Chapter One-Hundred Twenty-Seven
They rode until the sky lightened to bluish-gray.
After the first hour, Syaoran relaxed enough to nod off, using Kurogane's chest plate as a pillow as they rode through the night. If the ninja noticed, as he surely did, he said nothing, only waking him once just before dawn for a bathroom break. Then they got back on the horse and kept riding.
Light peeked over the hill ahead of them, a prelude to true sunrise. Syaoran stared at the growing luminescence, still groggy. His legs ached, despite his passive riding, but Kurogane showed no sign of discomfort. He'd hardly spoken all night, and after he'd answered Syaoran's question about their destination, Syaoran had stopped speaking. Suwa. He's taking me to the place where he grew up. The thought made his stomach tense. He'd seen the aftermath of the demon attack when the Other had peered into Kurogane's memories in Recourt. Whatever awaited them there, Syaoran had little desire to see it.
But he would. He would go because Kurogane wouldn't have brought him if it wasn't important.
When the sun came up, it painted the sky with streaks of color. Rich vermillion transitioned to an unearthly pink; inky black changed to robin's egg blue; a few strips of green hung in the sky like banners, a striking contrast to the orange glow the sun. He so rarely saw the sunrise, and seeing one so colorful reminded him that he hadn't taken any time to appreciate such things in weeks.
The sun climbed higher as they rode. When it hovered directly overhead, Kurogane stopped their horse and dismounted. Syaoran followed, moving gingerly so as not to irritate his injuries, and Mokona hopped across the grass, surprisingly agile considering her egg-like shape. They'd stopped in the middle of a sloping field, but he could see nothing remarkable about their location apart from a few clusters of wildflowers. "Where are we?"
Kurogane spoke for the first time in hours. "About thirty miles from the edge of the Suwa Province. Here." He handed Syaoran a bread-roll wrapped in cloth. When he took the first bite, he saw that the bread had bits of fruit and nuts embedded in it. He ate quickly, only realizing how ravenous he'd become once he started to fill his stomach. A few feet away, Kurogane laid a blanket over the grass and sat down to eat, by which point Syaoran had already finished half his bread-roll. Blushing, he sat.
As Syaoran finished the bread, Kurogane stood up and fished a bundle of cloth out of the saddlebags. He set it down and unfolded it carefully, revealing several fresh fruits and a few pastries that looked too airy and delicious to be kept in a saddlebag. At once, Mokona grabbed a succulent red fruit from the pile and swallowed it whole.
Syaoran eyed the pile warily, trying to understand the selection. It looked like the sort of thing one would bring on a romantic picnic. "What's this all about?"
"If we die soon, I don't want your last few days with me to be miserable." He picked up one of the pastries—a frosted bread-roll lined with some sort of jam—and started picking it apart with his fingers. He held a piece out in silent offering. Conscious of Mokona sitting at the edge of the blanket, Syaoran took it between his teeth and let his lips close over it. Its sourness bit his tongue like a serpent, eased only by the sweetness of the icing.
"Do you like it?" Kurogane asked, his face as somber as if he'd requested a murder confession.
Syaoran gulped, nodding as the bit of pastry slid down his throat. "It reminds me of you." When the ninja only raised his eyebrow, he explained. "Sour at first, then sweet. Like you. Like . . . us."
"Am I supposed to take that as a compliment or an insult?"
He hesitated. "Just an observation." He found himself looking down, then forced himself to meet the ninja's eyes. It seemed like an appropriate enough time to broach the subject that had dominated his thoughts for most of the night. "Aren't you mad at me?"
"Of course I'm mad at you." He leaned closer, lowering his voice so Mokona wouldn't overhear. "You asked me to kill you."
"You don't seem mad."
"Yeah. It's a lot harder than it looks."
He swallowed again, this time out of nervousness. "When you came back, I thought you were going to yell at me. But you've hardly said anything since we left the castle."
The ninja crossed his arms, his metal hand still clamped around the pastry he'd picked up. "Yeah, well, I didn't know what I wanted to say. I had to think about it first." He leaned back, staring straight ahead. Syaoran waited, sensing that the ninja was gathering his thoughts so he could articulate them properly. When the silence only stretched on, he leaned forward.
"What do you want to say?"
Kurogane shrugged. "Dunno. I've never been great with words." The way he said it made it sound like the end of a conversation.
"Oh."
"Yeah. Sorry." Kurogane tousled his hair, then let his hand rest atop Syaoran's scalp, fingertips curling and uncurling almost absently.
"Kurogane is such a romantic," Mokona chimed in, making both of them jump.
"Shut up," the ninja growled. "Go curl up in the saddlebags if you're going to be annoying." To reinforce his suggestion, he picked Mokona up by the ears and carried her over to their horse, although he let her sit on the saddle instead of stuffing her away with their supplies.
"Can I say something?" Syaoran asked when Kurogane sat down again.
"What is it?"
He took a breath, then let it out. "You were right to call me a coward. I've always been taught that it's cowardly to take your own life. It seems especially cowardly to ask someone else to do it. But these aren't ordinary circumstances, and as much as I wish I didn't have to ask . . . I don't think I'd be able to do it, if it came down to it, and I don't want to become a pawn of our enemy, not again. I wouldn't have asked if it I hadn't thought it was important."
Kurogane's fingers stilled. Syaoran tensed in response, waiting for the argument to flare up again. When a pair of hard red eyes met his, he looked down, bracing himself.
Kurogane shoved him backward so he toppled over, grass tickling the side of his face. A metal hand wrapped around the collar of his shirt. He gasped.
"Answer me one question," Kurogane said, looking down at him. "Am I worth living for?"
"What?"
"Am I worth living for? Do I make your life better or worse?"
He didn't even pause. "Better."
"Better than the princess could?"
This time, he hesitated. "I don't know."
Kurogane released him, standing up and turning away. "Finish eating. I want to be back on the road in ten minutes."
"Kurogane-san," he called as the man stalked toward the path.
"What?"
"I love you. I know my indecision must make it seem like I don't, but I do."
The ninja's hands curled into fists. "If you think just saying that makes it better, then you know even less about relationships than I do." He started untying the rope tethering their horse to the tree. His shoulders were rigid, his movements jerky. Syaoran stuffed the last of his pastry in his mouth, eyes watering at the sour sting of it, then gathered everything up and started stowing it in the saddlebags. As he finished, Kurogane hoisted him up into the saddle, then climbed in behind him and took the reins.
They took off at a trot. Within minutes, they were riding at a hard gallop. Syaoran's legs started to ache with the constant bouncing, and the icy teeth of the wind scraped his cheeks. After a time, he closed his eyes, lowering his face so the wind couldn't slice at it so directly, but he still felt cold. Belatedly, he realized that he'd never retrieved the blanket Kurogane had wrapped around his shoulders last night, but rather left it in the saddlebags while they'd eaten.
When they slowed, hours later, Syaoran opened his eyes again. He saw nothing remarkable about the scenery. The path wound around a hill covered in frost, and though the first hints of wildflowers poked up from the grass, their flowers looked fragile.
The direction of the wind changed slightly, bringing with it a faint, acrid scent. Syaoran's eyebrows pulled together. He recognized the smell—its acidic quality reminded him of Tokyo, but that wasn't quite right. It smelled like something he'd left in the oven too long. Charred. As they rounded the bend, they slowed to a walk, and Syaoran remembered where he'd first smelled this place. Kurogane's memories, back in Recourt. This is what it smelled like after his home burned to the ground. He lifted his head. Knowing what to look for, he began to see faint discolorations along the ground where buildings had come alive with flames. Black smears of soot marked the lines where walls had once stood, and he saw a rotted wooden gate ahead of them on the path.
He realized the airflow had stagnated. We're in a valley now. The hills must be blocking some of the wind. He frowned. Even though he had a rational explanation for the lack of wind, something about the place still seemed off. He puzzled over it as they rode, the sound of hooves a constant, lonely rhythm in his ears.
Insight came to him like lightning splintering through a clear sky. "I can't hear any animals."
"There's nothing here for them to eat. No reason for them to stay." Kurogane's voice was soft, like snow falling.
"But . . . but this place has been abandoned for years," Syaoran said. "By all logic, it should be covered in vegetation, or at least recovering from . . ." He trailed off.
"There hasn't been any life in this place in years. It's barren." Kurogane pulled their horse to a stop and dismounted to secure the stallion to the gate. The wood looked brittle, and Syaoran worried that the gate would topple if the horse got spooked and fled, but since Kurogane voiced no concerns, he said nothing. "Come on. I've got something I want to show you." He started walking, moving past the skeletal remains of several small buildings. After a brief hesitation, Syaoran followed, his shoes leaving footprints in the ash.