Sleepwalker, chapter 7—"does not have"
...we've come to this point at last.
As ever: I do not own the characters of Samurai Champloo, which are owned & (c) 2004-06 and forever by Manglobe, Simoigusa Champloos and Watanabe-sensei However, I do own Tadayo, Hiroshi, Terasaki Jiro, Akamatsu Akinori (on loan), and Masters Sengai, Jisho, and Torii Daisuke: and—once more-- dear children, I am so sorry for this. I hope you can forgive me.
And thanks to everyone who's read this and written me a review. Reviews plus coffee still equal life.
(Please make sure to read the footnotes for Ch. 6 Part 3, which I only just remembered to add.)
---full moon, 9th Shigatsu, 1675.
He had intended to wait until the candle in Jin's room went out, but the candle had never been lit, and Mariya wondered if Jin knew. Perhaps he had some plan of his own. Perhaps he still thought that – somehow—he could rescue them all.
It didn't matter anymore.
If his skill was still the greater, the Mujuu would live on--as an echo of its former self, and at a price that had broken its heart. If Jin's skill had become the greater, then he, Mariya, would die, and Jin's remaining life would be measured in hours: Kariya would never let him survive.
Perhaps he should have turned the orphan away from his door.
Or perhaps he should have defied the Shogunate, spurned the assassin's offer.
It didn't matter anymore.
He would pay for his choices tonight, all of them.
He asked the gods for mercy, and drew his sword.
Jin lay in the lightest sleep, in a silent fever of readiness.
He'd made sure Yuki did not come to him, had even left the candle unlit, to seem asleep and unguarded. His sword was a hand's reach away. The night itself was his ally: the moon had risen as he lay there, filling the room with soft light. A clear, moonlit night in spring…one should be lying in wait for a lover, not an assassin.
If he was right, no one need ever fear that man's approach again—
His eyes opened.
The least, softest
sound:
the door sliding in its
well-oiled track:
straw soles on the
straw mat, cat-quiet.
His hand moved to his katana.
The darkness poured forward over him, and he saw moonlight flash on the strike of a blade as he threw himself aside, sword clutched to his chest. A figure plunged past the bed: Jin rolled to his feet, leaped over the futon with sword drawn. It turned to face him, a silhouette against the glowing window, its sword responding with swift, instant grace--not to his stance but his presence, his movement in the still silent air. Torii-san had been right, this was pure Mujuu skill; how strange to find his foe so familiar--
The swoop of their blades like wings beating, then a second's silence, an opening--
----sensed and seized in a breath, the strike true as a Zen archer's arrow, straight through the heart.
Your grandfather's sword…the Starlight Masamune…our ancestors' revenge for my treason. This death I deserve.
And as strong as his grief was his pride: the attack, the technique had been flawless…
Mariya managed a smile. "Your skills have improved, Jin," he told the pale silhouette.
There was no pain. He gazed down at the blade that stood from his chest, noting in perfect calm how it shone in the moonlight, the gleaming starfrost of the exquisite steel. There is no shame in dying on so perfect a sword. I ought not keep it waiting.
He gripped the hilt in both hands and pulled.
(Yuki sat bolt upright, gasping in terror. A terrible dream--
He was in the dark forest, faced off against Jin, his sword held before him--but--he was holding it by the blade--and he could feel the keen steel cutting into his hands, but he couldn't stop gripping it tighter and tighter--blood spilled through his fingers, the blade ground on bone, and still his fists clenched on the sword, the dark bloodstain spreading--he couldn't--he--
--was wide awake, heart pounding, staring at his hands in the moonlight. No blood. No sword rotting with bloodrust. A nightmare--
Or a premonition--
He wanted to run to Jin's room, make sure he was all right. But so strong had been Jin's own foreboding that he'd forbidden Yuki to go there that night, or anywhere near.
In the morning, he told himself. First light.
--so familiar--
Jin, staring:
If I close my eyes none of this will have happened.
If he could just fall back into sleep, away from this dream…
I'm dreaming.
This isn't real.
But it seemed real. He felt cold. And he thought he smelled blood--
No.
You see too well.
Close your eyes.
