13
Where Are You?
He woke to a great thirst and searing pain in his right side. The sun was blindingly bright when he opened his eyes and he blinked against the harsh glare, his thoughts fuzzy and disoriented.
He made a feeble attempt to stand up, grunted as pain lanced through his lower right side. His hand went to the wound automatically and felt a wet stickiness against his palm. Blood. Closing his eyes, he sank back down on the ground, his hand pressed hard against his side.
Gradually, the pain receded, leaving his mind clear. There had been a great battle. In his mind's eye, he saw it all again: the soldiers sweeping toward them, certain of victory, then turning and fleeing for their lives as they retreated up the grassy slope, pursued by two thousand dragons and their warrior Brothers, drunk on the taste of blood and imminent victory. He had seen Jomei and Master Hiko, heard their rallying shouts as they charged up the hill. "Let's go!" Jomei had thundered. "It's a good day to die!"
But it was the Enemy who was dying. Those of the drakes fought, avenging old wrongs, old hurts, taking a life for every treaty broken, every lie, every dragon slain, every Brother or Sister thrust into chains. Onward they came.
He had been in the thick of the fight when he had been shot. He had been so reluctant to go out on horseback in the first place. He wasn't meant to be cavalry. A horse, while definitely greater in endurance, did not have his godlike speed, couldn't move the way he could. He couldn't trace every bullet in that great rain of bullets, but he might have avoided that one had be been on his own quick feet. He shouldn't have listened to Jomei, who had insisted he go on the back of a horse or a brother dragon, because all of their opposition would also be high on the backs of their own mounts. He should have fought the way he was used to.
The bullet had passed through his right side, just below the ribcage. Then, he was beset by one of the soldiers who wanted to take advantage of his weakness. Only it wasn't a weakness, not yet. Kenshin cut away the barrel of the soldiers gun, leaving him foolishly holding just the useless butt and trigger, and then chased after the cowardly New Person, away from the fighting into the hills, which was another decision he probably should have made differently.
The soldier managed to squeeze off a round from a pistol. The bullet may have been meant for Kenshin, but it hit his horse instead. The animal fell heavily, throwing the Wild Boy clear. He had landed on his wounded side, rolled down the rocky slope, pitched into a narrow defile, and struck his head on a rock and passed out.
No, he should not have gone into this battle on horseback. The mistake had hurt. It had hurt a lot.
He had vague recollections of the sounds of battle fading away, of agonized cries of wounded men and horses, the distant echo of drums, the night-long shouts and cries and bellows and bawls of victory that told him that the drakes had won the fight.
He had been sinking deeper and deeper into the blackness that hovered around him when Kaoru's face flashed before his eyes. She had been calling his name, her lovely blue eyes awash with tears…
Kaoru. He opened his eyes to find that the sun was setting in a blaze of crimson and orange. He pushed himself to his feet, swayed unsteadily as the world spun out of focus. His legs felt like rubber, his mouth was dry, his head was light from loss of blood and lack of food.
It took every ounce of strength to climb out of the gully and when he reached the top, he dropped to his hands and knees, his head hanging, sides heaving from the effort. When his breathing returned to normal, he lifted his eyes to the valley below. His people were gone, the grass had been fired, and the valley lay as silent as death, washed in the bloody glow of the setting sun.
His first thought was of Kaoru. Where had she gone? Lurching to his feet, he stumbled down he hill and began walking toward the place where their tent had stood. Nothing remained now but a blackened patch of ground and the faint outline of where it had been.
Where would she go?
It was an effort to think, to concentrate. The left side of his head was sore and swollen, caked with dried blood, and his whole body ached from tumbling into the gully.
Where would she go?
On trembling legs, he made his way to the river. Dropping to his belly beside the stream, he sank his face in the water, swallowed many times. The cold water bathed his throat, took away the terrible thirst.
Master, he thought. Master would know.