Another couple of weeks passed. I became more acquainted with the captains that guarded my door. Strangely, they didn't post any of their lower-ranking men; perhaps they didn't know whom to trust with that Itōu-san in the compound. Surely sparing a captain all day and night long would put a strain on their resources, right?
Anyway, I wasn't about to complain about the company. Okita was still a brat, and I mostly ignored him when he pestered me. Shinpachi had an unhealthy habit about walking around, half-naked, and bragging. His gaze didn't lie; he would have made a meal of me for breakfast, but only with my approval. So I kept a respectful distance from him. Saitō was his usual silent self. I usually wrote when he came, or offered him a cup of tea while we 'talked' about swords and such.
That man was a well of knowledge when it came to forging, and I wondered how many times Glorfindel had folded my blade before he deemed it satisfactory. I couldn't help but think that he had infused some of his magic inside; this blade always felt so vibrant in my hand, as if it responded to my whims.
Heisuke was his usually cheery self. Loud, and so naïve that he made me smile. I just couldn't see him as anything other than a child. Yet, he'd killed people without hesitation for the Shinsengumi. The last one, Harada Sanosuke, was pretty decent. Soft-spoken, we sometimes exchanged politely about his background or mine, and traded a few childhood stories. I was used to twisting reality to hide my origins – the future. So we kept conversation casual. He, unlike Saitō, didn't seem to suffer from the cold; I never invited him inside, but sometimes sat on the gangway by his side, wrapped in my elvish cape.
The snow melted within a few days, the weather turning warmer. When, I wasn't working for Kondō-san, I trained, and trained, until my body was sore or my gyroscope couldn't take it. After more than two weeks, I still couldn't try any upside-down posture. The limited movements made me crazy, so I kept busy writing everything I learnt from Japan in a notebook. From words to traditions, doodles and thoughts.
One day, Chizuru came with a wide smile; she wanted me to assist in the kitchen. I must have looked very pitiable for I nearly whooped with joy. With the bath house and Kondō-san's office, it was the third room I was allowed to go to. Which meant an increase of 50% of my horizons. Yey. Engineer one day … engineer forever. Anyway.
The captain in charge of watching me came along. Harada, today. He gave me a gentle smile while Chizuru chatted my ear off about making tofu – Saitō's favourite. Chopping vegetables with an over excited and cheerful teenage girl wasn't so bad. Actually, I got used to using the knife rather than a peeler, and even managed not to chop my finger off. A miracle: swords, I could master. But knives were not my friends. At all.
Harada decided to give us a hand, and the three of us arranged rice balls on a plate, adding miso soup and something that looked like fried fish. In this very moment, I congratulated myself on my flexibility towards food. Chizuru served Hijikata-san's platter first, and I Kondō-san – I was his page, after all. Harada took care of Sanan-san, and breakfast was officially declared.
The rowdy animation between Shinpachi and Heiskue trying to steal each other's food didn't seem to bother anyone; they were used to it. For my part, I tried to block off the noise that invaded my skull so violently; needless to say, that the exercise was exhausting. Fortunately, the warm bowl of miso soup helped me focus. Actually, miso soup was a great way to start the day, and I promised myself I'd add this to my breakfast routine when I got back… If I got back.
The thought caused me to pause, chopsticks caught midair. The Keeper of Time had this uncanny ability to feel things before they were meant to happen. By now, I was pretty familiar with premonitions to know I'd hit a nerve. I usually predicted other people's death… I never had that eerie feeling that I would be the victim.
Was I going to die here? My chest tightened, as if I couldn't breathe anymore. My brain was my saving grace calling for rationality; it was just dread, right? So many times, I'd considered my own mortality. I had contingency plans in case a mission claimed my life; my family wouldn't be in the dark, at least. Still… I'd beaten the odds so often. Why shouldn't I, today?
I laid the chopsticks down and took a deep breath, reaching for the steaming bowl again. On the other side of the room, Heisuke was climbing on top of Shinpachi. Standard issue, apparently; none of the three commanders allowed it to bother them as they conversed in low voices. Yet, a pair of dark eyes were boring holes into me. Hijikata-san, face hidden behind the rim of his bowl, had probably not missed my moment of fright. What he would deduce from my posture? I had no clue. Shit. Nothing went past that man. He reminded me of … no. Tristan was gone, it was fruitless to bring his memory again.
In the end, Chizuru and I cleared platters I was about to dive into a cauldron of icy cold water to help her with the washing up when Sanan melodic voice called to me.
"Frances-san? Would you join us for a while please?"
-san. Wow. I didn't expect a captain to use the honorific with me, especially giving the terrific relationship I shared with Hijikata. I addressed Chizuru an apologetic smile; she brushed it away eagerly. So I left the kitchens, and returned to the room, closing the shōji behind me.
I gasped.
Between a lone cushion, and the three commanders, rested my weapons. Sarmatian bow and elvish sword, perfect companions. Beside them, my toothbrush and stacks of antibiotics.
I knelt in the correct seiza position expected of women, this time, and swallowed nervously. My sword called to me; my fingers longed to grab its hilt, to feel its reassuring presence. Would I be allowed to retrieve them? Were they about to kick me out? My head wasn't totally healed yet; Kyoto was a dangerous place for a lone woman. Damn.
Squaring my shoulders, I took a deep breath, and bowed.
"Can you tell us about your sword? We have never encountered such a blade," Sanan asked.
I swallowed nervously. How was I about to explain that Glorfindel, reincarnated elf from the first age, had forged it on honour of the Keeper of Time? That it sang in my hand, making me faster, as if he'd infused his Vanya power inside of it?
"It was forged by a master of the art by people hidden from the world. Those people believe in magic, you see, and the sword was made for me, specifically."
"I don't recognise the language. What does it mean?"
May the blessing of Valar protect the Keeper of Time. The words were Quenya; I didn't have to read it, I knew it by heart.
"It means … it is a blessing. You have to forgive me, I don't read this language well. But it calls upon their Gods, the Valar, to protect its wielder."
Sanan-san nodded, envy writ upon his features. I could understand them; the blade was partially made of mithril, and was exceptional in every possible way. From its grip that could accommodate one – or two-handed wielding, to the beautiful script along the blade that was always sharpened. The shape, itself, was halfway between a katana and a standard sword, but its line even more elegant. Saitō would probably have a fit over it.
"You are very lucky. It is a privilege to have one's blade made for oneself. You must have had great importance to those people. Where do they live?"
I chose a circumvoluted truth, thinking on how Glorfindel had returned to Valinor, the land that could not be reached by humans.
"They are … hidden from the world. You'd never find them, even if you wanted to."
"Are you one of them?" Hijikata enquired, his tone stern, but not aggressive.
I shook my head; elves and middle earth were part of my past. But not the present, nor the future. I had left this part of myself behind, never to return.
"They call themselves elves. I was dubbed an elf friend, it is a high honour."
Sanan-san pushed his spectacles across his very straight nose, his grey eyes piercing me.
"That's a mighty present for a friend."
"Yes, it was."
There was finality in my voice; they all heard it. Fortunately, Kondō-san, ever the diplomat, chose to turn this confrontation into a conversation.
"Very well. I see that this line of questioning is uncomfortable. Can you assure us they mean us no harm?"
"I can vouch for this, yes. They will never interfere with hum … with the rest of the world."
Fuck! That slip of the tongue had nearly got me into a plothole. Speaking of the elves had reminded me the peacefulness of Rivendell, and caused my too many barriers to slip. I slammed the shields back into place, face closed off.
"The bow. Does it come from the same people?"
I should have expected it, but nothing prepared me from the wave of anguish that washed over at the memory of Tristan's broken body on the battlefield. His heart, stuttering under my palm. And Gawain's handing me his bow as I wept upon his grave. Choking, I only shook my head from left to right. Words wouldn't come.
"A friend?" Kondō-san asked, affected by my grief.
"Hai," I whispered, crushing the tear running down my cheek. The three of them remained silent for a while; they all knew the price of fallen comrades. Eventually, I found my voice again. "Sarmatian tribe, close to the Mongols."
Sanan-san nodded – that man was an erudite. His soft gaze pushed me to explain a bit more.
"The double recurve gives more power, and allows closer range. They use it on horseback, but I can't because I suck at riding."
I chuckled self depreciatively, if only to avoid sobbing my heart out. Damn, I missed them as well. I'd met such wonderful people in every mission, and here I was, once more in a company of brothers in arms. Would brewing war fall upon us soon? Would I be, once more, caught in the midst of it, forced to watch people I had come to love, die?
"But you can use it, right?"
Hijikata-san's voice shook me out of my reminiscence.
"I can."
"Could you demonstrate?" Kondō-san asked, almost eager. I nodded with a fond smile; men and their weapons.
"Before that, can you explain those as well," Sanan asked.
I pointed to the three different items. "Toothbrush made of plastic. Hasn't come here yet. Medicine capsuled to be kept longer."
Sanan picked one of the pills, and turned it around in his hands. Curiosity brightened his gaze, and I found his expression beautiful, for a moment. The only issue was the out-of-time technology. I couldn't help but be relieved that I had not taken my mp3 player this time. A hunch I was grateful for.
"It is remarkable," he whispered, handing the pills to Kondō. The Captain eyed it without passion, then passed it to Hijikata who gave it such a suspicious look that I almost laughed.
"We use machines to encapsulate it," I explained.
The western world was full of machines and wonders after all. And no one could foresee the notion of antibiotics until it actually existed. The scientist in Sanan just couldn't let it go.
"I've never seen anything alike."
I should have been ecstatic to find a fellow scientist in this world. The only issue was that he could expose my secrets. His eyes shone with rare intelligence, his curiosity too great to be quelled by mundane things. In modern times, Sanan-san could work for the WHO; he was the epitome of the researcher.
"Yes, pretty revolutionary," Kondō cut. "What say you to an archery demonstration?"
I grinned. There was a man after my own heart. Had he done it on purpose, catching on my poor explanations? Or was he genuinely interested in the bow? I'd never know, but I silently thanked him for it. My hand automatically flew to my bow but before I could grab it, Hijikata jumped to his feet. Like a panther about to pounce, he landed in a crouch, deep eyes challenging. I froze fingers flexing barely an inch away from the beloved Sarmatian bow.
"You cannot have your weapons back."
Balanced on a knee, I felt my body coil in protest. We locked eyes over the bow; his deep, dark gaze diving into mine. Was it the light, or did his eyes held violet hues?
My breath caught in my throat; I had been so long I'd felt undressed by a look. Bare… I was bare, my soul unearthed, all shields shattered. My hand shook from the strain; did he understand the significance of those weapons, to me? Our staring contest told me he did. There was brightness in his gaze too, the understanding of a fellow warrior. Yes, he knew. But I was still a wildcard, too dangerous to his men.
"Come on, Toshi. Let her demonstrate. You can tail her with your katana out if you're fearful."
"As if I needed to draw," he ground out, voice low.
Iaido. The art of killing with a draw. Saitō had spoken of it; I had yet to witness such a feat. Yet, right now, I had no doubt that the Oni Commander could fell me with a single blow. Despite my extensive training with the sword, I couldn't ignore the way those men lived. The Bushido was infused in their bodies.
"May I?', I asked, eyes still locked with his.
He nodded imperceptibly, and my fingers found the beloved wood. The need to caress it was quelled by Hijikata's angry stare. I didn't understand why they were so riled up about a bow. Sarmatians had perfected the art in the fifth century; why did Japanese warriors felt so excited over it, a thousand years later? Who knew? I shrugged, and stood. I was nowhere near Galahad or Tristan's skill with it, but I was pretty decent. Training with an elvish archer had its perks.
The air was cold, wetness permeating, plunging the area in an eerie silence. The fog created volutes over the piece of garden, clinging to the trees while the sun tried to pierce it. I walked into the open, closing my woollen mantle around me tightly. Kondō-san brought me a few of my own arrows. He pointed to straw dummies further away, and I nodded.
"I'll have to step a little closer. But Bors and Tristan could hit that from five hundred yards away. They were stronger, and had greater skill than I."
The number caused Sanan-san to gasp albeit he remained hidden on the engawa, engulfed by the shade. Strange; my hands were already cold. The others seemed to be chasing the little heat provided by the light, and he fleeing it.
"Surely you jest," he chanced, his posture stiff.
Memories of a frozen lake, high in the Scottish mountains, caused a shiver to run up my spine.
"Nope. I've seen it."
"This is remarkable."
I nodded, pride filling me; the praise of skilled warriors over my former comrades gave me the determination to do them justice.
"They were incredible marksmen," I stated, showing them the bow's profile. "It comes from the shape. The double recurve give more power than a straight bow. For the same draw, you can pack much more strength without having to be too strong."
"Show us," Hijikata-san commanded.
I took a deep breath, and took my stance. I couldn't see the frowns, but imagined them well enough as I used an open stance, rather than a closed one. I'd seen Galahad and Tristan shoot so often with the double recurve; on horseback, they were way more relaxed than a standard archer.
I set the arrow in place on the outside of the bow – an offending gesture to European archers, but I had no clue how they practised, here. It was little wonder Sarmatians were so good at firing arrows; it was much faster to reload from the outside than the inside. My fingers brushed the feathers, then moved backwards to grip the shaft. The target taunted me in the midst of whitish volutes, and I kept it in sight as I pulled at the cord.
A sharp pain shot up my arm and I hissed. Damn it! I'd never be able to pull the cord all the way back with that stupid muscle sliced! Alarmed, Kondō-san took a step forward.
"Sumimasen, I had forgotten about your injury. You need not demonstrate today."
Rolling my shoulder, I just shook my head in his direction.
"There is no need to alarm yourself, Captain."
Then, I took the arrow between my teeth, only to switch the bow from left to right hand. Kondō-san gasped when I retrieved the shaft in the left hand, and pulled the cord taut. As I would come to learn, everything had a rightful place in Japan. Katanas, arrows, plaits, clothing, hair … everything. As the Keeper of Time, I had learnt from elves and knights to be pragmatic. If an arm in injured, use the other one. I had therefore learnt to shoot with both sides indifferently.
My first arrow nearly decapitated their straw puppet; its speed and power so great that it actually passed through. Satisfied, I took a few steps back, then reloaded again. My right arm didn't protest; my locked elbow protected the muscle from pulling as I shot another arrow. This time, the projectile went right through the dummies' head.
Another set of steps back. I fired again. And again. It became a soothing routine. Kondō-san kept providing arrows, the courtyard had gone silent, except for the twang of the cord, and the harsh hacking of straw.
And again, until my projectile missed the dummy and flew straight into a wooden wall.
I lowered my weapon with a frown, winded. The knights of the round table would be proud of me, I guess. Apart from Tristan, for missing that last one.
"Sumimasen, I'm not as good as they are."
Kondō-san addressed me a shocked look, and I could discern Hijikata's surprise by the slight curve of his brow.
"On the contrary, Frances-Chan, this was pretty remarkable."
I huffed. This was nothing, compared to whatever the Sarmatian knights had been able to pull off. But at least, they could see how powerful a weapon it was. From the shadows, Sanan-san smiled.
"When you see how we practise Kyudo, you will understand our surprise," he said.
His voice was amused, but the looming presence of the Demon Vice Commander called for my attention. He probably wanted the bow back, and I was loath to part from it anew. His face betrayed no emotion, but his eyes looked at the weapon with wonder. In a surprising gentle gesture, he offered his hands for me to lay the bow down. Then, uncertainty flashed in his eyes.
"May I?" he asked.
Was he asking if he could retrieve the weapon, or try it out? I paused, uncertain about the memories I was betraying by allowing someone else to wield Tristan's bow. Strangely, a soft breeze kissed my cheek, giving me the answer I was looking for. So I nodded and watched, mesmerised, the tall man take a few steps forward, and experimentally draw the cord. As he pulled on the string, searching for a comfortable posture on that strange weapon, I was caught by the contradiction between this very collected Japanese man – all clothes tucked in – and the memory of Tristan's unruly hair and shabby clothing. For a moment, even, I thought I saw his silhouette outlining that of Hijikata, his taut form standing a few inches higher than the Vice commander.
I blinked; the vision cleared away, leaving a very determined commander, long raven hair dancing in the breeze, pulling a double recurve taut. His stance was closed; I wasn't about to correct him. Galahad always said to shoot how you felt it. If the Japanese way worked this way, then why not. The arrow went flying, hitting the dummy in the belly. I smiled; not bad, for a new weapon.
Hijikata-san lowered the bow with a wistful look, as if he had travelled a thousand miles away by wielding this strange curved weapon. Then, he turned to me, and slightly inclined his head.
"Arigatō," he said, his voice deep.
His gratitude took me aback. Unfortunately, the bow didn't return to my hands.
"This was a remarkable demonstration. You are a skilled marksman, er, woman," Kondō said. He praised me so easily that a blush crept up my cheeks.
"Indeed," Sanan-san replied. "Those bows could do much damage, but not as much as firearms. Have you heard, by any chance, of Brunet-san?"
"Uh? I mean, I'm sorry, no."
The strategist ignored my less than graceful expletive in favour of an explanation. Below the hanging roof, his grey eyes shone against the shadows.
"Brunet-san is a French officer hired to modernise the Shogun's army," he started. French? Well, it certainly didn't sound like it in Sanan's mouth. Given how they struggled to say Frances, it made sense the accent would twist it around.
"So where is he, now?", I asked, filing up information at full speed.
I'd learnt from Kondō that she Shogun was the man who more or less commanded them to keep Kyoto's peace. Its family had been in place for years – like, hundreds – and he, in turn, responded to the Emperor. The details were still a bit hazy. Politics, in my own country, was harrowing enough. But Japan took it to another level altogether. Especially those clans fighting for influence. Yet, I couldn't help but feel prideful that a man of my own country had been chosen for the task.
"Probably around the Shogun's training grounds."
Vague much, right? Well, I could understand their reluctance to say more to a potential enemy. Still, given the Japanese level of skill and thrive for excellence, their trust in a foreigner was a great compliment. A Frenchman, at that! But I wasn't about to boast about my nationality. Better to keep the 'Kitsu' façade awhile longer. So, instead of giving my thoughts away, I slightly nodded.
"All right."
"The reason why I'm taking about this, Frances-san, is that I wondered if you could use firearms."
My mouth opened in an 'o', then closed. Samuraïs, wanting to use long-range weapons other than bows? This would be the end of their status…
Realisation suddenly dawned upon me and I kicked myself for my ignorance. Not so long ago, I'd seen a movie, 'The last Samuraï', about a revolution against the Emperor. A little research had shown that the oversimplified plot had pushed Algren – Tom Cruise – on the spot; in reality, it all came down to a French officer who'd refused to leave his brothers in arms during the war. That man was Brunet.
Which meant, one, that war was really brewing. Two, that I had landed prior to that nonsense of forbidding Samuraïs to be … samurais. Three; that this was going to go downhill pretty fast. Fuck, fuck, fuck!
"I, uh. I could, probably. But the ones I have used in the past are pretty different…" No shit. A Glock 19 couldn't be further from those cumbersome rifles. And don't get me started on the MP-
90. "I'd need to learn to load and clean properly." And aim, and handle the recoil. But this, I could do by myself. Thank you, military training. "Perhaps someone could teach me," I added for good measure.
Inspired by the small truce I seemed to have with the Vice Commander, and I turned to him.
"Do you know how to shoot, Hijikata-san?"
The man's eyes narrowed dangerously, and I nearly recoiled such was the aura of anger surrounding him. Damn, I understood why the animes showed a raging aura around their characters; I could nearly feel it crepitate.
"No," he responded harshly, his tone searing. "We're swordsmen, we follow the Bushido no matter what."
When he stormed out, long hair dancing in sync with his stormy steps, Tristan's bow in hand, I deflated slowly. Given the display he'd just delivered with Tristan's bow, it wasn't such a bad assumption to think he might be a good marksman. Apparently … not. Pinching the bridge of my nose, I realised I had committed a blunder while searching to praise his skill. You still have much to learn, little Padawan
"I just insulted him, didn't I?", I sighed.
Kondō-san gave me a sheepish look, and I marvelled how it made him look so much younger. Just how old was he, actually? How many times did he have to smooth out things after Hijikata's temper had scrambled people's mind and pushed them to the brink?
"Do not be alarmed. Toshi is a good man, and he enforces the rules of Bushido he's put in place in the Shinsengumi. Those are dangerous times for us swordsmen."
Under the porch, Sanan-san hummed his assent absently. Already, his brilliant mind was considering the implications of my presence here … or perhaps he was just reflecting on the Bushido code. Did they know their time was coming to an end?
Damn. Looks like I'm going to war again.
So, erm. Frances is not aware of any Rasetsu, but she still finds weird that Sanan would remain in the shadows.