"Which of us do you think will be the next?"
"I don't know. Why would I know? I hope it's me, though."
"I do, too. You're better than I am."
Silence fell between the two, as they watched the water from the river rush past them, carrying their leaf-boats with it.
"Hey, Shiro?"
"Yeah?"
"Do you smell something?"
"No. Why? What do you smell?"
"I don't know." There was a scream in the distance. Both boys, almost identical in appearance, yet complete opposites, turned to the source, eyes wide.
"What-?"
"Shiro!"
Shiro fell the ground with a cry, an arrow sprouting from his shoulder. On top of the hill, a horse reared to kick at a villager, who also fell back, and was then trampled.
The orange haired boy stood frozen above his brother, as the other shouted for him to run.
It was still early when Ichigo awoke. Every limb ached, but that was nothing new, nor was it unexpected. He and Shiro had travelled to more than just the closest town the night before. They had walked through three, too eager to get to their destination as swiftly as possible. The moon had long since risen before they decided to stop and find a place to sleep.
Ichigo cracked one eye open, then squeezed it shut, immediately. The rising sun all too happily shone onto his face, blinding him and adding to his misery. He somehow found the strength to move one arm over his head, so the crook of his elbow protected him from the rays, before slowly falling back into the numbness that was his most pleasant sleep.
A chill raked through him. Ichigo's eyes snapped open, ignoring the sunlight, and he began to search for the cold's source. He found him sitting at the table, a smirking that smug smirk of his. Beside him was the cloak Ichigo had mistakenly thrown off in his sleep, obviously thinking he was too warm.
"Rise and shine, little pumpkin," Shiro cooed. "The sun is up, the birds are chirping, and there is revenge to be had."
"I don't hear any birds," Ichigo husked through gritted teeth, as he shivered violently.
"Ah, well, that's because you don't listen."
"May I have my cloak back?"
Shiro shook his head, pouting, while he replied, with all the sincerity of the world, "but, my dear little brother, I never get to see your face when you wear that thing. It's all but rags, since you wear it so often."
"I keep that cloak in good condition!" Ichigo bit back. "You just like seeing me suffer, don't you." He felt Shiro's mood make the almost imperceptible shift from playful to wicked.
"Watching you suffer is fun, I'll admit, especially when your face gets all flushed from the cold and you start to lose yourself in anger." Shiro came closer, intensifying the cold as he did. He reached out to touch his brother's cheek.
"I hate you." The swordsman flinched away from the frigid touch out of reflex. He maneuvered around his brother's form and grabbed his cloak, tugging it on and securing it.
"You love me. I make your life interesting and give it purpose."
"You annoy me, is what you do."
"But, I'm useful. Who else would remind you to eat?" Right on queue, Ichigo's stomach grumbled in protest at being neglected. "See? Grab your things and let us find you some food."
The brothers left the inn they were staying at, thanking the owner for allowing the room to be rented out so late at night. Ichigo stumbled through the streets on stiff legs, following his nose to the nearest bakery. Luckily, most bakers started the bread early so that those, who were up with the sun, could have it freshly baked. The redhead bought enough bread and cheese to last him through the day, plus a little extra, just in case they got held up. He hated to be hungry.
Food shopping done, the pair began to made their way to the main road. Beyond the few whose lifestyles required an early rise, the brothers were the only ones in the streets.
Ichigo allowed his tired mind to wander to his thoughts on their situation. When he finally saw those murderous raiders again, would he break his promise? Would he be able to keep his mind focused? What if he, after six years of training, still wasn't good enough to complete his task?
Ichigo felt something hard ram into his face. A peel of laughter split the air, courtesy of Shiro. He stumbled backward a step, startled, and looked past his hood to see what he had run into. What he saw was not a "what," but a "who." Well, a piece of a "who." The shoulder Ichigo had face planted into turned with the body it was attached to.
"Are you looking for trouble?" Ichigo heard. He peered at the other person. The man was taller than him, much taller, and had a shock of electric-blue hair on top of his head. It took Ichigo a moment to realize his cerulean eyes were not harboring shadows, but were actually accented by light blue eye paint. He was dressed lightly, too lightly for society, but Ichigo supposed that society would only reject his fashion sense due to jealousy. Why jealousy? First, it was blazing in the middle of summer, even in the early mornings, and most didn't have the confidence to go around dressed in clothes that would not suffocate them. Second, because not everyone can have muscles like his.
"My apologies. My mind was preoccupied," said Ichigo, smoothly. He really didn't want to delay the end to his quest further by provoking a brawl with a man, whose temper was looking to be less pleasant than his own.
"Tch! A man whose head is not aware is a man better off dead, in this world," the stranger said in a condescending tone that did not go unnoticed by either brother. "A man not accounting for everything is a man far less likely to live another year. Who wears a cloak in the middle of summer, anyway?"
"Someone who would rather not walk around half naked," Ichigo shot back, remembering to keep his voice calm. He had gotten used to folks needling him about his choice of heavy clothing, no matter the weather, so it no longer held any visible effect. If anything, the swordsman was perturbed by his own lack of diligence in watching his surroundings. The stranger was right. By all means, if an enemy of any level had been near, chances were he'd be dead, or at the very least, injured, because his mind was occupied with other worries, all of which would not come to pass until the future. Thankfully, the blush Ichigo could feel on his cheeks from such an error was tucked away by the shadows of the offended cloak. He truly did love this cloak.
Ichigo decided to avoid a possible feud, and walked around the man, continuing on his path and pretending not to hear Blue's protest at being ignored. He didn't shout at the swordsman for too much longer, preferring to continue his own way. Shiro and Ichigo found a small delight in the mornings peace that followed the man's silence, but even that didn't last long. Soon after leaving behind the town, they stumbled upon a drunken duo.
"H-hey," one hiccupped, his face stumbling in front of Ichigo's. His breath reeked of vomit and alcohol. Ichigo recoiled. "You wouldn't happen to have any-hic-any any any...Is that a sword? I love swo-swords. I used to have a fine sword, fine. I used to pretend I was at-hic-war and swing it like I was hacking up some good-for-nothing northerners. Northerners. What a weird word. Northerners. Sounds like 'nothiners'. Northerners are nothiners!" He giggled to himself. "Nobody'd call me a northerner. No sir. I'm far south-hic-south as they come. AND NO GOD CAN EVER TAKE THAT AWAY FROM ME! NO GOD!"
It was at this point the second drunkard waved his empty bottle into the air in front of him, singing, "No god, no god, no god to save us now. No god, no god, no god to damn us now. There used to be many gods, gods, gods. So many gods, gods, gods. Gods, where did you go?"
Shiro glared at the inebriated, sickened. The first continued to shout, his words becoming more hiccupping and unintelligible noise than words, while the other sang his made-up song. Ichigo stepped back, away from the pair, grateful for the breeze that side-swept their stench away, carrying unsullied breaths his way. Together, the brothers walked away, ignored by the drunks.
"That was...um..." In his ill state, Ichigo could not find a word to describe the experience. Shiro didn't need him to.
"Revolting. Even after everything I have seen, that was vial. People have lives to live and they're throwing it away to get drunk before the sun is at its peak." It seemed where Ichigo was slowly learning to let go of the incident, Shiro had his teeth sunk in and was none too keen on releasing the topic.
"People do stupid things with their lives," the swordsman agreed in a tone that suggested he was only doing so to let Shiro know he was listening.
"They at least can breathe, and eat, and fall in love, and have a life, and what are they doing? Getting drunk on the side of a road where bandits can easily slaughter their arses and take what they have. And the way they were spreading their repugnant scent all over you made me want to kill them, myself." Shiro was seething. Ichigo understood his anger, even shared some of it, but he saw no use in expressing it. Besides, even if he did, his brother was doing enough ranting for them both. Shiro's words continued on, never straying from this topic, until the sun met the highest point in the sky. Ichigo's stomach gave a low grumble, alerting him to the knowledge that he hadn't eaten yet, and it was a little after noon. He stopped to grab the bread he had placed in the bag.
Unfurling the loaf from its wrappings, the swordsman sat down at the side of the road, where a cluster of trees provided some shade. He tore off a small chunk to eat and leaned back. Shiro sat beside him, closing his eyes as if to sleep. The swordsman relaxed, but remained alert. To stop only to be attacked would do neither him, nor Master Tensa, any credit to those long years of training.
A small chirp reached his ears, then a high whine. Ichigo looked up, and smiled when he found the source. A small creature, no taller than the width of his hand, perched on a branch above him. Slowly, he tore off another small chunk of bread, this time holding it up in an offering. The legendary creature glided down, alighting on his palm. It carefully grabbed to bread between his teeth, tearing it before eating.
Ichigo took this time to admire the thing. From its tiny black form, reminiscent of a wolf pup, with an ice-blue design, which glinted in the noon light, to the bird-like wings adorned with black and ice-blue feathers. It's furry body rubbed against his thumb, letting him know it felt softer than a rabbit. Childish excitement overtook the orangette as he fought to keep still. Shiro must have felt the sudden change in mood, because he sent a glance in their direction.
"Careful, brother," cautioned Shiro, noticing the creature eating on his palm. "Legend says the gohunihi waya can conjure ice storms if they think you're a threat."
Ichigo frowned at his brother's words, not taking his eyes away from the winged wolf. "You do that to me internally every day. I don't think there has been a day within the last six years in which I had not felt my blood freeze over." The gohunihi waya, as they were called in the older legends, was almost finished with the bread, scattered crumbs falling from the palm. "Besides, that is only a myth."
"If you say so." The gohunihi waya was now finished and full. It let out a yawn, showing its sharp, tiny teeth. It stretched its wings, displaying the full design of the shimmering ice-blue markings. The sight captivated both brothers, who were left in wonder at the rare sight. Creatures, like this mini winged wolf, were only described in legends, which also told of dragons, mortals who became the sun and moon and stars, flowers that explode, and other strange things. To actually see something like this was beyond hope. Yet, there the brothers were, staring at it and feeding it.
The gohunihi waya took off. Soon, it was above the reaches of the trees, hidden by their long arms and the leaves attached. Ichigo sat there for a few more moments to absorb fact that he had indeed just encountered a legend, before standing once more and returning to his journey.
The duo trekked for several more hours, passing through two towns, but not stopping. The road, once cobblestone then hardened dirt, was becoming softer as they travelled, slowly morphing into a sandy path as the terrain changed from the lightly forested lands of Seireitei, to the desert lands of the Eastern border that lined Hueco Mundo. Only, on this hot summer evening, soft snow alighted on the earth and accumulated in cracks and around rocks. Confusion settled inside Ichigo, and then fear. He knew this snow, for it was not snow at all.
He looked up and searched the horizon for any sign he might be right, hoping he didn't find any. He did. About a mile ahead, the sky was dark, as though thick clouds hovered there. Only clouds did not move upwards and disperse so quickly. That was smoke.
Ichigo took off at a run, his brother following behind him. They reached the town, or what was left of it, and started to look for anything or anyone that could be salvaged.
After several hours of a fruitless search, Ichigo fell to his knees, physically and emotionally drained, and threw up his small lunch. He had walked, jogged and run through the entire town, having to step over and around the bodies of mothers, fathers, sons, daughters, brothers, sisters, uncles, aunts, friends, neighbors, horses, dogs, and the no longer recognizable. Memories of the faces of the dead here and of the faces of the dead from six years ago became one in his mind, flashing continuously in an endless loop. His own mother's face came up, lying next to his father's, and then there was a stranger's, whose face he had seen among the dead here. On and on, the relentless cycle repeated.
Coughing.
Ichigo's head snapped up at the sound. He waited, still as an alerted deer, and listened. Nothing. Had he imagined it?
Cough, cough.
No, he hadn't. This time, he determined the general direction of the coughing. He stood slowly. His head spun, but he pushed through it. He had to find a survivor. He had to. Or maybe it would be better if he didn't.
No. He stopped that thought almost as soon as it started to form. People are strong. Pain is only something we have to endure. This survivor, if they are truly that, would have a chance. Who am I to deprive them of that?
He followed the coughing to a collapsed building, its support system sticking up out of the ground like a foreboding omen, the charred wood still on fire. He circled the home–he assumed that's what it was, at any rate–and found a small entrance. He ducked inside, crawling on all fours.
Inside, he was blinded and choked by smoke. His lungs burned and his eyes watered. His cloak helped protect his skin from the heat of the flames. He pulled one sleeve of it over his hand, and pressed the fabric over his nose and mouth. It lessened the pain, but not by much. It did nothing to cool the air, but at least the air he did get was cleaner. Another beam fell, missing his foot by mere inches. It sent up sparks, but also allowed Ichigo to see a small path where he could push his body through. He did so, careful not to bump any of the fallen beams. They already looked perilously close to collapsing down on him. The thought of being crushed and burned held less than zero appeal for the man.
He coughed into his sleeve, and heard it echoed. He did it again, and the same thing happened.
"Hello?" He called, and then erupted into a fit of hacking and coughing. He listened, and heard a tiny, weak cry. He followed it, edging along the floor until he came across a closed chest, not yet touched by the flames. He tapped it and heard a squeal, then a whine that later turned into a whimper. He had found the survivor. Now, all he had to do was get him/her and himself to safety. Easier said than done, with a building falling on all sides.
"Can you hear me?" Ichigo called. He heard a muffled "yes". "I'm not going to hurt you. I'm going to get you out of here. Just keep talking to me, OK?" No answer. "Did you hear me?"
"Who are you?"
"My name is Ichigo. What is your name?"
"Nel."
"Alright, Nel. I'm going to get you out of here. How is the air in there? Is it hot? Ashy?"
"It's hot. Nel hurts." That wasn't good. She needed to get out, and the sooner the better.
"OK, Nel. I'm going to need you to come out. I can't carry a chest while I'm crawling."
"NO! ITSYUGO WILL TAKE NEL! ITSYUGO WILL KILL NEL! NEL WON'T COME OUT!" Take her? Why would he wish to kidnap the poor child?
"Nel, listen to me. I will not bring you any harm. I want to help you, not hurt you. Will you let me do that?"
"No! Nel doesn't trust Itsyugo!" Ichigo coughed hard into his sleeve. His chest was starting to hurt more, and the longer he stayed in this building, the worse it became.
"Oh, for the love of-! Nel, I swear on my life that I will not hurt you intentionally."
"Itsyugo promises?"
"Yes, I promise." A crack appeared under the lid of the chest, and big eyes peered out. They inspected his soot-streaked face, and seemed to approve of what they found, because sure enough, a small girl crawled out of the chest and laid along the swordsman's back.
"Giddy-up, horsey!" Nel shouted, before coughing again. Ichigo rolled his eyes and moved in the direction from which he came. His path was still clear, which was a blessing if he ever saw one, and he and Nel made it out. Immediately, the girl-child inhaled deeply, gulping in as much air as she could fit in her lungs. Ichigo did the same, and they both started coughing so much they were streaming tears.
In the outside, no longer completely blinded by smoke, Ichigo saw Nel fully. Her red-rimmed, light grey eyes were wide and innocent, filled with the kind of trust only a child could have. She wore a tattered green gown, which was even worse than the rags Ichigo remembered seeing years ago, when he was on the streets of the Sepulcher. Her skin was burned in places, making him wince, and her green hair was matted and streaked with the dark crimson of dried blood that came from a long cut on her head. He hissed, and reached out to her, simultaneously pulling out a water skin and a small vial from his bag.
"Drink some," he ordered. She did so greedily, not breaking for air until the skin was almost empty. She handed it back to him. "Feel better?" Nel nodded. "Good. Now, I am going to close this cut and heal your burns. It will sting a bit, because this will also clear out any impurities in the wounds. Fair warning." Carefully, to minimize pain, Ichigo poured the contents on the vial on the head wound first, then the burns. Nel cried out at the sharp pain Ichigo knew well, because he had spent years growing accustomed to the healing methods used whenever he, Renji, or Shuhei was injured during training. He rubbed the child's back in a comforting gesture, and Nel snuggled into his chest, whimpering until the pain went away. She fell asleep like that, Ichigo leaning against a well with her on his lap, fists clenched tightly around clumps of his filthy cloak.
That was how Shiro found them. "Who's the brat? A rescue?" Ichigo nodded, not wanting to speak and wake the kid. "Then she is the only one. I found no one alive, or capable of being saved." Ichigo met his eyes, and looked away. Shiro had found others alive, but were most likely nine-tenths of the way to their deaths, or trapped where Ichigo could not get to them without dying in the process.
His eyes burn, and not just from all the smoke in the air. How could he have been so useless as to come across a burning village and only be able to save one person? Had he not spent the past six years of his life training to be strong, to be able to protect what needed protecting? Had all that effort been wasted on him? He was no more useful than he was six years ago!
Shiro felt the frustration, the grief, and the self-loathing emanating from his brother, and decided he had to put a stop to it before he started blaming himself for the breakout of a plague a century before he was born.
"Ichi, look at me." The redhead did not. "Please? King, look at me, that's all I ask." His honey-glazed eyes met his brother's molten gold ones in pitiful surrender. "Don't do this to yourself. Don't go back into that darkness. I need you in the light. Let me be the one who feels useless. Don't go blaming yourself for things out of your control. You aren't a god; you can't do everything. You can't help everyone. You help as many as you can, and accept that there are some beyond your reach, and that's not something you, or anyone else, can change. Look in your arms. This girl needs you now, whether you like it or not, because you saved her life. You saved her, Ichi. She is alive, because you were able to do that for her. Don't go moping about because you couldn't help everyone. You saved her life, so focus on that, and be proud."
Ichigo allowed the sense of his brother's words to sink in. He was right, after all. He usually was. But could he really let go of the fact that he had failed so many? No, of course not. He knew that; Shiro knew that. He could either beat on himself, abandoning Nel in the process, or he could focus on helping the child, and work past it. It was obvious which choice was healthier.
The swordsman lifted himself up on shaky legs. He will move forward toward his goal. He will not fail his family a second time, and he will find this girl a home and a new family. He could cry later. Now was the time to act.
Shiro watched his brother, feeling the determination, and his own pride swelled. Ichigo was a brother he could be proud of, but he would be damned twice over and dumped in a river, before he ever told him that. As the redhead started to walk, he followed, smiling to himself.
You really are growing up.
I hope you all weren't too disappointed…I swear he'll show up more! He has to, doesn't he? This story will become a very heavy grimmichi as the story progresses, but as I had said before, I'm more of a story person, so I'll focus on that and try to weave the grimmichi around the plot…actually, the Grimmichi is wound pretty well in there, with the way I have it all planned out…
REVIEW! Tell me how I'm doing! If you find mistakes, have questions, or just want to say hi, leave a review because they make me happy! In the meantime, I'll just start on the next chapter as I also focus on schoolwork, and the APs…fun stuff, you know?