Chapter 9-

Misao cringed as she felt Soujirou's clammy hand touch her arm, guiding her through the darkness of the mansion. She could make faint outlines of light from the heavily curtained windows, which were drawn to keep out the sunlight. So she squinted in what scarce candlelight a few sconces on the wall provided. She kept her eyes on her feet, taking each step with hesitantly, unsure when they would end. Her leg stung all the more, the pain reaching up through her thigh. She bit her lip to keep from moaning.

When she stumbled over the last step, he gripped her wrist and pressed his other hand in the small of her back to steady her. She angrily jerked away.

"Don't touch me," she snapped, stepping out of his reach.

He merely shrugged and prodded her bottom with the hilt of his wakizashi.

"Don't do that either!" she screamed, throwing a punch at him. He dodged it easily, making her even more infuriated.

"She doesn't like to be kept waiting," he said, grinning at her complacently. "Ladies first." He motioned towards the huge wooden doors to their right. Yellow light shone from within. In the glint of that light, Misao could make out the words in scrolling English letters engraved on the gold plate above: Ballroom.

As Misao pushed through the doors, cold dread settled in her stomach. Takara stood in the center of the ballroom, a long bow in her hand, her hood still drawn up around her face. The bow had sharp blades placed on either end that glinted in the bright yellow light. A quiver of arrows lay beside her feet.

"Stand against the wall," the woman ordered.

Blinking at the vivid light, Misao could see the pocked wall, as if it had been riddled with bullets. The floor was splattered with dried rusty red blood. She stared at it, then at Takara, her eyes wide.

"Go!" the woman barked, her voice echoing sharply in the large room.

Stepping to avoid the bloodstains, Misao walked towards the wall, feeling nauseous as icy fear crept up her spine. Turning away from the black bullet holes, she stood, facing Takara, her heart thumping sickeningly in her ears.

The woman stared at her a moment, squinting, as if the light hurt her eyes. Then she put her bow on the floor and reached into her cloak, taking out a small leather pouch. She opened it and poured a fine dust into her bare hands, rubbing the dust in between her fingers.

"You want some?" She turned to Soujirou, smiling mockingly. He cringed and shook his head. "I know you dislike how I rub bone dust on my fingers before I shoot, but…" She looked towards Misao. "Accuracy is vital."

Shoving the pouch into Soujirou's hands, Takara picked up her bow. Then, slowly, she bent over her quiver of arrows, her fingers hovering over them, as if she couldn't decide which to choose. Her hand closed around a thin red arrow and she notched into her bow, drawing the string back, aiming for Misao's head.

Misao bit her lip, trying not to scream as the arrow whistled through the air and brushed against her right temple, leaving a burning welt on her skin, before landing with a thunk! into the wall. Another arrow. And another. Too fast for her to see. Thunk! Thunk!

Two arrows quivered in the wall on either side of her arms. She was pressed against the wall, her back rigid, sweat dripping down her cheeks. She turned her head away and squeezed her eyes shut as she saw Takara slowly raise the bow again.

"Now for the test," she heard the woman whisper.

The bowstring twanged. Misao screamed.

Aoshi's head whipped up as he heard the scream, echoing through out the mansion. Misao!

His long legs pumping, he tore down the stairs, taking two at a time. It had come from the ballroom, of that he was certain. What other room would make the cry reverberate so loudly? As he neared the doors, he didn't break his stride. He unsheathed his kodachi as he burst through the huge white doors, stumbling into the brightness of the room.

Misao lay crumpled on the floor, her face pale. Soujirou stood over her, his fingers clutching the shaft of the arrow that was buried deep into her leg. He yanked it out with a quick jerk and Misao let out long groan, tears pouring down her cheeks. Strings of red muscle trailed from the wound. Her head lolled back, her eyes showing white.

"Get away from her!" With a cry, Aoshi charged at Soujirou, swinging his kodachi. The young man turned, his face full of deep intense hatred as he drew his wakizashi. Flying through the air, aiming for his chest, Aoshi thrust the kodachi forward, preparing to rip out his heart.

He gasped as the air was knocked out of his chest. He looked up in surprise, his eyes inches from Soujirou's. Soujirou had his kodachi in a sword lock, his wakizashi woven in between them to keep them from moving. His eyes burned into Aoshi's, his lips pulled back into a snarl.

"You have escaped death many times, Shinomori Aoshi," Soujirou spat. "But it will be I who will finally take your life." He moved his mouth close to Aoshi's ear, his whispered words hot against his cheek. "Wait for me."

Shoving Aoshi back out of the lock, Soujirou's face transformed into his characteristic expression of amusement, his lips curved into a small grin. Aoshi stepped backwards, his gaze trained on Soujirou. But the young man turned and walked away, his wakizashi resting on his shoulder.

When Aoshi looked towards Misao, his heart sank to the pit of his stomach. She lay sprawled across the marble floor, lying deathly still, her breath coming in short gasps. Blood trickled from the wound, making a small puddle. He kneeled beside her fallen form, pressing his fingers on her wrist. Her pulse was fast, beating furiously and hard. He put a hand on her forehead and felt her skin cool and clammy underneath his touch. Her lips were tinged blue and her breathing became more irregular, as if she were struggling to take air into her lungs. Her body began to convulse, jerking violently against the cold floor.

Beginning to panic, Aoshi shifted his arms under her neck, trying to keep her head from striking the ground. He felt completely helpless, at a loss. He didn't know what to do. He looked toward Soujirou, but he didn't seem to notice.

At that moment, a small clay cup was thrust in front of his face.

"I need to give her this," Takara said from beside him, her pale green eyes meeting his. "But put her in a sitting position first."

Even in his surprise and alarm, Aoshi obeyed, using his arms to support her until she was resting against them, her head tilted upwards. Takara put the cup to Misao's lips and gently poured it into her mouth, using her fingers to push it down her throat.

In a few moments, Misao's body stilled and became calm. Her breath became more and more even, her pulse slowing to a steady pace.

Aoshi let out a long breath. He looked at Takara, bewildered. She didn't meet his gaze as she stood, turning her back from him.

"Go now," she said quietly. "I've seen what I needed to see."

Picking Misao up in his arms, he found his voice returning to him. "And what was that?" he said sharply, standing in front of her. "You wanted to see her killed?"

"No," she said, her voice catching slightly. "I wanted to see you, coming to rescue her."

"Rescue her?" he choked out. "What did you expect?"
Shrugging slightly, she looked away from him, at the quiver of arrows on the ground. "When I knew you before…you would have never done something like that."

He stared at her with hard eyes. "Then you didn't know me well," he said in a low voice as he turned to leave.

"I remember you as you once were, Aoshi!" she called. "You were committed to your comrades. But you would have never done anything so stupid as to run into a room where your enemy lay in wait for you…except if I was in danger."

Aoshi stopped in his steps.

"That night," she went on insistently. "When the Ikazuchiryu attacked-"

"That was a deadly mistake," he said, not turning around. "I should not have left my station behind to find you."

"But you-
"Enough!" he barked sharply as he turned around. "I made a vow to her father to keep her from harm!" he said, his voice rising angrily.

"Aoshi, please!" she cried. In the light, her eyes seemed to glint with tears that she angrily blinked away. "I never meant to hurt you!"

He was silent for a moment, staring at her pale face, remembering the beauty he had once seen there. The sparkle in her large jade green eyes, the mischievous laughter from her thin lips. Although she may not have seemed beautiful to others, there was something about her that had made him see her differently. And in the light of the ballroom, it seemed to return for a moment. She looked almost like a lost little girl, her eyes full of tears, looking to him for guidance.

Like Misao.

He looked down into the pained face of the girl in his arms. She was the one he looked after. She trusted him, with a trust so ardent, it almost put him to shame. He had left Takara's trust behind long ago.

He felt Takara's eyes on him, and when he lifted his gaze, her face had transformed. She glared at him with intense loathing, her hands clenched into fists at her sides, her eyes glittering.

"Get out!" she screamed hoarsely, raising her bow.

He took a step back towards the door.

"Put the girl down." She lowered the arrow notched in her bow so that it was aimed straight for Misao's chest. "Or I shoot her now."

Holding her tighter, he took another step back.

"Aoshi!" she shouted. "I will shoot her!"

Another step back. He grunted as the square hilt of a sword hit the back of his head, making his knees buckle. Dazed, feeling blood drip down his neck, he turned his head to see Soujirou standing over him, a smile on his face, the hilt of his wakizashi poised above his head.

Then total blackness.

The cold wind whistled past his ears, flapping his long scarf behind his shoulders. He tugged at the material around his neck and pulled it over his nose and mouth, feeling his hot breath buffet against it. In the dark land that stretched out in front of him, there was no movement, no sound. Only the howling wind, screeching like a demon. Like the ghosts that haunted his dreams.

Shivering, he gathered his cloak closer around him and looked up at the glowing moon, which cast an eerie pale light over the valley below him. It stared down at him from its solitary place in the sky, glaring at him, unblinking.

"This is not the hour of your watch."

He turned at the sound of the voice behind him. Takara moved from the shadows of the battlements on which he stood, gathering her dark hood over her long black hair as the biting wind whipped past them. Her eyes glowed a soft jade green in the bright moonlight as she studied him.

"Your eyes are troubled," she said softly.

"Couldn't sleep." He looked back out over the valley, scanning the barren trees, pushing back the hair that thrashed about his face.

They were both silent as the wind kicked up around them, shaking the empty branches below them until it sounded like the clamor of gnashing teeth. Takara shuddered beside him, stepping closer so that their arms touched.

"Shikijou said that you killed the four spies," she whispered. "You came upon them from the roof and slit their throats before they had time to scream."

He said nothing, not moving or looking at her as he remembered. The red spurting blood, the sound of their bodies hitting the floor, their faces frozen in terror.

"You dream of them, don't you?"

He looked down at her in surprise, his gaze meeting hers.

"It's their ghosts that visit you your nightmares. That is why you cannot sleep."

Turning away, he closed his eyes, seeing their pale opaque faces, hearing the screams they never had a chance to utter.

"They torment me," he whispered. "They wait until I sleep, so that they may torture me for what I have done to them." He took a deep breath. "I see their faces, Takara. Every night, they stand before me, the faces of every man I have slain with my hands." He looked down at his hands, his calloused fingers, the worn leather guards over his palms. "And I will kill many more. Many more faces shall wander through my dreams, while I stand alone in the darkness."

He lowered his head, feeling ashamed of his words that sounded so pitiful to his ears. Staring at his outstretched palms, he watched as she slid a small gloved hand into his.

"No, Aoshi. Not alone."