Chizuru brought me tea and food every so often, and I took a shining to the shy girl. Her pink Hakamashita was cute, and the absence of feminine forms allowed her to pull it off. I was slightly worried they would ask me to wear the same uniform, but no one spoke about my attire.
My pack had been searched, of course; the Oni Vice Commander had returned it, minus a few sensitive items. Strange things, from a 19th century point of view – like toothbrush, pen and antibiotics – were missing. One pointed look from him had silenced my pleas; I hoped I could get it all back at some point. Antibiotics were a prized possession in this era.
He didn't return my weapons, of course. I didn't expect him to, but I couldn't bring myself to ask the man I'd called a demon about them. Still, their absence felt sour. The elvish sword and Sarmatian bow – Tristan's – had been a comfort those past years, nothing stressed me out more than being weaponless.
I stewed for three more days, drinking tea, writing in my little notebook, and nursing that damn headache that retreated slower than a snail on a camping trip. Yamazaki came every morning, and every night, assessing the swelling at the back of my skull.
Without a lamp, the night began early. I understood why they didn't allow any kind of fire in my room, but the shadows stretched early in the winter. They brought an oil lamp with them so that I could eat with supervision. Then… darkness engulfed my room, and there was nothing else for me to do but think, or sleep.
I didn't dare singing, for a captain was posted by my door, freezing its ass off, to prevent me from escaping. That change of rhythm, compared to my modern life where I would go to sleep at eleven, was pretty overwhelming. Overall, it felt like I was having a nice little downtime in a nursing home … which was making me crazy.
It was for this reason that, on the fourth day, I resolved myself to practise my pliés. It was a simple classical routine, but I was fed up. If I remained inactive for one more day, I would explode.
Classical dancing brought me strength and flexibility; everything I needed to fight properly. And even though I couldn't practise anything that required my head to bend, I could still work my legs and left arm. The right one still stung like bitch – I applied an antiseptic of my own at night to prevent infection. It would probably take ten more days before I could use it properly. So I rested it over a wooden beam, barely pushing to keep the wood from splintering, and practised.
An Adage would suit my needs without putting too much strain on my weakened body. Movements slow, I exhaled, extending my left leg in front of me. I kept it ten seconds in the air until my thigh muscle started burning. Then, I shifted my hips, opening it to slide the leg aside. My knee bent, the tip of my foot resting down. Retiré. Then, développé; I extended my leg anew on the side until it burnt. Retiré, once more, to rest my muscles as I climbed onto the tip of my supporting leg.
My muscles trembled and heated up. Good. It was freezing this morning; it smelt of snow. Yet, I never dared opening the door by myself for fear of being stabbed by Sōji. The brat always found a way to let me know it was him, taunting me from the other side of the door. Today, I knew it wasn't him. Taking a deep, long breath, I shifted and extended my leg backwards in an attitude. Damn, I was rusty. My muscles screamed when I slowly extended the back leg, trying to shift my body forward to attempt an arabesque.
Failure. My back wasn't flexible enough to keep the bust upwards which caused my head to swim. I gripped the wooden beam by the side and winced in defeat. The movement was too unsettling for my balance. Would it return properly ? I hoped that there was no internal swelling, somewhere, eating away at me… this would just be a time bomb.
Pissed, I straightened again, and decided to work on flexibility rather than strength. Outside, a few voices spoke in the silence. I ignored them, grabbing my heel, and extending my leg as far up as I could. My muscles screamed at the treatment, but I held on. Soon, they relaxed, adjusting, and I managed to tug a bit upwards, forming a nice Y shape. The shoji slid open and I blinked.
Yukimura usually announced herself, but Saitō did not. He froze on the threshold without a word; the position had him puzzled. I released my leg gently, taking in the brightness from the outside world. Snow ! Snow in Kyoto, wow ! A blanket of immaculate flakes covered the world, and a gust of cold air greeted my surprise.
"Sumimasen," Saitō eventually said. "I should have announced myself."
Funny, how a captain apologised to the prisoner for intruding in their prison cell. Those guys definitely were over-civilised.
"No worries. I was just training."
A dark eyebrow rose, half-hidden under his hair. "Has Yukimura cleared you off ?"
I frowned; I hated when people took decision in my place, be them doctors or captains. Especially doctors, actually. Pin that on my rebellious streak.
"I take my own decisions when it comes to my health, Saitō."
Perhaps I should have chosen a suffix, but I couldn't decide which one to use. Kun seemed awfully condescending or familiar, and san … well, he was younger than I. The captain remained there, still like a statue, probably wondering if he should scold me. Saitō seemed to decide against it, and just turned to the engawa where Chizuru was bringing a platter.
"Konichiwa, Kitsu-san," rang her usual cheery voice. "I am bringing breakfast and warm tea."
Her hands were red from the cold, and so was her nose. As for Saitō, his cheeks also showed some colours. It was little wonder if he'd spend half the night sitting outside my door with snow coating the landscape. When would they accept I was no threat ? I felt bad for Saitō who had probably been freezing his ass for hours.
"Why don't you both join me this morning ? Surely a cup of warm tea could do you good."
Chizuru turned to Saitō for guidance, surprised by my request. The captain nodded, and she dashed away to fetch more cups. I wondered how far she would make it before sliding to her death.
"Will you stay as well ?", I asked.
The young man seemed to hesitate for a moment, then nodded his assent.
"Hai. But do not take advantage to try to escape."
"You have my word. I'm not in any state to battle you anyway."
He knelt in seiza in a corner of the room, back ramrod straight. If someone was the embodiment of Japanese traditions, it was he. I lowered myself to the ground as well, knees locked together as I sat upon my legs. From what I had gathered, the cross-legged posture I had assumed the first day was reserved to men.
"Your exercising seems to show otherwise."
Saitō's voice was low, so discreete that I sometimes wondered if I had not dreamt his words. There was a calmness to him I found soothing, as if the air stilled around him. For a man so young, it was definitely unsettling.
"Don't get fooled. I can't do half the things I'm supposed to. But I can still work on flexibility … if it doesn't require my right arm."
The Captain nodded again, not one for many words. Below the fringe of very dark hair, the ecchymoses around his nose had turned yellow. It still looked pretty angry, but not broken.
"I'm sorry about your nose," I blurted out.
"Injury sustained during a fight is honourable. Do not apologise for besting me."
This was such a Confucius thing to say. Or a piece of the Bushido code, who knew? Strangely, Saitō didn't seem sour about his defeat. If anything, he seemed rather curious.
"I don't think I would have won a fair fight. I've heard of you. They say you are unmatched."
"Hijikata-san and Okita-kun match me. I only beat them because I'm left-handed."
Was it self-depreciation, or the warrior's bluntness? His face showed no emotion whatsoever, and I wondered if I would ever see him train or fight another swordsman.
"I guess left-handed Samuraïs are scarce."
Cries rose from the courtyard, and I heard Chizuru's characteristic squeak. The other voice was Heisuke, for sure. The sound of snowballs hitting the engawa caused me to smile; the girl wasn't coming back too soon. I poured a cup of tea, and handed it to Saitō. He bowed his head to me, and accepted the recipient to warm his hands.
"Left-handed stance is frowned upon."
"That's … too bad."
His eyebrow shot up; I took it as my cue to explain my point of view, mindful of not offending his culture. Even though he had probably suffered from it, he'd quickly defend it on front of a foreigner.
"I mean, it gives you a clear advantage, and you seem to be terrific with a blade. Why waste such talent?"
"The codes of Bushido are ancestral."
And he proceeded to teach me how, when a Samuraï met another, he laid his weapons on the right to indicate trust. I listened to his slow, quiet voice, fascinated by the history. How could I judge, when French children, in the '70s, were still forced to write with their right hand even though they were left handed ? The young man sipped his tea, steam rising to warm up his cheeks, with the poise of a sage.
"Hijikata-san and Kondō-san were the first to accept my peculiarity," he eventually confessed. There was such fondness in his voice for his captains, unwavering loyalty as well. This was the look of a man who'd go to hell for his commander. Silence stretched for a while, and I realised how shunned Saitō had probably been, in the past. What a waste of talent !
Saitō eventually set his cup down on the tray.
"But you are right, it gives me advantage because people don't know how to counter reversed strikes. Except for you."
This was a question. Subtle, but a question nonetheless. I had no qualms answering it.
"I've sparred with ambidextrous people before. They taught me danger came from both ways, and how to counter it. They used twin swords."
Saitō's head slanted aside, his eyes curious. Already, he was considering the multiple possibilities of using both of his hands this way.
"The samurais would look down upon them. But I can see the appeal."
My smirk grew fierce, wondering how anyone could possibly look down upon Legolas after seeing him on a battlefield.
"Can't look down upon someone when you're dead. More tea ?"
Saitō shook his head, and I poured myself some of the liquid in the cup he had used. It probably crushed the etiquette, but I was thirsty. And cold. Outside, a familiar voice rose in anger. Hijikata-san was probably putting an end to the fight. Killjoy, I thought, sipping at the tea. There was a slight smile at the corner of Saitō's lips, so discreet that I almost missed it.
Before the shoji door could slid open, the swordsman jumped on his feet, hand at his hip. Chizuru's head popped inside, eyes wide and dishevelled, snow falling from her loose strands.
"Sumimaseeeeeeen," she whined, freezing in place. Saitō's stance relaxed, and he returned to his seat with a slight bow. Chizuru, frozen to the core, hesitated on the threshold so I patted the cushion next to mine, and poured another cup of tea. She took it with shaking hands. Claiming the miso soup for myself, I watched the kid as she winced every time Hijikata's voice rose.
Poor little lady, she was really impressed by the Oni Vice Commander. And the fact that his angry footsteps could be heard on the gangway didn't help her either. Or I surmised that it was him, for Saitō didn't move an inch when the shoji was nearly ripped out.
Chizuru squirmed by my side, hoping that the Vice Commander wouldn't remark upon her state and scold her either. The sight of his captain, cosy upon my tatami mat, seemed to distract him from his punitive expedition.
"Is that how you guard a prisoner, Saitō?"
There was thunder in his voice, a barely repressed energy that awaited to be let loose. I didn't allow the captain to answer; I knew he wouldn't defend himself now that I understood the dynamics between them.
"What?" I piped up. "You think he'll be more alert if he freezes outside ?"
My blunt response caused silence to descend in the room, except for a panicked squeak. Would the Demon Commander draw his blade and make me eat my disrespect ?
By my side, Chizuru paled two notches, ready to pass out. I reached for her sleeve, tugging to let her know I was there. Curiously enough, Hijikata's gaze slightly softened. Was it my care for the young woman, or to his subordinate that mellowed him ? Still, I was incredibly surprised when he relented with barely a frown.
"I'm counting in you, Saitō."
"Ha," came the phlegmatic response.
A flurry of grey hakama and deep purple shirt left the room, a trail of dark hair dancing across the Commander's back as he left us to our devices. I slowly deflated, taking a long breath before I grinned at Chizuru.
"He has quite the temper, eh ?"
Humour would keep me sane in the face of such an imposing presence. The little lady was still shaking; from fear, or the cold, I didn't know. She looked at me as if I'd grown two heads. Going against Hijikata was an impossibility. Insane. Her lip trembled, and I wasn't fazed by her inability to answer me. Surprisingly, it was Saitō who did.
"Ha. But he is fair."
"The best quality when it comes to a leader," I responded genuinely. He reminded me of King Thrandhuil, all bark, much bite, but a dedicated heart. Especially when it came to protecting his own. Granted, Hijikata-san didn't have a forest to defend against the forces of evil, nor a few hundred subjects, neither had he lived six thousand years. Still … he was of those characters that turned your life upside down, digging a trench into your mind.
Speaking of elves…
"Saitō-san…"
The honorific title came easily enough, given I was about to ask a favour. Funny; Japanese traditions were already being drilled in my brain. His eyes watched me, waiting like a cat about to decide whether to take a nap, or jump on a mouse.
"My weapons ?"
The young man straightened, his expression turning even more distant than usual. Given his skill, he surely was of those men that revered their sword. His silence told me everything I needed to know.
"You can't tell me," I sighed.
By my side, Chizuru seemed mortified. That girl had such a heart, I swear. I just hoped that her choice of protectors wouldn't turn against her; I'd hate to see her traumatised. Still, I had worked up the gall to ask about my weapons, and wanted, at least, to know if I would see them again. Both the sword and the bow were precious to me. I dared hope that warriors would understand.
"Can you at least tell me if they are safe ?"
"Ha," Saitō nodded. "They are in good hands."