Promises, Promises

Summary: The only way to find true happiness is to risk being cut completely open. Chuck Palahniuk

In spite of the freezing cold, he could feel himself slipping toward sleep. His fingers were numb with cold, barely able to function; his body had long ago stopped shivering, and sweat coated his skin. His ears rang, and his heart felt like it was fluttering in his chest. He couldn't seem to catch his breath.

His mind was foggy. He shook his head, but that didn't help. What had he been doing? Fighting, he knew that—and a desperate fight at that, that much he could recall. He swam in a sea of pain, but it all seemed so distant.

His vision cleared a little, and he could see the ground around him, torn, and spattered with blood. He raised his face just in time to see his opponent draw back his fist for another blow. He tried to dodge, but he was slow. So slow.

He'd recognized who was beating him, and his memory flooded back.

Tomoe.

Where was she? He'd come up the mountainside to rescue her, but had been ambushed on the way, and is mortally wounded. Now he was trying to plow his way through the Field Marshal in order to get to his wife.

He wasn't getting very far.

As he raised his head, he saw Tomoe running from the shrine toward them. That galvanized him—she must stay away! He started to rise, and he saw an opening for his sword in the bigger man's defense. Just as he drove into it, hitting home and feeling his sword sink deeply into that massive torso, momentum finished the roundhouse kick Tatsumi had begun, and his foot connected with Kenshin's head, snapping his neck backward, and breaking it. Kenshin dropped like a stone. He did not see the Field Marshal fall backward, never to rise again.

You are not doing very well, are you?

Peace settled around him at the sound of the voice. His pain faded and his mind cleared. He looked up to see, sitting very close to him, a large gray wolf. In fact, between the blinding white of snow and the sudden return of his vision, he could see nothing but the wolf. "Who are you? What is happening to me?" He looked around himself at the pristine, snowy forest. "Where am I?"

So many questions from such a creature! The wolf stood and turned, walking away into the freezing mist. It paused and looked back. Well? Are you coming or not?

"Sorry. Yes." And the boy stood and followed the animal. Something tickled at the back of his mind, some unfinished business that he must attend to, but he couldn't get hold of it.

They walked for some time in silence, then Kenshin asked, "If you don't mind my asking, where are we going?"

The wolf stopped and sat, cocking his head sharply. You do not know?

"I'm afraid not. I can't quite remember what I was doing."

The wolf raised a paw to its mouth and cleaned it with its tongue. Then it rose and continued its journey. You must be thirsty. There is a river just ahead.

Kenshin remained where he was. "I would really prefer it if you would please answer my questions."

The wolf stopped and looked back, then re-traced its steps. Very well. If you like. It sat. Kenshin noticed that it was very nearly as tall as he was even when sitting. Sit with me.

Kenshin looked around and spied a large snow-covered boulder. He brushed off the snow, and settled himself comfortably on it.

Now. Ask your questions. I may answer some.

"May I know who you are?"

Kenshin had never seen a wolf chuckle before. It did not put him at his ease.

I? I am the winter spirit of this mountain. I would have thought that obvious. But, yes, you are a human, and have but little understanding. The wolf paused; it seemed to Kenshin as though it were trying to think how to express itself to him. You may call me Yama-no-Kami. It is not my name, but it is the name given to mountain spirits. It is acceptable to me.

"Thank you, Yama-no-Kami, for this answer, and I apologize for my ignorance and stupidity." Kenshin felt it wise to placate his companion. "I am also wondering where I am. I don't really remember where I was before I saw you."

Yama-no-Kami replied gently, in the manner of telling a small child that it was bedtime. You were fighting.

Kenshin felt the rise of memory. Disturbing memory.

You were losing.

Yes, it was beginning to come back to him. His body, certainly, was remembering: pain, despair, loss of ability. Terror. About... someone.

In fact, you were dying.

It all flooded back. Chasing Tomoe. A mind unsettled by dread and uncertainty. A body wounded and failing. Fatigued and blind, deaf and weak. Battling the Field Marshal, blow after blow, the fainting feeling of massive blood loss. His spirit struggling against the growing realization that he was not not not going to succeed.

He dropped to one knee with the weight of memory, and looked pleadingly at the wolf, his voice weak with disbelief. "Dying?"

Of course! You are dead. Did you not know?

No. No, he had not known! It was unthinkable, and he had only one thought. It crushed him. He tried to push it away. His ultimate failure.

Yama-no-Kami put into words the thought he rejected. You have broken your promise to her. You promised that she would never again lose her happiness in the way that you caused when you killed her betrothed. Now she has lost her happiness. She has lost you, her second love. Even now she grieves. And once again it is your fault.

His soul broke, and he wept. The wolf waited patiently. The snow and the forest and the cold waited, silent and unmoving. After a time, he could breathe again.

Are you finished?

He took a deep breath. There was a part of him, that unyielding stone in his middle, the part of him that never gave up, that was unsatisfied with the wolf's explanation of his circumstances. He couldn't accept it.

"This cannot be."

So stubborn!

He'd never seen a wolf smirk, either.

What is troubling you? It is all over. Your time of action and responsibility is done. Time to rest.

Kenshin lowered his other knee, placed his hands on the snow before him, and touched his forehead between them. "I have never broken a promise, and this is one that I must honor. I will never be able to rest like this." He remained in this pose.

Had Kenshin been watching, he would realize that he'd never seen a wolf look surprised, either. Finally, What are you asking of me?

Kenshin sat up, but only repeated, "This promise must be kept."

The wolf tilted its head in thought. Yes. There is a way.

Kenshin did not find this as comforting as he might have expected. "Yes?"

Your promise was that she should not lose her happiness a second time. Yes?

Kenshin could only nod, mystified.

That she should not live her life in the agony of grief.

He nodded again. "I said that she—"

Please don't interrupt. I am trying to understand the terms of your promise.

"Then, yes. Her heartbreak is—was—is unbearable to me."

How about yours?

Kenshin didn't understand. "Mine? My what?"

Your heartbreak. Is your heartbreak more bearable to you than hers is?

Kenshin tried to imagine what this might mean, but he already knew the answer to the question, whatever else might come. Whatever happened.

"Yes. I would rather that my heart be broken by my actions than have her live in agony."

I can make that happen.

"Do you promise?"

This seemed to amuse Yama-no-Kami. Promise? Yes, I promise. Is that what you desire?

"But we've been gone so long already. My body will have..."

Time is my servant. Answer me. Do you wish to exchange her heartbreak for yours?"

Relief washed over him. "Yes."

So be it.


In spite of the freezing cold, he can feel himself slipping toward sleep. His fingers are numb with cold, barely functioning; his body is no longer able to shiver, and sweat coats his skin. His hearing is dim, and his heart flutters in his chest. He can't catch his breath. His mind is foggy. What had he been doing? Fighting—and a desperate fight at that. He swims in a sea of pain, but it's all so distant.

His vision clears, and he can see the ground around him, torn, and spattered with blood. He sees his opponent draw back his fist for another blow. He tries to dodge, but he is slow. So slow.

He's recognized who is beating him, and his memory floods back.

Where is Tomoe? He'd come to rescue her, but had been ambushed, and is mortally wounded. Now he is trying to plow his way through the Field Marshal in order to get to his wife.

He's not getting very far.

He raises his head, and sees Tomoe running from the shrine toward them—she must stay away! He starts to rise, sees an opening for his sword, and strikes down through the man's chest.

But something is wrong.

This is his cut, the one that has never failed him. There had been a pause in his attacker's blows, and, blood-blinded and staggering, he'd gathered the last of his strength for this strike, the one that would rescue her. Rescue them both.

He should have felt his sword crack through the collarbone, and then break through four or five ribs before hitting the heavy muscle of the heart, sliding through the cartilage at the bottom of the sternum and the soft abdomen, and finally arcing completely out of Tatsumi's body. He is so familiar with the rhythm of this particular strike that it sometimes gets stuck in his head, like some demonic tune.

But this time, it was like riding a cart over an unevenly rutted road: the blade deflects weirdly to his right, and pops through too many ribs, then there is a rubble of small bones and a muddle of soft tissue, finally sticking fast in bone. All wrong.

His stance, weak in his wounded state, breaks toward the stuck blade, and he stumbles onto the body in front of him. It's wrong, too. Tatsumi is a mountain of a man. This body is far too small.

She can't seem to sort out what's happened.

She opens her eyes, and a clear winter's sky fills her vision. Beneath her there is softness and warmth, but she's disconnected from it all. She tries to raise her head, but even before she learns that is impossible, she hears a voice, low and smooth and urgent. "Please lie still."

Oh, thank the gods, he's here. She remembers seeing him beaten, remembers pushing against the heavy door in a panic, rushing out to intervene, only to see Tatsumi raise her kaiken—her own weapon!—and prepare an attack stance. After that, everything was a jumble.

But it's all right now, isn't it? She is in his arms, so he had bested Tatsumi after all! They will rest here—how tired she is, her body heavy with relief and cold with fatigue—and then return home. Safe from danger. Safe in the future they've planned.

She seems to be dressed too thinly. This high on the mountain the cold is bitter, and it seeps through her kimono, through the many layers of silk and cotton. She wishes to have more of his body's heat, and she tries to move closer, but her limbs will not obey.

Would you please hold me closer? I am so cold. So tired. She can't be sure she'd said that aloud. She struggles to try again, to get enough breath, to force it past her lips, to make them move.

"I'm sorry." His voice is strained, tight and unnatural. He hardly sounds like himself. He does hold her tighter, but it doesn't help. "I should have…" He goes on, but she has trouble following his words. Her ears are ringing, and his voice fades in and out.

Now he understands the deal he has struck with Yama-no-Kami.

She will never know the heartbreak of losing her love. She will live the rest of her life loving, and being loved in return. She will die in the arms of her beloved.

He will live on.


A/N: I've written of this moment before, in "Water on the Wind," but this one was partly inspired by the live-action RK movie, "Rurouni Kenshin: The Beginning," and based on an idea from my daughter.

A/N: Cover photo is by Tracy Brooks from Mission Wolf US.