So. I always wondered how Hijikata got there so quickly in the middle of the night, all dressed up and stuff. I'm going to use that to my advantage, though. Putting on a kimono and hakama takes some time ?
I shot up in my bed, heart thundering. A noise had shaken me out of slumber. Whimpers came from Chizuru's room next to me, and I thanked the Valar I slept with cotton pants and a t-shirt. Jumping out of the futon, I rushed next door, only to find her cornered by a man in uniform … his hair entirely white. An old man? The disparity of his bearing, and the colour of his hair registered in my brain, but I had no time to dwell on it.
"Stop!" I commanded.
The man turned around like an automat, his whole body stiff, until red blood eyes glared back at me. Shit! Another wraith, and I was unarmed. He cackled madly, sniffing me out. I froze, considering my options. The man was stronger and faster than I was. I needed something to hold him off until the compound awakened, and the men had fastened their thousand layers of clothes over their wiry frames.
"Chizuru, get out!", I hissed. But the young woman was petrified in fear, her upper sleeve torn, blood seeping into the fabric. Damn, the zombie had hurt her already.
"Blood, blood," he kept chanting, watching me warily, as if he couldn't decide which one of us to drain.
Fuck that!
I dove for Chizuru's stand where her kodachi was displayed, rolling to reach for the blade. The wraith was on my tail at once, I barely had time to unsheathe that his sword swished above my head. I blocked at the latest moment, the shock so mighty that it reverberated in my shoulders.
The wraith pressed on and I tried to deviate the blade. To no avail. He pushed me to the ground, his greater strength cornering me between tatami mat and his bulky frame. I heard Chizuru scream my nickname, my teeth were grinding from the strain. Five more centimetres, and I was dead.
Deadened eyes stared at me; sweat formed on my brow. Would I die with those demonic eyes planted into mine? No! I refused to let go. My arms were locked in the sparring, but the rest… Mustering all my strength, I bucked on the floor, my foot catching him in the head – thank classical dancing for the flexibility. The man grunted, caught off guard, and I pushed with the might of desperation.
He barely moved a foot back. Damn!
"Chizuru !", I called, in desperate need of a distraction. She whimpered again, unmoving, and I cursed. The distinctive ring of a blade eventually echoed in the room, and the zombie fell backwards, a monumental slash marring his back. Hijikata stood behind him, sword drawn, face bathed in shadows. Spent, I allowed my head to fall upon the tatami to catch my breath. My arms were killing me.
"Get out of there," the Vice Commander ordered.
The urgency laced in his voice caused my blood to pump faster, and I grunted, rolling to the side. Already, the killer zombie was struggling to stand. What the …? He'd been sliced from shoulder to hip, and still lived? A rough hand grabbed me by the upper arm, helping me stagger to my feet. Chizuru huddled by my side, hiding behind the Vice Commander with shaking limbs.
Footsteps caused the engawa to shake, and the captains appeared at once. Harada was already diving forward, his spear pinning the zombie's hand into the tatami. The human-beast shook it off, standing to face us three. Hijakata's left hand was held before Chizuru in a show of protectiveness. I stood behind him, on the other side, Kodachi ready for a second round. It was a good blade, if not mine: it would do the work.
The other captains stared, hesitating, as the twisted excuse of a man. "Blood, blood." He lifted his sword again. Faster than my brain could process it, Hijikata's blade met his chest in a deft slicing movement. The man staggered back into Harada's spear. The tip pierced its chest and the captain threw the man against the wall. Rice paper and fragile wooden beams creaked miserably before the wall tipped backwards. Both man and partition fell outside in a deafening noise.
I took a deep breath and sheathed Chizuru's kodachi. Disaster averted. As I took a few deep breaths, Sanan's voice echoed on the engawa, apologising for letting the 'Rasetsu ' escape. I'd have to ask more details about those zombies that kept wandering. Hijikata had left our side to greet his colleague and I turned to Chizuru; she was completely still.
"Hey. Will you be alright?"
The kid was shorter than I was, and lifted her head to look me in the eye. The terror I read in those brown orbs melted my heart, and I debated whether to give her a hug. Would she jerk away from me? Those Japanese guys seemed pretty averse to touching, from what I'd seen. And Chizuru was terrified.
"Arigato, Kitsu-san," she shakily whispered.
"You're very welcome," I responded, still a little shaken. If Hijikata-san had not shown up, I'd be dead by now. A shiver went down my spine and I clenched my teeth. Sanan-san approached us then. His expression was hard, but his eyes conveyed how sorry he was; he probably considered himself responsible the impromptu attack.
"Are you all right, Yukimura-kun?" he murmured, his silky voice a delight after so much yelling and grunting.
She nodded, hand still pressed upon the slice on her upper arm. Sanan brushed it away, tutting that she was losing too much blood. His long, elegant fingers prodded the wound, and the dark, crimson liquid seeped upon his hand. He froze. Something passed upon his features. Fear, longing, failing control. The bespectacled man choked a grunt; danger screamed at me to move.
I watched warily, my brain firing a thousand theories; all of them failing. But when the dark-haired man grabbed fistfuls of his hair, the hair on my nape stood. Whatever was happening to Sanan chilled my bones, and I dragged Chizuru away from him. Horrified, I watched the man crumple in agony. He was always composed and controlled; I'd seen him with various expressions, all of them so subtle that they scarcely varied from neutral. But now, he shook like a leaf, muscles shaking from the strain…
What the hell was happening?
"Sanan-san !", Chizuru cried, her heart bleeding for the Colonel. I prevented her from approaching, my eyes still trained upon him. Was there anything I could do? First aid, maybe? A inhuman scream left his mouth when his body arched backwards, tearing at his hair until…
I blinked; I was going crazy…
What else could it be? For Sanan's hair was slowly turning white, colour dripping away like water falls from a cloth. One moment later, the man turned to us, eyes red, calling for blood.
I gasped. Sanan-san was a zombie. His target; Chizuru. Fuckity fuck! Hijikata reacted at once, placing himself in front of the girl. I pointed the kodachi at Sanan without unsheathing the blade; I didn't want to hurt him. But if he was as strong as the last one, and as skilled as the captains said … we stood no chance to battle him without serious injuries. The others didn't move, they were stricken, hopeless.
Would we have to kill the Colonel?
It couldn't be. Those people had been friends for years, there must have been another way. Sanan laughed, a manic sound that caused me to shiver. When he started to lick his blood covered hand, I chanced a step forward.
"You are Sanan-san," I stated. "A respected swordsman, and military counsellor to the Shinsengumi. A friend to all those gathered here, brilliant strategist, and leader to the captains."
The man stopped licking at his hand, cocking his head aside, like an animal listening to a new voice. The others had not tried to stop me. Perhaps this was crazy, and I was doomed to fail. But for now, they gave me a little leeway.
"Can you hear me, Sanan-san?"
My hopes were crushed when his features morphed into something feral.
"Sanan-san," I pleaded. "You need to teach me the calendar. Don't give in … kudasaï."
Deep, red eyes snapped to my face; my blood froze. Danger oozed out of his irises, and I retreated hastily, only to be grabbed by the sleeve and pushed behind a brandished katana by Saitō's right hand. Both he and Hijikata-san, once more, resumed their vigil over us ladies. The others unsheathed their blades, ready to fight.
"We attack all at once," Heisuke said sadly.
Saitō's left hand jumped to his sword and my heart leapt into my throat. They were about to pounce when Sanan' froze in his tracks, his hands framing his face once more. Both Hijikata and I screamed in unison, "Matte!" (Wait!). Our combined warning seemed to stop time and we watched, heart beating, Sanan's feature twist painfully. He whimpered, once, twice, then screamed in agony before his body gave up. The man slid to the floor, still holding his head, hands pressed hard upon his temples. I wanted to reach out, but didn't want to lose a wrist. So I stayed put when black seeped into his hair once more.
Sanan's chest rose and fell from the heavy panting. I couldn't even fathom how painful that crisis had been on his body, for a moment later, his gaze lifted to us. There was such desolation in his eyes when he realised he'd lost the battle against bloodlust that I felt like crying.
"Ah, I lost my mind too," he uttered, self-loathing lacing his words.
The lack of surprise told me he'd known of his condition before. Was it a disease? A curse? Until then, I had kept my interrogations for myself to avoid from being killed. But I resolved to ask the proper questions; they owed me as much for nearly dying. Why the zombie had chosen Chizuru rather than I was a mystery, but I could have easily fallen victim to its bloodlust as well.
Chizuru shook like a leaf beside me, and I circled her shoulder in support, mindful of the injury.
"Kitsu-san," a soft voice called. "What's that about a calendar?"
Sanan's question caused an involuntary smile to bloom upon my face.
"So you heard me?"
"I did," he nodded.
Unfortunately, the conversation was interrupted by the shrill voice of Itō-sod; the man was in full-blown panic, and I rolled my eyes. This wasn't time for babysitting. Kondō took upon himself to handle the hysteric man. I didn't even spare him a glance, my attention fixed upon Sanan's dejected face.
"You were supposed to be dead!" the annoying man exclaimed.
Dead? Is that the reason why I'd never seen him at official events? Damn. Resolve flooded my veins; I wanted answers.
"Our secret is aired," Okita nonchalantly mused. "Shall I kill him?" Despite my hatred for Itō-sod, I couldn't take my mind off the graceful arc of Okita's sword as he cut his own soldier's head. I shivered, wondering what this whole mess was about. But first, I needed to take care of Chizuru. Hijikata seemed of the same mind as he turned to me, his features set in a frown.
"Take Yukimura to my room," he ordered. "Don't let anyone get in but me. You'll find your sword on the rack."
I nodded firmly, careful not to show my surprise. This was a commander's decision, and I wasn't about to complain about it if I got to retrieve my sword.
"Hai."
I gently dragged Chizuru away. Funny, how just a few weeks before, she had been the one to care for me after the bathhouse attack. I was only returning a favour. Before we stepped out, Hijikata added.
"Get to Yamazaki first, this wound needs to be tended to."
Chizuru tensed: "I am fine," she said, shrinking on herself in her pink kimono. The Vice Commander scoffed, expressing his disbelief with as much tact as a Panzer tank. And for once, the frightened kitten that was Chizuru exposed her claws. Chin up, she rebelled like a wounded teenager.
"I can take care of my wounds myself," she nearly yelled at Hijikata. Eyes wide, I couldn't help but find the commander's stunned face amusing before Yukimura bowed, and left without me.
"I'll take care of it," I told him. He nodded, still pretty stunned that Chizuru had found the guts to yell at him. I jogged after her, keeping my mouth shout about how unlikely she was to wrap her own upper arm by herself. It didn't matter. First, I was about to handle the slice, hoping no stitches would be required. Secondly, I'd get my sword. And third, I would ask questions.
"Er, Chizuru …?"
"I said I would care for it myself."
"Right. So, do you happen to know where the commander's room is?"
The young woman gave me a contrite look, and suddenly deflated. She swayed on her feet, and I grabbed her waist to keep her from crashing down.
"Hai," she whispered. "That way."
The fact that she wasn't even apologising for snapping at me was worrisome; Chizuru always found a way to apologise. A few twists and turns took us to a standard sliding door. How Hijikata had heard us from this far away was a mystery; he probably had ears everywhere. Chizuru stopped before the shōji, intimidated. Granted, sleeping in the commander's room felt really, really weird.
Gathering my courage, I pushed the sliding door away. A lantern was burning still, illuminating a low desk with paperwork scattered over it. A full teapot settled on the side, awaiting its owner. I realised Hijikata had probably been working – or writing Haikus – while we peacefully slept. Oni indeed; who could function with so little sleep? It explained, though, why he had popped up first, dressed to the nines as was his habit.
My heart gave a strange tug as I took in the place; it seemed strangely familiar. Yet, I had never set foot inside. I shrugged, reaching for the rolled futon at the back while Chizuru closed the shōji. Future and past always got scrambled in my brain; I was the Keeper of Time after all. The young woman slid on the bedding as soon as it was laid out, her face blank.
I insisted to look upon the cut; she outright refused, her face turning red, then white with anguish. Chizuru's panic went way beyond that of child in the emergency room, I eventually relented, and handed over the pot of tea so that she could wash the blood away from her arm. She insisted on dressing it by herself, and I allowed her some privacy to do so.
While she shuffled in her torn kimono, huddled like a scared animal, I found myself enthralled by the sight of my elvish sword, resting upon a rack at the back of the room. My whole being brightened, and I fell upon my knees, hands eagerly finding the leather of the scabbard. At last!
Beside it, Tristan's bow was stowed, neatly tucked upon the tatami mat. I sighed in relief. They are in good hands, Saitō had said when I had asked upon my weapons. Safely resting in the Vice Commander's room. To his credit, the Demon had taken good care of both sword and bow. Given his rigid stance upon the care of one's swords, I even doubted he had laid a single finger over it.
Yes, the man had a temper to rival that of a firestorm, and real communication issues. But he was a warrior, and respected weapons. I could bow to that.
"I'm done," Chizuru said. I discarded the bloody rags in a pile on the engawa, and pointed to the futon.
"Then lay down."
"Where will you sleep?" she asked, nibbling on her lower lip.
"I'll be against the door, just in case," I told her, taking my rightful place on the right side of the shōji. Chizuru gasped; she had not expected me to play the guardians. But those were Hijikata's orders, and if I wanted to deserve my place, and my weapons, I would follow them to the letter.
"You don't have to…"
"You need rest, Chizuru, for that wound to heal."
"Sumimasen. Er, I mean, arigato for…"
"If you want to thank me, I have questions for you."
Her brown eyes rounded like a set of flying saucers, and I knew she was too tired to fight my will. So I pried, and pried, and asked the right questions. She told me about her father, and the Ochimizu – the elixir of life – that had caused Sanan to become a Ratsetsu.
Chizuru shook under the cover, the story of her father's involvement painful. She feared I might judge her harshly. I reassured her at once; learning that zombiness wasn't a contagious disease neither a curse was a good point. The experiment, though, left me pretty dubitative. Especially since those guys had nearly killed me on the day of my arrival. If Sanan-san was willing, I might have a few contingency suggestions to make. Damage management would do good to the Shinsengumi to contain the mess, and prevent innocent deaths.
When Chizuru started to slumber, I allowed my head to rest upon a wooden beam. What had I become, allowing those potentially lethal monsters to live? When did I get so cynical? When did I stop seeing the world black and white, accepting the unacceptable?
Most of all, why was the Keeper of Time called here?
So, a bit of action. I liked that moment either way, even though I found the next chapter more interesting to write. Stay tuned !