That night, restless dreams of fire and red eyes did not let me sleep in peace. I dreamed of our village burning to the ground and of a hand holding mine as we ran desperately through woods filled with smoke. I saw white hair and golden eyes. My lips murmured a name I hardly recognized, and my heart beat like a drum. We ran until we had no more breath left in us, and at the end of the path stood Kodo, the man who became my father. I called to him, but as he turned, he became a monster with white hair and blazing red eyes. Foaming at the mouth, he screamed for my blood as he ran towards me with his sword raised high.
I woke up with a start, relieved to see a familiar ceiling. Once again, I was drenched in sweat. As I wiped it from my face and neck with a wash cloth, I worried about how vivid these nightmares were becoming. Peeking outside, I saw it was not yet dawn, and knowing that I wouldn't be able to fall back asleep, I decided to take a walk and get some fresh air. I changed into a warmer kimono and hakama ensemble. Without thinking twice, I strapped my satchel and swords to my hips before setting out.
As I made my way around the roofed wooden path around the building, I heard some odd sounds coming from the gardens. Curious, I meandered in that direction, striving to keep my footsteps light and quiet. By the time I began to ask myself why I was behaving like I was trying to sneak around on purpose, I'd reached my destination. I crouched low and peeled apart the bushes to get a peek at the sight beyond. Peering through the trees and shrubs, I saw a figure outlined in the moonlight training in solitude.
It was Souji. Despite the biting chill of the air, he was only dressed in a pair of hakama pants and leg wraps. I saw a pile of clothes carelessly discarded off to the side. Sweat covered him from head to toe, drops of moisture dripping from his bangs. I was overcome with a myriad of emotions all at once. I wanted to leave first, because I was certain he wouldn't appreciate being spied on. Then, I wanted to march right up to him and tell him off for training half naked outside when it was this cold. Just the other day, I'd caught him wandering around with a fever again. Considering how susceptible he was to illness, I was furious that he wasn't taking better care of himself.
Indecisive, I hesitated for a few minutes, watching him. I'd never seen him training before, though I had seen him fight several times. He'd even joined Saito and I for sparring on a few occasions. I'd seen his deadly skill first hand. Naturally, such skill didn't come without hours of rigorous training. Seeing it in person was different though. I was in awe of his clean precise motions. His sword wasn't a separate object; it was an extension of himself. He'd tied up his hair differently than usual. It was tied lazily at the nape of his neck instead of in a top knot. As a passing thought, I noted it was longer than I'd thought it was. With each one of his strikes, he released a sharp heavy breath. It wafted from his lips in puffs of steam. I watched the rippling of his honed warrior's body, his broad shoulders, his strong core.
When he moved, I was reminded of what he said to me on the night of my first patrol. He'd called himself a weapon, and watching him now, I couldn't help but agree with that sentiment. He was quick on his feet. Hard and muscular, yet lithe and flexible. Each sword thrust was executed at blinding speed. No chance for avoidance or a counter. Each strike was meant to kill, leaving no chance for the enemy to get up for a second attempt. Like Saito, he did not need to rely on deceptive techniques such as the wagtail sword to confuse his opponent. Both he and Saito overwhelmed their enemies with speed, agility, and ferocity.
He paused for a moment. Suddenly, his eyes snapped to me. They were the same haunting aquamarine they'd been the night of my first patrol: his pupils shrunken, his face set into a mask of a killer. I suppressed a shudder and was about to apologize for disturbing him when his body collapsed. He fell to his knees, digging his blade into the ground to prop himself up as racking coughs shook his entire body. Without thinking, I ran to him, kneeling beside him and placing my hand on his sweat covered shoulder.
I don't know how long the fit lasted. An eternity, or so it felt. Each ragged breath, each pained cough, each groan resonated in my own chest. Watching him kneeling there, immobilized, I saw my father in him, felt his pain so acutely that tears began to spill from my eyes. And then, when I saw the trail of blood on his chin, I sobbed and shook my head in denial. For in that moment, I knew that he was not simply delicate and susceptible to illness. He'd been ill for a long time.
No. Stars, no. No Souji, too. The horrible consumption had already broken my father. Would it now break someone else I had come to care for?
Biting my lip, I ran to the pile of discarded clothes, grabbed them and went back to the fallen warrior. With shaking hands, I wrapped him in their warmth. Words poured from lips just like the tears from my eyes. I cursed at him; raved at him. How could he be so careless? How could he go outside uncovered when it was so vital that he stay warm? How could he push himself to train when his body desperately needed rest? My hand made circles on his back and the fit began to release its grip on him. All the while, his hand stayed wrapped around his sword, his knuckles turning white from the strength of his grip.
He looked up at me from under sweaty bangs. I got a glimpse of the face I'd seen in the city. No blood drenched him now, but it wasn't needed. My breath died in my throat. The world spun. Suddenly, I was pushed down. The ground slammed into me, knocking the breath out of me. In less time than I could understand what had happened, Souji was straddling me, the edge of his sword rasping at my delicate throat. I felt the sting of the blade, but I didn't move. I remained as still as I could, even as he gripped both of my wrists in one large hand and squeezed until it hurt.
"Okita-san," I whispered to the killer above me. I didn't understand what had happened or why he had lashed out, but the Souji I knew wasn't the Souji above me now. This was the sword of the Shinsengumi, a Wolf of Mibu, and he was ready to execute me at any moment.
Still, my voice must have gotten through to him. His grip on me gentled somewhat.
"Okita-san, please. Come with me. I have medicine. I can help you."
"I don't need your help," he spat in a tone of voice I'd never heard him use before. Like a wounded, cornered beast. "I'd kill you now, but Kondou needs you. But," he pushed the blade a little closer. "If you so much as utter a word about what you just saw, not even that will stop me."
I hated myself beyond belief. How had I not realized he was sick before? He'd hidden it so well. A cold here. A fever there. But no one had ever seen this kind of coughing fit. I'd only walked in on it once, months ago, and that night was such a blur due to my own fever and injuries that I hardly remembered it. He'd been hiding his tuberculosis for months. Going on patrols, fighting, pushing himself when rest meant life or death.
"It's my fault," I whispered. "I should have seen the signs…Okita-san…please…let me help you."
"I said I don't need your help. Stay out of it," he growled.
"Please, with this illness, you must take rest. You cannot go out and fight. You must stay in bed. You need a warm climate, fresh air, medicine."
"No," he said with terrifying finality. "I'm not leaving, and I'm definitely not resting. I'm needed with a sword in my hand…or do you suggest I become an invalid like Sannan?"
That was cruel. I'd thought he and Sannan were friends. Then again, it was impossible to tell who actually mattered in Souji's life save for Kondou and perhaps Hijikata. Suddenly, I understood. Of course he'd been trying to hide it. For Souji, I imagined there was little worse in life than not being able to help Kondo and the Shinsengumi. That he'd mentioned Sannan meant he had considered—perhaps countless times—the horror of becoming disabled like him. My heart went out to him. For a warrior, the way of the sword was their life. They rarely saw anything more important than that and their honor. Of course he was furious that I'd seen him.
In his own way, Souji was scared that I would contribute to the collapse of his world.
"I swear," I told him. "I swear I will speak nothing of this, but you must promise me that you will let me treat you."
His killer's gaze bore into me, but I refused to back down. "I don't owe you any promises."
"If you want to keep fighting, Okita-san, you need to listen to my advice as a doctor. We must heal your body as much as we can. You want to fight for Kondo-san don't you? You want to fight with the Shinsengumi? I promise I will do everything in my power to help you, but you must promise that you will do as I ask in regards to your health without resistance. I won't tell a soul about your illness. I swear on my honor as a doctor."
He let go of my wrists. My hand lifted up to wrap around the wrist holding the sword to my throat. His skin burned with fever. I couldn't imagine the willpower it took to keep training in his state, to even remain upright. Once again, my heart hurt for him, so much that tears spilled from my eyes once again. Once more, I saw my father, heard his nightly coughing, relived the moment when I'd wiped the blood from his lips and prayed he would wake up the next morning. Imagining Souji lying in his place—his beautiful face wrinkled in pain, his warrior's body wasting away along with his pride—was enough to slice me apart with sorrow.
Above me, Souji's eyes shifted from aquamarine to a deep soft green. His pupils dilated, and the cat-like angle of his eyes softened. My breath caught when he touched my cheek with the pad of his thumb and wiped away a tear. Slowly, he moved the sword away from my neck then took his weight off of me. I lifted myself off the ground as he settled into a sitting position beside me.
"Matsumoto said it was terminal," he told me, looking away.
"No," I shook my head vehemently. "No, that isn't true. This disease can be healed. It's a long road, but it can be healed." My heart squeezed painfully.
"What do you know about this illness?"
I hesitated. "My father…he…he contracted it some years ago…"
Souji's head snapped to me. His eyes were wide. "What?"
"My father battled consumption for several years. I…invented a medicine…to help him, though I wasn't able to cure him before we were separated."
"It must have worked!" Souji declared. A smile broke over his face, bright enough to be the sun. Another smile I hadn't seen before. "It must have worked because when Kodo was here, he didn't look sick at all. What is this medicine?"
I so wanted to share in his elation, but I could not. For my father and I were demons, and the elixir I'd made had demon blood. Even if my elixir or Father's version of it had somehow healed my father, it could never be given to a human.
"Everyone is different," I told him, my eyes downcast. "There is no guarantee any medicine will help, especially if you refuse to rest. Father was often bedridden and could hardly move." I took a deep breath, steadying my resolve. How could I tell him to stay away from battle? It was the equivalent of telling a hawk to stop hunting, of asking a merchant to stop peddling goods. As a warrior, battle was Souji's life, and it was my job as a physician to heal him so he could live. "I swear, Okita-san," I looked into his eyes, praying he could see my conviction blazing there. "I will do everything within my power to help you survive this illness."
His face settled back into neutrality. I wonder if he sensed, then, how hard things were going to be. Did he understand that I had no miracle potion for him? Did he know that his suffering was far from over?
"You were crying," he said, looking away again. "I guess I scared you, jumping on you like that."
Was that his way of apologizing? He'd been trying to push me away and carry the burden on his own. I knew that, of course. The more I spoke with him and lived with him, the more I understood that Souji was very much a lone wolf, devoted to a pack that could never fully accept or understand him. They loved him as his own, but he would always be an outsider to some degree. Just now, he'd sounded more vulnerable than I'd ever heard before. How I hurt for him…
"I should have known you wouldn't run off," Souji continued. "You haven't got a scrap of sense in that skull of yours."
"My words aren't just empty promises," I assured him. I gave it no permission to do so, but my hand reached forward, reaching for his face to turn him back to me. He caught it just as my fingers were about to brush his face, holding it there but not smacking it away as I feared. "I meant every word, Okita-san."
"Just remember," he turned back to me. The smile on his face had turned cold. His grip on my hand tightened painfully. "If you tell anyone, I'll kill you."
I smiled back, though my heart was bleeding. "I know."
We walked to my study, where I picked out some starting medications I wanted him to take over the next few days to ease his cough and help his breathing. I regretted that I didn't have more time to explain things, for the sun was swiftly rising and I was due to go to Fushimi that day with Saito and Harada to look for my father. However, I set a goal for myself to look for the ingredients I would need while we were out. I wrote out detailed instructions for Souji to follow while I was gone, and after a lot of convincing—bordering on arguing—I was able to get him to agree that I would discuss some specific instructions for his care with Hijikata only. We would not reveal anything about his illness. We would simply treat it as a complication from a cold that required some changes to his patrol schedule. Doing so would allow him to rest more during the week.
I couldn't have predicted if Souji would follow through with all this. He was as fickle as the wind, and just as reckless as any young warrior might be. He was young, and he felt his body could conquer all, no matter how he abused it. I made sure to tell him very clearly that his body had its limits, and if he didn't want the disease to worsen and burn him up within weeks, he had to listen to me. How much of what I said got through to him, I couldn't say. But, I told myself that I didn't care. As long as I breathed, I would keep fighting for him. My determination to understand father's elixir rose to new heights.
By the time I sent Souji away to his quarters, the sun had risen high into the sky, and it was time for me to get ready for the long trip to Fushimi. Saito had mentioned that we would be staying the night there at an inn close to the place were investigating. I packed the woman's kimono I'd been given. Odd that my "disguise" would be my true gender.
How long do you think she's been dressing like a man?
Souji's words came back to me, and I recalled his and Saito's brief exchange in the gardens. Saito wasn't the only one who sometimes forgot I was female. I'd been living my life as a man for so long, at times I hardly knew who I truly was anymore. Walking through town on patrols, I saw young girls dressed in pretty kimonos with baubles in their hair. They were small, cute, and delicate. Looking down at my plain clothes, I wondered if the Shinsengumi all just saw a man when they looked at me. For some reason, when I remembered Saito's admission again, his words stung.
I wasn't focused on material possessions. Father and I had lived in near poverty most of my life. As nomads, we carried little with us but the clothes on our backs and our essentials as doctors. I'd never wanted to waste money on trinkets or colorful clothes. I'd never taken much care of my hair or wore make up. I had never yearned for those things. But now, looking at the folded blue and white cloud pattern kimono before me, I suddenly wanted to try it on. As I unfolded it and slid into it, I told myself this was a necessary thing. I had to make sure it fit well for our mission. Stepping in front of the mirror, I let my hair down and tied it loosely with a ribbon at the small of my back.
A girl looked back at me in my reflection. Small. Young. And so very plain. Dark hair and brown eyes. Pale skin, perhaps a dash lighter than most folks from the city. Nothing special, certainly, but seeing her there somehow lifted the heaviness on my chest. Brushing my fingers through my hair, I found myself wishing that I had a little something to decorate it, like a clip or an ornament. A knock at my door startled me.
"Yes?"
"Yukimura," a familiar voice called. "I am here to pick you up."
Saito. My heart raced. I jumped to start changing, feeling a bit like a criminal getting caught red handed. What was I thinking playing dress-up when we were on a deadline? But then, I stopped. I glanced at the door, stood up straight, marched right up to it, and slid it open. Saito's hand still hovered in mid air as though he was about to knock again. There was a brief moment when nothing happened, then his ki slammed into me like a moving wall of flame. His gaze devoured all of me, swallowing me whole like a serpent would its prey. There was no other way to explain it. Those blue eyes traveled from the bow in my hair, to my shoulders, to the sash at my waist, all the way down to my toes. When those eyes snapped back to my face, I held my breath. The rich blue there swirled then darkened; my breath caught at the transformation.
His hand dropped to his side. His mouth opened as if to say something, but no words came out. He blinked a few times.
"I'm almost ready, Saito-san," I said with a smile that was tense. I prayed my face hadn't flushed crimson. "I was just making sure this kimono fit well before packing it."
He seemed to regain his composure, though his eyes flitted away from me. He tilted his face down until his mouth disappeared under his scarf, and he turned away. "I see," he murmured. "That is good, then."
"It does…" I said stupidly, suddenly losing my wind of confidence, "…fit, I mean." What a ridiculous thing to say. And what a moronic thing I'd just done. What was I trying to prove? That I was a girl after all? That his words in the gardens had hurt me? Did I want to fluster him somehow and make him see me when he looked at me? How completely rude and inappropriate. Here he was just trying to follow orders, nice enough to bring me along with him on this trip despite my being a burden, and here I was acting like a child. Suddenly mortified, I bowed my head and slid the door closed. "I'm so sorry for the delay, Saito-san. I will be out in just a moment."
He gave a sound of agreement behind the door, and as I packed my traveling satchel, no further words were spoken between us.
We set out for Fushimi at a grueling pace. As I feared, after being cooped up in the compound for so long, I was no longer used to travel on the road. After half a day with no rest, I could feel my sandals cutting blisters into my feet. I didn't complain, determined to keep pace with Saito and Harada, and even more determined not to become a burden for them. All the while, Saito kept his distance from me and didn't speak a word in my direction. He rarely ever spoke to anyone unless it was necessary, but this time I felt the difference. It wasn't because he had nothing to say; it was simply because he was somehow uncomfortable around me.
Harada had no such reservations. As we traveled, he stuck close to me, often patting my head or my shoulders, poking me playfully, telling me stories about landmarks we passed or commenting on various things we encountered. Without fail, he lifted my spirits and kept me sufficiently distracted from both the heaviness in my heart and the discomfort in my feet. We reached Fushimi by sunset, and by time we found the inn where we were staying, I was ready to do anything to get my sandals off my feet and soak my heels in cold water for relief.
When we were escorted to our rooms, I was shocked to find out that we were given a single one with three futons. Before I even had the chance to balk at the implication, Harada was chasing down the manager and demanding to know what was going on. The mistake turned out to be the fault of the young page in charge of reservations. It wasn't his fault. Naturally, he assumed we were three men and thus wouldn't mind sharing a room. Saito still said nothing, perhaps trusting Harada to take care of things. While they settled the matter, I left my things in the room and headed towards the baths with my kimono.
I was shocked to see that my blisters were far worse than I'd expected. The soles of my feet were cracked and bleeding in places. I cleaned the wounds, bandaged them, and washed my body of the dirt from the road. Afterwards, I donned my blue and white kimono, tied my hair in a casual style, and met Saito and Harada back in their room.
"Any luck with the manager?" I asked after Harada bade for me to come in. "I don't think you should blame the page, Harada-san. It really wasn't his fault…" I trailed off there because a strange silence had fallen over the room. Saito had shifted to turn away from me. He sat beside the sole window in the room, looking outside. Harada had a glazed look in his eye, like he was dazed, as he looked at me. He had a sake cup in his hand, and as he rose to his feet, some of it sloshed out. I blinked as he moved towards me slowly then reached out behind the nape of my neck and pulled my long hair forward.
"Chizuru-chan?" he asked.
"Y-Yes?"
He chuckled. "Well…what do you know? I thought you were cute before, but seeing you dressed like this makes me want to take you home."
I stepped back. I was familiar with Harada's tendency for flirtation. After living near him for so long, I was fairly certain he hardly knew the effect he had on ladies at times. Still, even familiar as I was with his mannerisms, being the object of his golden heated scrutiny was bad for my heart.
"What are our plans for tomorrow?" That seemed to snap Harada out of his daze.
"Well, I managed to get you another room." He turned back. "Saito, I'm going to show Chizuru-chan where she'll be staying." Saito briefly glanced in our direction, nodded, then looked back outside. My chest was heavy. What had happened? Something was clearly different between us. As I gathered my things and strapped my satchel to my back, Harada suddenly grabbed my arm.
"Chizuru-chan, you're bleeding."
I looked down in the direction Harada was pointing and saw some spots of blood soaking through my white socks. The bandages must not have kept it contained. "I'm fine," I told him. "My heels just cracked a little from all the walking we did today. Please show me to my room, Harada-san. I'll put some fresh bandages on and—"
"Why did you not ask us to stop and rest?" a hard voice cut me off. I glanced at Saito.
"Well…I know we are in a hurry to arrive so we can start our investigation."
"Why did you not ask?" he demanded again, harder this time. A shiver ran down my spine. I'd never heard his voice be so…cold. Not in a long time at least.
"It's just a few blisters. I took a bath, so the water must have—"
"Chizuru." The sound of my name being said so forcefully, so harshly instantly stifled my excuses. Saito turned his head to me, and I felt the waves of anger washing from him as though they were a tangible thing. I flinched back; I couldn't help it. He'd never been so angry with me before. He'd never said my name before…
"I-I'm sorry…" I whispered, wringing my hands together. "I just didn't want to slow you down."
"You are not a man," he said, and there was a kind of disgust to each syllable he spoke. "Though you wield a blade and wear hakama, you are not a man." I tried to understand why it sounded like he was throwing that fact at me like some kind of accusation.
"Oi, Hajime," Harada growled. "Calm down, would you? She didn't do anything wrong."
Finally, Saito turned the ice storm that was his gaze away from me back to the window. "Tomorrow, you will spend the day at the Takeda Inn tea shop, listening for clues about Kodo. Harada and I will be nearby, but we cannot be seen. Rumor has it that Takeda has been frequented by many Satsuma and Choshu lately, and many of them know what we look like. That is why we requested you disguise yourself as a woman…" He stopped speaking abruptly when he said those words. A pause. Then — "But you are a woman, aren't you? It isn't a disguise."
When he said nothing else, Harada put his hand on my shoulder. "Chizuru-chan, can you walk? Do your feet hurt?"
"No," I shook my head. "I'll put more ointment on them tonight and they should be just fine by tomorrow."
He ruffled my hair. "You're a good girl. Don't worry about Saito. He's probably had one too many drinks tonight. We're all tired, so let's get some rest." As he spoke, he escorted me to my room, which was only a few doors down the hall. "Let us know if you need anything."
"Thank you Harada-san," I smiled. When I closed the door behind me, I put away my things and laid out my futon. As I was bandaging my feet, the tension and frustration inside me finally boiled over. I slammed my fist down on the floor and made a sound unbecoming of a lady, adding a curse or two for good measure. What was Saito's problem? Why was he treating me this way? Why was he being so cruel? He hadn't said anything rude or out of line, but I could sense his disdain in every one of his words and movements. What had I done wrong?
Infuriated, I tore off the kimono I wore and tucked myself into bed dressed in a light yukata. But no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't fall asleep. My mind raced, repeating images of Saito's face over and over in my mind. I'd only worn the damn kimono because they'd asked me to. If I made him so uncomfortable by dressing as a girl, they should not have asked me to do it. If I had known wearing it would throw our relationship out of balance—
I stopped my train of thought there. Relationship? What was our relationship, exactly? He trained me to use a sword. He'd given me back my courage to wield a blade. He protected me because he'd been given orders to do so.
That was it, wasn't it? If so, nothing had really changed. Was I making up all this sudden tension between us? No. It couldn't be. Saito had clearly been aggressive towards me just now.
I sighed.
Let's see what morning brings.
With that last thought, I fell into a restless sleep.
