Author's Note: So, it's been a long minute since I updated this fic, but just know that however silent I may go, I'll never give up on any fic I start, so thank you to everyone out there who's tagging along for this ride.
I have, however, realized one major thing: Hinomoto is the size of Japan, meaning that it takes roughly 15 days or so for a human to travel across the mainland on foot, so it'd be even less for a Kabaneri like Miyako. Yet in my story, Miyako's spent months on the road by now—a clear violation of all canon laws, since Hinomoto is supposed to be a fantasy version of Japan. So, rather than attempting to change this, I ask for permission to exercise creative liberty; Miyako's time travelling along the tracks may not be realistic, but it's necessary for this story, so allow me to have her spend months travelling down a completely unrealistic, non-canon railroad that seems to stretch towards infinity and beyond. I didn't think this over properly when I came up with the idea for the fic, but I think changing it now will do more harm than good.
That said, thanks for reading my spiel, and here's the next part of the story:
Miyako glanced back at Kichirou, eyes softening when she saw the boy's sleeping figure. The two had taken shelter in an old trackside watch house whose roof was sturdy enough to survive the pouring rain, which beat down on the worn metal in a symphony of impatient tapping. Having silently nominated herself as guard, Miyako sat by the door, turning her attention back to the sliver of moonlight that slipped through the curtains. They were closed, of course; Kabane weren't known for their night vision, but it was an unnecessary risk either way, even with her keeping watch. She needed little sleep these days—another side-effect of being bitten, probably—and besides boredom, she didn't mind it so much. Her nightwatch helped her clear her mind, and she sometimes wondered whether she was stopping for Kichirou's sake or her own.
Either way, Kichirou never questioned it. He followed her without complaint, never uttering a word when she told him to sleep or eat. His silence was as endearing as it was strange; she felt his trust in her clearly, but also felt the unbridged canyon between them, lonely as the moon that shined through heavy rainclouds.
Rain—it was cold, messy, and downright miserable to trod through, be it in the open on the tracks or in the shaded forest. There was a time when Miyako had felt complacent—even happy—when it rained, since the drizzles meant that the crops would be watered and the farmers' children could take the day off to rest and play. Now, though, it was a metaphorical expression of desolation—one where it was the sky doing the crying rather than Miyako, shedding tears for all the death it had and would still see.
Four, Miyako thought, frowning as she thumbed the hilt of her katanas, her eyes closed as she focused on the vibrations caused by the footsteps outside. Two are within meters of the house, but not close to each other.
She rose, heading for the locked door.
Four, she thought, drawing a katana. This should be more than enough for four.
— — —Miyako ran through the forest, neither breaking sweat or catching breath as she kept her pace in the direction of the tracks. On her back, Kichirou was silent but awake, his breathing lacking the steady pattern he adopted when he slept.
"Are you afraid of them?"
Miyako blinked but maintained her pace, still getting used to the boy's jarring method of initiating conversation.
"I used to be," she said, her feet padding out a steady beat beneath her, "but not anymore."
"Why not?"
"I'm stronger than them."
"But they can still kill you."
"I'll kill them first."
"How do you know?"
"Because I'm stronger than them."
"But what if there's too many of them?"
"There's never too many of them."
"But what if there is?"
Miyako paused to consider the given scenario, the beat of her feet still strong below her.
"Well, I guess I'd die," she concluded.
Silence ensued for a few seconds, Miyako's quick, steady steps the only sound in the night.
"Don't die."
The voice was so soft Miyako almost missed it—but she didn't. Instead, she missed a step, pitching forwards.
Gritting her teeth, she thrust her weight back, twisting in the air as she found her balance again.
"What are you saying?" she demanded once she'd managed to catch her breath, annoyance sparking. "Of course I won't die. You asked me what would happen if there's too many for me to kill, and there was only one answer to that. But that's not a real situation—there have never been too many to kill, and there won't ever be, okay? So just—"
A soft sniffle caused Miyako to cut herself off.
"Kichirou," she said, her voice immediately losing its edge as she crouched, setting the boy down gently before turning to face him.
"Look at me, Kichirou. I'm not going to die, alright?" she asked, hands set firmly on his shoulders. "I haven't died, and I don't plan on doing so, especially not to some dumb Kabane. You can trust me."
"Really?" he asked, raising teary eyes.
"Really," Miyako said, hugging the boy. "You can trust me, Kichirou. I'll make sure you're safe."
The boy was silent, but Miyako felt him relax in her arms.
Kichirou, Tomio—I'll protect you both, she thought, closing her eyes. Just wait for me to find you, Tomio. Wait for me.
— — —"Well look what I found," Miyako said, grinning as she walked over to Kichirou, who was sitting by the fire, staring wide-eyed at the animal dangling from her hand.
"Is that a chicken?" he asked when he'd recovered from his initial shock, his eyes still trained on the bird twisting back and forth in a futile attempt to escape Miyako's grip at the base of its wings.
"Yep!" Miyako said gleefully. "I'm guessing a flock of them escaped the Kabane attack on the last town, lucky for us. I'll be right back," she said, making to head back into the woods. They'd spent the entire day on the move, since Miyako had wanted to get over the mountainous patch they were in as soon as possible, and she could feel hunger clawing at her belly.
"Wait, are you going to kill it?" Kichirou called from behind her.
Miyako paused, turning.
"What else?" she asked, just managing to keep her impatience out of her voice.
Kichirou didn't reply.
"What's so different between this and, say, the rabbits we had yesterday?" she asked, brows knitting. She couldn't recall anything from their earlier conversations that could spark this outburst.
"You didn't show me the fish or rabbits while they were still alive," Kichirou mumbled, eyes dropping guiltily.
"Well, what do you want me to do?" she asked, frowning. It was easy to keep her grip on the struggling bird, but its sharp cries were growing tiresome.
Kichirou was silent next to the fire, eyes downcast.
Well, whatever, Miyako thought, sighing as she set her frantic prisoner, who sprinted for the undergrowth immediately. "There," she said, watching out of the corner of her eye as the last glimmer of tail feathers disappeared into the woods. "Do you want fish instead? Or rabbit again?"
The boy stayed silent by the fire, not meeting Miyako's eyes.
It's the shock of seeing a live animal, Miyako realized. She'd always been careful not to kill the animals in front of Kichirou, but she'd forgotten about keeping live ones away from him as well.
"We kill to survive, Kichirou," Miyako said quietly. "We don't kill senselessly, like the Kabane."
"But we still kill," the boy said quietly, eyes dropping to his feet. "You still kill."
Miyako paused, momentarily at a loss for words. She did kill, didn't she? She killed animals, seeking them out in the forests to drain their blood. She chewed raw flesh to sustain herself, struck down Kabane without even bothering to register their faces.
"Well, I'm a Kabane," she said flatly. "I kill, so leave that part to me and stop worrying about it."
"But I don't want you to kill!" Kichirou cried, twisting to face her, tears glistening in the firelight. "I don't want you to be a Kabane, and I don't want you to—to—"
Miyako was at his side in an instant, scooping him up into a hug.
"Kichirou, you don't have to worry about me," she said. "I'm fine, and as much as I hate being a Kabane, I'm also thankful, because I'm now strong enough to protect you."
"B—but you—"
"Shh," Miyako said, patting the boy's back as he clung to her. "As long as you're fine, I'm fine," she said. "So don't be sad, alright? Or you're going to make me sad."
Kichirou nodded against her shoulder.
"Good," she said, lifting away. "I'll go find us that chicken again. You just wait here."
The boy nodded again, wiping at his face.
"C—come back soon," he stuttered.
"I will," Miyako said, smiling.
— — —"How'd you learn to fight?"
Had she not been there to live through it all, Miyako would have never believed lengths Kichirou had come in opening himself up to her. Where in the beginning he was cold and distant, refusing to talk unless it was the only option available, he now initiated conversation multiple times a day, sometimes even about mundane things like how the sun was "really bright" that day or how a particular rabbit was "saltier than usual." In fact, there were days when Adrielle realized that Kichirou, the no-longer-sullen, no-longer-silent boy, may have initiated more conversations than she did herself.
"My father taught me," she replied, prodding the fire with a stick. "He was a kenjutsu instructor—the best and only one in town. I guess learning a dying art paid off."
"I thought girls weren't allowed to learn kenjutsu?"
"No, there's nothing that prevents them from learning it, but many people believe that they shouldn't. My father, though, believed that every person—man or woman—should be able to protect themselves."
"He taught you to use a katana?"
"Not at first. He would never willingly put a blade in his daughter's hands, so I had to learn the basics from watching him, practicing in secret. But it didn't take long for him to catch on; he caught me training with one of his bamboo shinai, and… I guess he figured that if I was so bent on learning to wield a katana, the least he could do is prevent me from hurting myself in the process."
Kichirou fell silent at that, his eyes focused on the crisping fish over the fire.
"Do you miss him?" he asked at last.
Miyako paused her prodding.
"Yes," she said quietly. "Even though I know that missing him won't bring him back, I do miss him, and my mother."
And Tomio, she thought silently.
"I miss my father too," Kichirou admitted, drawing his legs close. "He was always busy, so he didn't have a lot of time to play with me, but I—I miss him."
"Come 'ere," Miyako said, pulling the boy into her lap. "It's okay to cry," she said gently. "Bottling it up will only make it worse."
"I miss Otou-san," Kichirou said, the first glisten of fresh tears appearing at the corners of his eyes. "I miss Otou-san, and Ikeda-sensei, and Takeo-san, and Shika-san," he said, sobbing now. "I miss Moriko-san and Hisakawa-sama, and everyone else at school."
Miyako hugged the boy as he continued his list of names, his tears flowing freely.
Otou-san, Okaa-san, I won't let you down, she thought, clutching the pendant around her neck. I'll find Tomio, and I'll protect him. I promise.
— — —"Doesn't it hurt?"
Miyako paused, looking up from where she was dressing her wound. The two had just escaped from an infested town, Miyako taking a bite when she shielded Kichirou from a stray Kabane that'd wandered away from the main group while she was fighting.
"A bit," she admitted, resuming her wrapping, "but not as much as I remember. I think pain tolerance might be another perk of being bitten."
Kichirou fell silent, but his eyes stayed on Miyako's bandaged arm even after she slipped her coat back on.
"It'll just take a day or two to heal, and a week for the scar to fade. Here," she said, tossing the surprised boy one of the small, paper-wrapped loaves of bread they'd recovered from the deserted town. "Eat up. We should be getting closer. The towns are seeming more and more freshly-deserted."
Kichirou nodded, unwrapping the bread slowly.
Miyako leaned back, propping herself up with her hands and closing her eyes. There was a faint wind blowing about the forest, cooler now that the sun had set, and the woods were quiet, the Kabane were long behind them.
"I'll be right back," Miyako said, rising.
Kichirou nodded, focusing on the bread in his hands.
Funny, I never thought I could become less of a picky eater, Miyako thought, walking off into the woods. She couldn't sense anything too big nearby—just a few squirrels here and there, which, considering their size, wouldn't be enough for a meal.
A snack then, Miyako thought, crouching. She needed to keep up her energy, both to heal and to ensure that she would be in top shape, because she didn't have the option of blaming her failings on something other than herself.
A bushy-tailed critter scurried up a tree nearby, the sound of its claws scratching bark clear in Miyako's ears as she zeroed in on the squirrel
Tomio always liked squirrels, she thought, launching herself at the unsuspecting animal.
— — —"Teach me to wield a katana."
Miyako snapped around to stare at the boy sitting at the campfire.
"No," she said firmly, turning and stalking off. "The only way you're picking up a blade is over my dead body."
"But it'll be too late then," Kichirou sniped back, stopping Miyako in her tracks. She grit her teeth.
"Tomorrow morning. I expect you to be fully rested and awake," Miyako said, not turning. "You'd do well not to believe that I'll take pity on your lack of experience."
— — —
Miyako winced, setting down the hem of Kichirou's shirt. She'd underestimated her strength, and while there wasn't any notable damage, the bruises blossoming over the boy's torso had her instantly regretting her decision to teach him to wield a katana.
How did my father manage? she wondered. Her own bruises were but faint memories in her mind, but as much as she'd hated the aching pain that followed her for days after every trip to the dojo, she'd suffered them proudly and silently.
Is it the same for him? she wondered, looking down at the sleeping boy.
Kichirou had taken to his lessons with determination, never asking her to stop, always asking for another round. Their lessons ended when Miyako felt they should—usually around sunset, since they spent the mornings moving—and although the boy was slowly improving, Miyako couldn't help but question the efficacy of the entire operation.
For one, Miyako was by no means a kenjutsu master like her father. In fact, she barely passed for proficient; her newfound strength was the real key to her skills, and although she did find herself improving slowly—her strokes becoming smoother, more instinctual—Miyako wondered how much she had to teach the boy before they'd hit a wall.
The more important reason, though, was that in reality, even if he were to master use of the katana, Kichirou would never be able to fight a Kabane. Miyako's superior strength and speed allowed her to utilize the sharpness of the katana to cut through the Kabane's limbs and neck, but even she couldn't make a dent on their torsos, where the web of glowing iron around their hearts seemed to shatter every blade she'd sent their way regardless of how hard or fast she swung. And since Kichirou could never hope to match Miyako's physical capabilities, he would never be able to hold himself against a Kabane aiming to kill him.
I'm basically leading him on, she thought, her gaze sliding to the smoldering fire, which had to be closely regulated so that it didn't grow big enough to give off too much smoke. Kabane were dull, but they were still keenly aware of the acrid scent of fire, which—in a forest—would quickly attract those curious enough to investigate.
Should I just stop the lessons now? Miyako wondered. Tomio had never been one for fighting, and he'd always hated it when their father forced him to the dojo for training. Where Miyako looked forward to the rare lessons, Tomio always tried to find excuses to get out of them, even willingly taking to housework when he was desperate enough. Their father, however, had been less than amused, holding firm to his belief that every human should be able to protect themselves if the need should arise.
"A man should hold his ground in a fight," he'd tell Tomio sternly whenever the boy fell during their sparring sessions. "How can you protect those precious to you if you can't even protect yourself?"
He was no kinder towards Miyako, though she'd figured out early on not to take his words at face value. However tough he seemed when they sparred, Miyako knew that her father only wished the best for his children. He'd grown up in a time when samurai and bushi were as commonplace as swordfights in the streets, and he'd known no higher honor than passing down the ways of the sword to his disciples.
He'd always known that Tomio and I wouldn't grow up to be like him, living by the sword, Miyako thought, her father's gentle eyes and calloused hands coming to mind. Her father had been a lot of things, stubborn and tough included, but never unreasonable. When Tomio pushed hard enough, he'd yielded, just as he did when Miyako proved her desire to learn the ways of the sword.
I wonder if Tomio's out there now, a katana at his side, Miyako thought. The thought of her brother wielding a real weapon rather than a bamboo shinai made her feel slightly ill, but she swallowed the feeling as soon as it came. Such was the world they lived in now—a world in which Kabane and death stalked side by side, making ruin of cities and warriors of children.
Tomio, she thought, prodding a new piece of wood into the embers beside her. Wait for me.
— — —"Kichirou, let's go," Miyako said, turning away from the ruins of an overturned train. Seeing the metal carcass had simultaneously raised and crushed her hopes, but once she'd confirmed that it wasn't the train she was looking for, she'd quickly lost interest.
"But we just—"
"We're probably close to a real town," Miyako said, nodding at what was left of the train beside her. "This wreck is recent—more so than the town. The train probably came through just a few days ago."
"Then," Kichirou said, eyes darting to the wreck. "Could there be…"
"No survivors," Miyako said curtly. "Let's move quickly. The Kabane were always leagues ahead of us, but it seems that we've finally caught up to them."
Without another word, Miyako spun away again, heading back towards the tracks that'd led them here. Footsteps from behind her told her that Kichirou was following.
"Do you really think there are still towns that haven't been destroyed?" he asked, slowing to a walk once he'd caught up to the her.
"Yes," Miyako replied, her response delivered without an ounce of hesitation.
Beside her, Kichirou fell silent, processing her words.
— — —"Get on," Miyako said, crouching down.
Kichirou looked up in surprise before shaking his head vigorously.
"I can still—"
"It's faster if I carry you," she asserted, glancing back at the boy, who relented, climbing onto her back sullenly.
"You know, there's no point in acting tough around me," Miyako said as she settled into a jog, "if you're tired, just say so."
"I'm not—"
"Yes you are. You're hot and sweaty and looked like you ready to trip over the next stick that came your way."
Kichirou didn't respond to that, instead turning his face away to face his right.
"You don't have to prove anything to me, Kichirou," Miyako reminded him gently. "I promised to protect you, but not just from Kabane. Whether it's the rain or sore feet, all you have to do is ask."
Kichirou stayed silent, but his hands tightened slightly around Miyako all the same, loosening only after he'd drifted off to sleep.
What a liar, Miyako thought, an amused smile stretching across her lips as she fixed his grip around her neck. It didn't even take ten minutes for him to fall asleep.
— — —"Wha—" Kichirou cried, alarmed when Miyako picked him up without a word. "What is it? What's wrong, Miyako-san?"
Miyako didn't respond, instead bursting into a full sprint as she veered off the tracks and into the woods. This sound, she thought as the trees thinned up the hill.
The trees broke to reveal the ruins of a small town surging with Kabane below. In the midst of the magma-webbed blackness was a circle of guns and blades, behind which stood figures dressed in tattered, grime-smeared shirts.
Miyako scaled the closest tree, depositing Kichirou onto one of the higher-hanging branches.
"Stay here," she said before dropping down from the foliage and rushing downhill towards the sparse sphere of blades and guns that was slowly breaking under the pressure of dozens of metal-enforced bodies.
Drawing her blades, she cut down the nearest Kabane—wanderers that had just enough time to look up and take in their attacker before their heads dropped to their feet with heavy thunks—and sped towards the group of men, launching herself from the ground when she was near enough. Eyes shot up, both white and burning orange surprised as she landed, blades sweeping down as she severed arms and heads of Kabane that recovered enough to lunge towards her.
"This way!" she yelled, her blade flashing as another Kabane fell at her feet.
"Our train is over there!" one of the men yelled back, pointing towards the far edge of town.
Miyako nodded, severing another limb as she turned towards the direction he pointed. I'll need to get Kichirou, she thought as she slammed a foot into one Kabane and her sword into another. But I can't carry him through this horde of Kabane.
"Where are you headed?" Miyako called to the men as the group neared the sleeping locomotive, the Kabane on their tail.
"Osahashi! To the north, about four day's travel!"
"I'll meet you there," she called, turning around and facing the Kabane in full. "Go!"
"But—"
"Now!" Miyako shouted, cutting down another Kabane as she turned to glare at the soldiers aboard the train. "Get out of here!"
With one last hesitant look at Miyako, the captain gave the signal to his crew to start the engine and put them on their way as the Kabane made a final attempt to push forwards.