Chp. 7: White Plums in Red

Two weeks passed without much activity. Saitou had preferred me to make the individual assassinations, seeing that the public had no idea where Sokusai had disappeared off to. "You'll blend in better with the shadow. Just make sure you don't say a word during the entire assassination," Saitou cautioned. "It's likely that if you do, word will leak out that you're female, and that would be rather disastrous."

I had no intention to create a disaster either. Often times, I had glanced up at the foreboding mountain, wondering whether I should go to Tomoe-san and retrieve my yukata. It was rather pointless though, as I had already said that she could keep it. I sighed. No point in taking it back.

The snowy days finally reached the town. Harsh winds and flurries swept through the town, wrapping the town in a cold hand. There was a day where I found myself at the bottom of the mountain, pale and breathless. I had been taking a break from Saitou's instructions, ("Keep inside the town and be inconspicuous."), taking a stroll in the alleys of the city. I shivered, not just from the cold either. There was an ominous feeling in the air, and I was quite sure to bet it had to do with Battousai. Without a backward glance, I ran up the mountain, breaths coming out in short puffs of smoke.

Arriving at the top, I darted around the trees, finding the ramshackle home that Battousai and his wife lived in. It was empty; the atmosphere around it hung with a heavy stillness that made the silence unnatural and unnerving. I spotted footsteps leading from the hut into the opposite forest and followed them, hand clasped over the cold sheath of the blade.

The moment I entered the woods, I could feel my sixth sense of perception impaired. The feeling of apprehension in my stomach intensified, and I hurried further into the intimidating gathering of branches. The minutes ticked by, seeming like hours, as I continued my hurried pace following the evident footprints. Once in a while, I would come across the splattered red color of blood, then trailing away along with the footprints.

Kenshin's blood…there was no other swordsman that lived up on this mountain. Glancing around, I saw an arm laying aside the footprints. I could feel my breath coming in shorter pants as I quickened my pace. The snow drenched my leggings, making it harder to move through the forest.

"Damn snow," I cursed under my breath. I was freezing; it was stupid of me not to bring a cloak.

I finally came across to a clearing, shivering. I looked across the landscape, and froze at what I saw, hearing a sharp intake of breath that was my own. The ground was stained red, seeping red, the icy snow enveloping the blood into the white. A corpse was laying across from another figure, one whose red hair and golden eyes were the talk of the Revolution. The same golden eyes were bent over in pain, agony, and sorrow, with tears pouring out of them, expressing the anguish that was shown. A streak of blood poured from a cut across his cheek, mixing with the tears. The cut had intercepted with another scar across his cheek, making a cross shape.

Kenshin was kneeling in the snow, wounded, and carrying a body. Black hair was spread over his arm and onto the snow, stray strands in different directions. The smell of white plums could not be missed. Tomoe-san was dead.

I took a step towards Kenshin. He didn't even glance up at the sound of crunching snow. There was something more to her death than somebody random killing her. There was not just pain in Kenshin's eyes. There was more…there was guilt. But he couldn't have…

"Who killed her?" I asked, my voice sounding more harsh than I intended it.

He did not answer.

"I'll ask you again; who killed her?!?" My voice rose almost to a shout. I could feel the same clamminess, the same nauseating feeling that always rose in my throat whenever an assassination was over. There was so much blood, so many bodies, so much guilt.

"You did, didn't you?" I said harshly. "Why—why did you kill her?! Wasn't she all you had?! Didn't you love her?! She loved you too, she told me—she…"

My voice trailed off when I remembered what Tomoe-san had said over tea:

"But he told me…that my responses to his questions would clear his mind, and he could think clearly. That was not my intention. I did not mean for it to happen. I meant to seek revenge, not with my own hands, but with someone else's. I made compromises, and dedicated myself to plotting his downfall…"

So Kenshin had not known. He had not known that his own wife had intended to kill him from the beginning, that he had killed the first person she had loved himself. I glanced at the corpse lying nearby. He must've been the 'someone else' that Tomoe-san was speaking of. It made sense. But…

"Was it an accident?" I asked softly, my voice a bit kinder. For I saw in those eyes the pain that my own heart reflected, the loss of the life that I'd cherished more than my own.

"…Yes…but at the same time…I should have known."

We were silent. There was a gnawing in my heart, the yearn to say something, the need to comfort the friend that I had grown up with. But… I could not stand to stay in his presence. I turned around to leave, and then heard him say, so softly and so tenderly,

"Kikome…I know how you feel now. I know why now…you killed those you killed."