A/N Whoa, I'm absolutely overwhelmed by the response to the last chapter! I'll do my best to live up to these expectations, though the build up will take a little while. No apologies for the cliffy :) because this'll be updated fairly frequently.
Firenight
Chapter 2
"Misa? That is all? Just Misa? Hm." The man took off his glasses and rubbed his neck-cloth over it with a weary swipe. He perched the spectacles back on his nose and frowned. "Well, well, well. Misa then, is that right. That was not a question, Misa with no last name. We do not care about names here, as long as you can wield a blade, preferably with the pointy end towards the enemy."
"I know who our enemy is."
A vague smile ghosted over the man's lips. "Oh do you now? Ha! Youth." He made a few finishing flourishes with the feathered pen and handed Misa a slip of paper.
"Mi-sa," he enunciated slowly, and grinned.
Misa stepped back. His eyes were milky, strangely devoid even as he looked straight at her. She took the proffered paper. On it was written simply 'Misa'. The kanji was wrong, the version the registrar wrote meant 'four eggs'. She wondered if it was his notion of humour.
She was about to ask him where she would go next, but was stopped by a crooked finger.
"Through the second entrance, up the stairs and through the curtains. First door to your left." The bony hand folded back into the man's lap and his vacant eyes averted, giving Misa the distinct impression of dismissal.
A low flush rose to her cheeks. It was embarrassing, being treated like a child. A child did not experience what she had and remain a child. Maybe she came from a remote coastal town that no one felt the absence of apart from herself. Maybe she marveled at the fitted and smooth stone of the buildings, or the care of presentation in the precisely parallel edges of the paved roads. Or the cloths, richly embroidered and patterned with an artistry her family had never been able to afford.
She felt out of place here. The women wore skirts that tripped them as they walked – long impractical things that caught on every stone and snag in the roads. The men carried parasols, and talked loudly with each other with affected accents. Her simple woolens and country slang made her overly conscious, and as she kept her eyes trained on the ground as she walked.
The palace only seemed more alien. At the foot of a barbed gate stood two men clad in cloth and feathers.
"Excuse me-" she started.
Cloth and feathers shifted, revealing a thin layer of chain underneath. Armour, she realised, and gaped.
The men caught sight of her. One grabbed the other, and whispered into an ear.
"You came from Old Man Ohc, yes?" the left one called. "Just follow the hedge until you get to the stairs, it's right through the red curtain. The second door you see."
The gates cranked open, the shadow of the bars washing over her face like some giant bird. She swallowed and walked into the sunlit yard. She could feel the gaze of the guards pressing into her back. Was it because she was a woman? Lips tightening, she straightened and walked briskly in.
She found the stairs with no trouble. The building was curiously empty.
At the head of the staircase was a large velvet curtain. She pushed it aside with trepidation, the weight of the fabric making her feel like an intruder.
A narrow hallway confronted her. The walls and floors were carpeted in red, and a row of doors ran along the left edge. Was she in the right place? These were not the barracks she had expected, nor the face of a kingdom facing the homicide of its people via unannounced raids. A surge of anger rose in her. Perhaps it was truly as if it had never happened. The reissue of maps was another propaganda scheme. There would be no accountability. The richness of the city, built from the soil her family worked, would be shamelessly attributed to the pale soft hands of the nobility.
Fists clenched, she knocked twice. Loudly.
The door flew open and a bright eyed young girl with closely cropped brown hair bounded out. "Hello! Hello! What do you want? Fame? Glory? You've come to the right place, come in!" Misa could only manage a small gasp as she was pulled inside the doorway by the sleeve of her shirt.
"Marvelous, you have the papers already. Don't worry, you don't need to sign, we deal with the illiterate all the time, I'd say it's become part of the job description now. Communication via speech only, that is. And I must say, I am the master. Maybe that's why we don't hire people as often as we used to, hm? Am I too tough? Do you think so – ah – Mi-sa? Ha! Amusing name. Did your parents name you after a particularly protein-rich breakfast?" The girl flopped down into a reclining couch. She proffered a lazy hand. "I'm Satsuki, by the way. But you may call me Commander. Why, Misa, you look rather pale. Is there anything bothering you?"
Her legs folded under her, and she propped her head up on the back of a hand, head tilted curiously.
"I believe I'm at the wrong place," Misa said coldly. "Excuse me."
The prickling presence of Satsuki's eyes followed her to the door.
Am I really going to do this? Misa asked herself. She looked at her feet tracking the path towards the door. She could see those taunting green eyes flashing across her thoughts. As she drew closer to the exit, they seemed to solidify, a note of satisfied triumph embellishing the memory. She hated to let him win, hated to betray the memory of her family. But she was not here for honour, fame, money – those vapid trivialities of life. This was not the way.
"Wait."
Satsuki's voice, low and controlled stopped her.
Slowly, Misa turned and met a pair of serious eyes.
"Please sit, Misa. You must be tired."
A pause. Misa sat.
Satsuki materialised a two glasses and a small jug tinkling with ice cubes. A simple slice of lemon adorned the lip, flavouring the water with a hint of acridity. She poured herself and Misa a glass, ice tumbling in with small cheerful splashes.
As she was doing so, she continued without pause. "Every so often we get someone like you. It's not a common thing. The places the raiders target are specifically chosen so the people living their have as few connections as possible. When these places are exterminated, entire families are wiped out. There is no one to grieve for them from neighbouring habitations, simply because these places are so well contained. But humans are social creatures. We inevitably build connections with others, and sometimes these remain strong despite the distance separating one man from the next." Satsuki raised her eyes. "Who are you Misa? Who did the raiders kill?"
"My mother," Misa said slowly. "My younger sister. Mochi. Sen. Naoya. Ikuto." She trailed off into silence.
Satsuki looked surprised. "Were you away from home? Poor child, to come back to something so horrific." Her small hands clenched around her glass.
Misa smiled faintly. "I was there when they came. I was there when they killed them." She drew a long shuddering breath. "I saw the Devil himself."
A small frown graced Satsuki's lips. "How strange," she said, hands rubbing absently at the rim of her glass. "Strange indeed. Why would they spare you? Out of the dozens of cases of absolute homicide, only you?"
"I was not worth killing!" Misa leaped to her feet. The heat of tears pricked at the edges of her eyes. "I lost everything that day. Yet, he wouldn't grant me that simple freedom! I want my revenge, Satsuki. Give the glory, the honour to someone else. I just want to end this – this feeling I have, confronting something I can't control. I hate it. I hate him."
Breathe. Misa stopped, inhaled back the tears. "Satsuki, I'm a country girl. I haven't picked up a sword in my life. But I want to learn. If not to kill him then... to understand. Why would someone commit such a crime? There is no logical reason." Misa lifted her hand before her face, brown eyes marking the ring of callouses around the base of her hand. Strong, sturdy callouses that supported the handle of a hoe or a mill. The callouses of a swordsman would run down further, as the hilt of the sword pressed deeper into the edge of the palm. The swordsmen of the raiders, she thought, would have hands that reeked of blood.
"Misa." Satsuki's eyes were warm, somewhat playful. "Catch."
Seemingly from nowhere, she'd produced a sword. It was a long silver blade with an unadorned ringed hilt guard.
Caught by surprise, Misa fumbled, nervously avoiding the sharp edge.
"Now?" she asked in surprise.
Satsuki shrugged, and suddenly a slim iron rapier materialised in her hand. She held it backhanded, flourishing it in a ready stance behind her back. "Every second we spend talking is a second lost," she said seriously.
"But-" Misa started, then paled as Satsuki sprang forward.
Satsuki was good. She deftly dodged each of Misa's clumsy strokes with the nimbleness of a cricket, weaving between obstacles with practiced fluidity.
"Wait, Satsuki," Misa tried again, but halted with a grunt as she parried a strike. Satsuki quickly whirled, and brought the backhanded blade in an underhand sweep. Misa jumped back, was too mindful of the china vase behind her, and swallowed as she saw a wisp of brown hair float off of the bright edge of Satsuki's blade.
She's mad, she's definitely mad!
Satsuki sprung in and out of her blind spot, grinning as she maneuvered the blade like a particularly nasty snake. It darted in to meet Misa's own like flashes of quicksilver.
It was like the sword was an extension of her. The swordsman and their blade, an almost tangible connection was visible, holding each intention to the other like an invisible tether. No, it was not accurate to say it was an extension. It was two individual beings, synchronised perfectly in a deadly dance.
"STOP!" Misa pushed out blindly, the unresponsive blade in her hand meeting steel. The metal gave. Surprised, Misa fell forward, driven by the fall was stopped by a arm, sturdier than its slimness would suggest.
"Whoa! I'm so sorry, I got carried away, please forgive me!" Satsuki pleaded, an anxious expression on her face. Her cheeks were flushed. She hurriedly plucked the silver instrument from Misa's hand and vanished both it and her own sword as assuredly as they had appeared.
Misa collapsed to her knees, panting. She met Satsuki's guilty stare. "Those were military grade weapons," she emphasized.
Satsuki gave a nervous laugh. "I guess. But," she brightened. "At least we know that you can't wield one to save your own life, let alone kill somebody. What did you think you were holding? A stick?"
Misa coughed, and flushed.
"But to be honest Misa," Satsuki continued. "I'm just a little bit happy that I don't have to teach you. Vengeance breeds vengeance. And you're still so young," she said kindly.
"Then, what should I do?"
Satsuki gave a small, secretive smile. "Follow me," she declared.