he could threaten her with imminent death, a cry reaches his ears. A series of nascent wails shattering the deathly winter.
The shinobi mutters a curse, and her sour expression turns livid with the onset of horse hooves in the distance.
"Mitsunari Ishida, make no mistake, I shall have you pay for your sins, " she repeats to him, her voice grave, eyes sharp with malice "…in blood."
The horses draw close, voices of men audible. She motions a quick seal conjuring another flurry of white cold that envelops her figure. It swallows her whole, dispersing in the blink of an eye into thin air.
A sharp flick of his wrist cleans the blood of his sword. Not her blood today, but some day.
The crunching of snow as footsteps surround the aged abode. More interlopers? He had no time to waste. Mitsunari turns his attention back to the task at hand, sprinting up the stairs.
He enters the chamber with the healer, his patient and her children inside. "I require the antidote," he demands, not batting an eye at the woman cradling the newborn besides the boy, while producing the omamori from folds of his clothing again.
The elderly man finishes washing his hand. He gives Mitsunari a hard look before getting up from the tatatmi mat to take the charm.
"I trained her since she was but a child," he began, shuffling towards a large chest against the walls, "she learned well. Mastered antidotes for many poisons in the manuals."
He held out a small, lacquered container to him. "But Ran refused to learn this one," he chuckled, albeit bitterly, "on the grounds that she would never encounter such a poison because of its foreign origin, outside of Japan. Rare she said! Such hubris, that young lady!"
Iroha stroked the omamori's purple silk. "She never parts with this, a memento of her mother," he returned it to Mitsunari's hand, closing it with his own. "How ironic she has both relinquished a prized possession and succumbed to a poison she thwarted my attempts to teach her in the past."
He sighed before returning his weathered eyes to the younger man's gunmetal grey ones.
"But I suppose if it is you, she will live," he gives him a rare smile that few have seen. "General Mitsunari."
I shall pray for your safe return.
Had she not told him? He'll never deign to admit such recollection, but for some reason the fragment of nostalgia lingered subconsciously.
"Ah, I gave her my word," was all he could say.
I shall return in two days time.
It would take him at least one more day to return, provided he left now and did not encounter further obstacles along the way. His heart raced at the thought.
Mitsunari turns to leave when the woman calls out.
Voice soft and polite. "General, please, may I have a word?"
He stops, looking over his shoulder. The shuffling of her robes as she hands the slumbering infant over to the healer, before smoothing out her attire.
"Iroha-sensei has told me the purpose of your visit- that you are here to save the life of a woman you know."
"…"
She was not wrong.
Taking her cue to continue. "This lady must be important to you. Despite the urgency of her health, you still fended off assailants after me and my sons. Your valiancy have allowed me to bring my child into this world and as such, I shall grant you the truth."
A gurgle from the small bundle.
She raised her head and sat as she had been taught to do so for a woman of her heritage. "My husband feared for my safety, so I was sent here with my son to have our child in seclusion. Guards where kept to a minimum as you saw. No one was to know."
He was so bent on telling her that someone under her husband's service was guilty of treason that he had neglected to revoke her initial presumptive remark.
"A subordinate of your husband knew," he said with grave solemnity, turning to face her, "those shinobi today were trained for targeted assassinations. They knew there would be guards."
She considered this for a moment before meeting his eyes. Her face still flushed from the throes of childbirth. Hair slightly tussled, falling like a dark river against her inner, white kimono- an image not to far from one he'd witnessed a day prior.
"I see. Nonetheless, I thank you for your kindness. It is rare in this day and age to encounter a noble samurai such as yourself. My husband believes it is through compassion that bonds will be created to unite this country. Our dream is that one day this may come to fruition and we shall see an end to this tumultuous Sengoku jidai," she brings her hands before her, prostrating before him. Her son following suit.
"We are indebted to your benevolence, General."
His eyes meet hers- deep and worldly but regrettably too soft for an era obsessed with subjugation and treachery. He had thought only one person to have such eyes.
"…she would have done no different," he mutters, throwing his gaze outdoors.
Clearing his throat, he turns away, warmth of the sun waning into the horizon.
"General Mitsunari, please wait," and whether it be the urgency of her voice or the scrabbling of her footsteps, but he stops cold in his tracks.
"Please take this general," she holds it to him, "a gift for your most generous and kind lady."
He stared at her hands, small and delicate bestowing him the lacquered object embellished with ribbons and intricacies he care little for.
Mitsunari thanks her gruffly before stowing it in the folds of his overcoat. As he exits the compound, echoes of her voice resonate across the snowy fields- wispy tendrils of her words following, reaching him like memories from a second life.
"My name is Princess Ue. Your act of benevolence I shall one day return."