January 1863
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That night, I dreamed of war, of swords clashing, and of blood painting our world crimson. I walked through the flaming ruins of a city I did not recognize, struggling to see anything past the fire and smoke.
When I opened my eyes, I saw flames everywhere. Our home was ablaze.
Scrambling out of my futon, I cupped a hand over my mouth and tried to breathe as a wracking cough shook my body. Tears streamed from my eyes, the smoke a potent lacrimator that tore at them with little mercy. My first instinct was to grab my swords and loop them through the belt of my yukata. Reassured by their sustaining presence, I got to my feet. Still half asleep, I stumbled around the room, trying to grasp what was happening. I gritted my teeth when I slammed my shoulder into a wall and shuffled backwards. While I wasted precious seconds trying to see through the choking smoke, the fire spread.
"Father," I bit out between coughs and gasps for air. "Father!" Holding out a hand in front of me, I moved in the general direction of the next room. My skin broke out in sweat as the heat around me intensified. The inferno was deafening, its roar pressing in on me with tangible force. "Father!" I called out again and screamed when the top of the doorway above me gave a pained groan and collapsed. I jumped forward to avoid it, cursing when the hem of my yukata caught fire. Dropping to the ground, I batted at it with my hands, ignoring the feeling of the skin on my palms crunching and melting from the heat. Too engrossed in finding my father in the blaze to pay attention to the pain, I scrambled to my feet and moved towards the faint outline of my father 's body. I fell to my knees beside him, crying out in panic when he didn't move. "Father! Father, we have to get out of here!"
"Chiz…uru?" he murmured. I almost failed to hear him over the snapping of wood and crackling of burning straw.
"Please, father. You have to get up," I pleaded, knowing that begging was useless. He'd taken his elixir only a few hours ago, and though it suppressed the symptoms of his illness for a time, it was imperfect. Shortly after taking his dose, he'd suffered another fit that drained and incapacitated him. It would be hours yet before he could move around normally. Gritting my teeth together, I roped his arm over my shoulders and heaved us both to our feet. Another section of the roof collapsed, letting in a strong draft of freezing air from outside. Some of the wood smacked against my father's ankles, leaving furious red marks that were surely serious burns, but he was so far gone and exhausted that he didn't even flinch.
I dragged him with me towards the front door, crying out in panic when one of the house 's supporting beams snapped and nearly crushed us both. We had minutes - no, seconds - before the entire house collapsed, and I was moving too slow. I tried to stifle my rising terror, doing my best to focus solely on pushing towards the exit. My father hung limp in my arms, and it was all I could do to keep shuffling and limping forward without dropping him.
"Leave…me…" came his hoarse whisper.
"No," I shook my head. How could he possibly imagine that I'd leave him behind to save myself?
That's just like father - I thought grimly. Always thinking of me and my well-being above his own.
"Leave me…Chi…zuru…" His voice was so faint, his face white as snow. Dark rings circled eyes that were sunken in and partly swollen. More tears poured from my eyes.
"No, father. We can make it…" Horror mushroomed in my chest when I saw the front doorway catch fire. The curtain that served as a makeshift door snapped, beads scattering everywhere. The whole thing looked like the gaping maw of the Underworld itself, but I knew that I had to go through it. Even if we sustained some injuries, I knew that our demon blood would heal them quickly. Summoning up every shred of courage that I had, I moved my feet as quickly as I could. My calves cried out in agony, my back cramping under my father's weight. As soon as we were through, I pushed my father's body in front of me then rolled out of the way as the entire front wall of the house crumpled into a burning heap.
For a few moments, I lay there, staring at the sky and reassuring myself that I was still alive. When I could move again, I rolled onto my side. I fully expected to see concerned villagers running towards us with buckets of water. Summer fires were common in this region, though they mostly occurred in fields rather than homes. What I saw instead made my heart turn to stone. At first, I thought that the mounds strewn about the center of the village and near other burning homes were debris or piles of soil. It took seconds to realize that the variation in colors on them were clothes.
Corpses.
Bodies were everywhere.
As my head cleared of the effects of inhaling smoke and ash, my hearing returned. The earth rumbled beneath me, shaking and trembling as at least a dozen men on horseback galloped through the village, laughing in excitement as they cut down men, women, and children in their way. I turned to look at my father. He hadn't moved from where I'd placed him. My thoughts churned chaotically. What was I supposed to do? I had no delusions about being able to help this village. Even if I was a demon, what could I do alone against so many heavily armed men? If my father was awake, he would have immediately taken me into hiding. Human affairs were none of our business. As demons, we didn't interfere with them any more than we had to in order to survive.
Crawling over to him, I looped my arms under his, regained my footing, and tried to drag him backwards into the surrounding forest. His face was deathly pale, sweat beading on his temples. I knew that moving around had to be incredibly painful. I couldn't even imagine what such exposure to the smoke had done to his already weak lungs. I hoped - I prayed - that the other humans wouldn't see me as I made painstaking slow progress. As minutes passed, what had been a symphony of terrified screaming and wailing turned to an even more frightening silence.
"Hey! What's that over there?" one of the attackers called. "It's them! After them! Don't let them get away!"
We'd been spotted! I watched, mouth open in a silent scream, as a group of men split off from the main force and galloped towards us.
"Father!" I shouted, grinding my teeth together as I redoubled my efforts to drag him away. "Father, please! You have to move!"
Closer and closer the men came, the light of the flames reflecting in their horses' huge glassy eyes. They resembled the frightening drawings and paintings of demons humans often made.
"Father, I beg you!"
The trembling grew stronger under my bare feet. I had time to let out a shrill scream before they reached us. One of the men slashed downwards with his sword as he flew past me. In my rush to avoid the blow, I let my father slip from my grasp. We both fell to the ground, the back of my skull smacking into the hard earth. As I tried to get back up, two of the men dismounted.
"It's him," the taller of the two said in a grim tone. "Grab him, but be careful. Our men in Kyoto want him alive."
"And the girl?" the other asked, his smile making me sick to my stomach.
"She's yours. Do what you want with her." My ears were still ringing from the blow to my head, but as the men approached me, I drew my sword and bent my knees, prepared to defend my father to the death.
"Oh ho…looks like we've got ourselves a scrappy one, boys," the shorter man chortled and licked his lips. "Come 'ere, little girl. You might be scrawny, but a man can't be too picky these days." Two others dismounted, the looks on their faces suggesting that they all shared their companion's intentions. All of them drew their swords. I raised mine.
"Put that down before you hurt yourself," another man chuckled. "If you really want something to play with, I can help you out." He made a rude gesture. I was by no means a meek woman. Traveling disguised as a boy for years, I'd learned to talk back to men who believed themselves above me. But right now, I couldn't say a word. All of my focus was on my father who lay still and unmoving behind me.
"Let's get 'er, boys," a fourth man barked. With that, we clashed. They crashed into me like a tidal wave, steel flashing in the amber light. As I was trying to defend my back, I saw one of the men take the opportunity to grab my father and drag him away. Screaming in denial, I tried to charge after him, but was stopped when another man nearly cut off my arm. With so many enemies, all I could do was defend and fight for my life. That is, until I saw my father regain his senses. Time seemed to stop. He looked up at me and struggled out of his attacker's grip.
"Father!" I screamed.
"Chizuru," I saw him mouth silently just as his captor kicked him in the chest. As he rolled onto his stomach, my father coughed, blood spewing from his lips. Seeing his fragile body, the body we fought every single day to keep alive, treated like that - with such cruelty and malice - drove me over the edge from fear to fury. With a vile cackle, the man picked him up and threw him over his horse. Red filled my vision. My back straightened, thoughts stilling and growing cold. My vision tunneled. I drew my wakizashi with my free hand, balancing my body to compensate for the difference in weight with the katana in my other hand. The men looked confused for a moment, but they didn't have long to ponder what I was doing. I flew forward and attacked.
Skill, logic, and strategy disappeared. I was no longer thinking of countering, just attacking. The sensation of steel sliding through skin, muscle, and bone thrilled and excited me. Blood spurted in violent torrents in all directions, coating my face and my hands. It was warm and sticky, quickly drying and turning into a thin crusty layer over my clothes and my skin. With each strike, I felt more and more of my emotions fade away until all that was left was anger. The sight of the man kicking my father looped over and over in my head as the men around me screamed and howled.
When each and every one around me was dead, I heard more hooves pounding behind me. A survivor no doubt coming to take vengeance. The thought of cutting him to shreds made my heart beat faster in excitement. Tossing my wakizashi to the ground, I knelt down and plucked a nodachi from the lifeless grip of one of the bandits. As the horse approached me, I rolled forward and slashed at its ankles, using the extended length of the blade as a pivot point to gouge at the rider's feet as well . The animal rolled forward and went down with a pained squeal that matched the terror of its rider's yelp. Turning around, I witnessed a tangle of limbs, hooves, and blood, satisfied when neither beast nor rider moved again.
Then silence.
I couldn't hear the roaring of the fires any more.
I couldn't feel the burns on my skin.
I couldn't see any more enemies.
As far as I could tell, everyone around me was dead. If anyone had survived the brutal attack, they were long gone.
As was my father and the man who'd taken him from me.
