Patrols with Harada were smooth. The man wasn't too chatty, and knew how to listen. His golden eyes returned to me every so often, checking on me to ensure both my safety, and that of his men. Once he was satisfied I wouldn't pull up a prank, or desert altogether, he allowed me a little leeway. The rooftiles of many of their building were pretty sturdy, and I started working as scout from the top. Nothing relaxed me more than to dominate a scene.
Sneaky like a cat, all dressed in black with that Sarmatian bow slung over my back, I became a shadow. At the first sight of trouble, I could aim and shoot at anyone that tried to attack my patrol – yes, they were mine to protect now ! - from the rear. My classical routine and the exertion of those nights were slowly getting me back in excellent shape, and I thrived in that new role. Now, I could witness the lanterns of the shops, the lights of the red district, and the pale glow of the moon reflecting in the river that crossed the city.
As days got warmer, more people found their way in the street. The sun still set early due to the latitude, but the icy winds had given way to moist and a soft breeze. Kyōto was a beautiful sight, even at night when the shops were closed. I drank every single bit of it. Surveilling the lone people who left inns late, watching for conversations that exposed them as extremists of the Chōshū clans. Once, I even thought I saw Saitō with a set of men of his own. He only spared me a glance, I ignored if he had spotted me.
That man was such a puzzle, I had little chance to see him again. Yet, something nagged me at the back of my mind, telling me not to give up. After all, the left-handed swordsman was one of the first man I'd stumbled upon. This usually meant something. For the moment, though, Saitō served Itō-sod, and we had no contacts whatsoever. My duty rested with Harada and the tenth unit.
The rare bad encounters were dealt with swiftly. The captain's spear was masterfully wielded, albeit with mercy. I so scarcely unsheathed my sword for fear of killing people; my fists and dagger worked well enough on unassuming Ronins. But the rare katana wielders found someone to talk to. So far, we had taken most people in custody. Soon, the rumour spread that a Kitsune worked with the Shinsengumi, preventing bloodbaths. Had Sanan had a hand in spreading the rumour, or was it just the result of my numerous patrols ? I had no idea… but the whispers the men received in daily patrols turned less irked, and more respectful.
Good. I had found some kind of purpose.
This night, Hijikata singled us out. He wanted us to retrieve Kondō-san from an inn, even though we were not on patrol duty.
"Just the two of us, Fukuchō ?", Harada asked, visibly surprised.
Hijikata nodded. "Yes, it will seem less obvious. Who would think twice of a man and a woman wandering the streets ?"
My mouth formed an 'O' as I realised what he wanted. Sure, Harada was attractive, and well behaved, and one hell of a good warrior. But I didn't feel at ease with this kind of deception. The commander's eyes fell upon me, and I swallowed my protest; I had sworn to obey. Obey I would.
"They are cautious now", he added. "They wouldn't attack with a contingent. And Yamazaki is already watching over him. You both know how little Kondō-san cares for protection."
I rolled my eyes; yes, the Captain was horrible this way. He never cared to take men whenever he went for a drink, and it worried both the Vice Commander and I. The Shinsengumi's fame attracted enemies.
"Has Yamazaki reported an issue ?", I asked.
Hijikata's eyes got lost in the horizon, the setting sun painting shadows on his flawless face.
"No. It's just a hunch".
Harada didn't protest; neither did I. A warrior's hunch should always be heeded. We both bowed, and left to prepare. As Chizuru helped me into a restrictive dark kimono that came out of nowhere, I mused about our orders. Hijikata knew to whom he confided this mission tonight. Kondō's kindness called for unwavering loyalty; I would protect him with my life. And thus, we took off this very evening with an easy goal in mind, and a different set of clothes.
There was no place for the bow, but my sword was expertly hidden along my back below a light Haori vest. Hair pinned high into something that ressembled a traditional coiffure, I walked beside Harada, head down, a blush upon my cheeks. My generous forms had been bandaged, and the darkness dulled the peculiar colour of my hair; I just looked like a plump Japanese lady. The night was stifling with all those layers, summer was nearly upon us, now. I cursed the Juban and kimono that prevented me from walking properly.
How could women live like this ? Corsets had nothing to envy to Obi. Chizuru had tied mine so tightly it was a wonder I was still breathing. My poor breasts… ugh.
"Don't scowl, it is unbecoming", Harada chuckled by my side.
"Who cares", I responded with humour. "No one sees my face in the dark."
We kept to the deserted alleyways; my features were far too recognisable as a foreigner. Strangely, Harada was the most inconspicuous of us two. The man grinned, adjusting a grey kimono he adorned for the evening. Mischief danced in his golden eyes as he lifted his eyebrows playfully.
"I do. You look better when you smile."
The blush that crept on my cheek wasn't fake, and I hid my face in my too long sleeve.
"And, you, sir, know how to talk to ladies."
"Happy wife, happy life."
Stunned, I gaped at the man, as if I was seeing him for the first time.
"You're married !"
"Hai. You look surprised. I thought you knew."
Surprised ? No, Harada was a decent fellow. But marriage, in those troubled times wasn't the easiest of routes to take. Especially when you were part of the Shinsengumi. I couldn't blame all those men for wanting to unwind a bit, but I had supposed they would have lovers, not wives. Apart from Kondō whose family resided in Edo, I thought them all unattached. Harada's golden eyes were fixed upon my face, and I couldn't resist a bit of teasing.
"It makes sense, the best ones are always taken".
Just like parking spaces. This time, I was satisfied to see him blush. He sheepishly ruffled the back of his own skull in a gesture so boyish that my grin grew. Sure enough, he looked good enough to eat… but I wasn't interested.
"Well, er."
Oi, the captain was downright embarrassed now. So I reached for his forearm before I realised that gesture was very inappropriate. What would his wife say to another woman touching him. Still, I tried to drag him out of the hole he'd dug for himself.
"I understand Shinpachi's sourness when women fawn over you if you're already married."
Harada sighed; his teammate had turned downright annoying since Heisuke's departure. As if the disappointment of loosing his comrade to the enemy was transformed into a searing need for woman's company.
"He tries too much."
"He doesn't respect women", I retorted, my voice steely. "That's just it. We flee that kind of guys."
As a woman, I never approached men who broadcasted their needs so blatantly. I wasn't born to satisfy them, and a little self-control never hurt in a relationship. It didn't help Shinpachi that my past lovers were larger than life. Somehow, there was no comparison possible; he was but a child. Harada, on the other hand, displayed this quiet confidence that put me at ease.
"What about you, Kitsu ?"
Yeah, what about me ? Should we speak about my first love, an elven prince ? Or my husband, a spy for his majesty in the Napoleonic war, who had probably died 30 or so years ago ? Or perhaps, of that man who had died in my arms, on a battlefield, leaving his most precious possession – his Sarmatian bow - in my care ? I didn't even know where I stood towards Tristan's memory. I rubbed my forehead with a silky sleeve.
"Legends are not easy to live with", I stated truthfully. "It's nice to forget about the mess of my love life once in a while."
That statement effectively silenced my companion. Albeit I knew Harada to be a good and respectful fellow, explaining about time travel, clones and past husbands acquired alongside missions wasn't on my todo list. For the moment, the Keeper of time wasn't even a concept. And I intended to keep it that way. The Kitsune persona was easier to withhold.
The silence escorted us gently, neither uncomfortable nor disagreeable, until we spotted the man we had been tasked to retrieve. His voice, strong and assured, carried in the street as he shared a cup of sake on the engawa of a beautiful house. Its lantern flooded the cobbles, but kept him in the shadows, hidden from the street by massive trees. Yet, I could clearly discern the woman that knelt by his side, her hand tucked safely in his grasp.
Harada extended his hand before me, stopping us a few yards away from Kondō and his… lover ? I scowled, thinking of the numerous times he'd told me about his wife. Hell, I had even been privy to the letters she sent him, writing some pieces back to her whenever he missed time do so himself. That family that awaited his safe return in Edo, betrayed by the man they trusted in ?
Melancholy flooded my chest, and I dropped my gaze from the two lovers; I felt like an intruder. Instead, I searched for Yamazaki. To no avail; the ninja was too safely hidden to be spotted. Good.
Why did I feel so skittish ? Why, when arranged marriages outnumbered, by far, love matches ? Who was I to judge ? Me, who had kissed a knight when betrothed to an elf ? Me, whose heart treacherously got attached without asking for permission ? I was a fucking damn hypocrite for judging Kondō. If his heart yearned for another's company, it was none of my business. I was here to protect him, nothing more, nothing less.
Harada led me to a hidden door encased in the stone fence of the house. Why did my eyes sting ? Blinking the tears away, I found myself face to face with Kondō himself. The man wasn't as oblivious as I thought if he had spotted us. Good.
"Kitsu-san", he said, his expression sheepish. Funny, he'd never used that name before.
"You done ?" I asked, my tone icy.
The Captain's shoulders sagged slightly, but his face gave nothing away as he nodded.
"Let's get you back to headquarters, Kyokuchō", Harada stated. We started trailing up the street in the night, the captain of the tenth division lecturing Kondō – gently – about going on his own without an escort. The older man tutted slightly as I followed, slightly to his left.
"Toshi is a worrier. I am sorry you lost that evening of freedom to babysit me."
Teeth clenched, my eyes kept roaming the surroundings in hopes of catching Yamazaki. Hijikata, a worrier ? For sure, but it had kept all of them alive for years. Tristan never let his guard down; it has saved the knights countless times.
When a droplet graced my face, I almost started. The permanent moist hung in the air so thickly that I had not expected rain. Yet, a downpour of huge, fat drops started drenching us. Great. As the curtain of falling water thickened, Kondō turned to me with a frown.
"You don't have an umbrella, Kitsu ?"
"Nope."
He started grumbling about his friend's lack of thoughtfulness, sending a woman in the rain and such. I cut of his ramblings with a quick reminder.
"I'm not sugar, I don't melt. Do not worry."
How could mere clothes cause him to mistake my role ? I was a guardian, not a companion. We patrolled at night, rain or not, several times a week. I climbed on rooftops, and beat thugs to a pulp every second day. Put a kimono on my frame, and I suddenly became a lady ?
I snorted in amusement. Men. Fortunately, most of the captains weren't fooled by women's clothes, but Kondō-san was special, in his way. It also caused a blind spot in his vision; the disability to see the worst in people. The exact contrary of Hijikata. Speaking of which… Was it the Vice Commander himself, running to us on the soaked tiles ?
His long hair flew behind him, sending droplets of rain flying in his wake as he literally skidded down the street. Was it the inhuman speed that got him the Oni nickname, or the scowl upon his face that promised bloody murder ?
"Toshi ?", Kondō exclaimed, stunned by his sudden – and dishevelled - appearance.
"Double back, we must loose them !", he yelled.
Who ? Loose who ?, I thought. But no one asked, and we followed as Hijikata darted down a set of narrow streets. Running with those sandals was pretty horrid, but I was glad I had insisted to keep the standard waraji rather than put on the more delicate platforms. I'd be dead, by now, without those sturdy cord sandals. Yamazaki popped in front of us, a shadow sliding from dark spots to hiding place, showing us the way. For a moment, the only noise was my heavy breathing, and the steady echo of running feet that covered the rain.
Kondō checked on me twice; running in that constrictive garment was less than comfortable, but I stretched it to its limit to be able to keep up. Hakamas weren't too convenient for speed racing either; I surmised this was why Hijikata tucked them into gaiters. We ended up in a larger alley that I recognised; the compound was just a few streets away. The downpour was weakening, and I hopped around cobblestones to avoid puddles. My legs ached, but not as much as my lungs. Constricted under the obi, they were screaming bloody murder.
Thank the Valar for my extensive military training, else I'd be puking my guts on Kondō's tabi socks. Head and face soaked with sweat and water alike, I squinted to find Yamazaki's shadow in front of us. When everyone stopped, I eventually spotted the ninja. He faced a set of men armed with both katana and wakisashi. Ronins.
Five of us, against nine. It could have been a fair game, if not for the people they faced. Hijikata yelled at them in his most impressive voice, causing them to wince; there would be no stragglers, no mercy, and probably no prisoners. Oh, he was pissed, our impressive Demon Commander ! I found myself smirking in anticipation. How those guys didn't tremble in their waraji astounded me; from a lone man, they now faced four… and a woman. No doubt I'd be dubbed an easy target, so I prepared myself for combat. Soaked feet – check. Elvish sword – check. Fucking swaddle around my legs… check. Pulling out my dagger, I ripped the kimono open along both legs, wincing as it sliced into the beautiful fabric.
Sorry, silky cloth, your life or mine.
Harada barely spared me a glance, unsheathing his own sword in tune with both Kondō and Hijikata. I cocked my head aside, taking in the strange sight; I'd never seen Harada with a sword. But the captain's spear still laid in his room; it didn't fit with the disguise of a respectable man who took his wife on an evening stroll. I nearly snorted as the Ronins closed in upon our Vice Commander. With my ripped kimono, I doubted I looked the respectable lady anymore. But at least, I could move.
The ronins charged, all at once and Kondō pushed me back. "Stay behind me !", he commanded.
"Like hell I will !", I yelled, jumping in the fray. Then, I unleashed the fully power of my blade as the assault began. The frustration of the day turned into rage, and I attacked like a Kitsune on a killing rampage. It was a dance; my blade led the way, calling to my blood. Duck, duck, stab, duck, slice, elbow, another slice. I twirled and turned around my attackers at full speed, always moving, catching them off balance. And my faithful sword followed the movement, biting in their skin without mercy. Ignoring the screams of agony, I danced, and danced, covering the battlefield with light feet.
The others became part of the stage, partners to my choregraphy. Luckily, all of them were recognisable to a fault; I knew where they were, fighting their own battle. A black blurr passed behind me – Yamazaki – once. I crossed paths with both Harada and Kondō as well, but paid them no heed other than the area of safety they created by my side. The warrior in me kept moving, diving and slicing, hunting any threat.
When my waraji skidded on the floor, I stumbled harshly to my knees. Pain shot up my leg and I swore – in French. "Chier !" The combs that kept my hair in place flew, releasing in it its usual ringlets. Three tails. The Kitsune was free ! Before I could even stand, a sword flew in my direction, aiming at a swift impale. Propelled on one hand, I twisted around like a cat and escaped his line of attack with a roundoff. My partially bare legs tasted the dampness of the night. The man paused, surprised by the either the display, or the fact that his prey – a woman ! - was evading with a gymnastic move. I took advantage of his surprise; my blade tasted his bones. I pulled it away with a twist.
A body fell, but I was onto another attacker already. My leg jerked off to break his kneecap, the ronin crumpled with a cry. Danger ! I rolled away, barely avoiding another blade who missed my face by inches. Pushing my hands into the slippery ground, I jumped to my feet and lifted my blade to meet his. The man never got to arm his katana, he fell with a thud, revealing the shadow of a tall man sporting a fierce scowl.
Fair game. I would have gotten him anyway.
Silence descended on the scene; the battle was over. Panting, I watched the Oni Commander whose shoulders swayed with his own heavy breathing. His eyes, though, didn't falter; they were as dark and commanding as the blood splattered over his traditional purple hakamashita. In this moment, as his hair stuck to his face, determined gaze partially hidden in the shadows, I realised why people called him an Oni. Dark wings – an angel of death – wouldn't have surprised me; it would fit his form beautifully. He eyed me with as much surprise as I studied him.
None, in the Shinsengumi, had seen me fight with the elvish blade. I had heard, from my former husband, that it defied logic. The bond I shared with the sword enhanced my reflexes, sometimes causing me to move in spite of good sense. Or perhaps I just looked absolutely miserable with my hair askew, and kimono splattered with mud and blood.
At last, Hijikata straightened, and nodded.
"Good job, Kitsu. You too, Harada."
His words were short, shoulders still heaving. I fared no better with those horrible breasts binding. Both he and I flicked our swords to remove the blood off the blade, the charm broken. When I found my breath again, I addressed him a bow.
"Nice hunch, Fukuchō."
Hijikata blinked, as if he wasn't used to being praised. Then he turned away and that was it. We left the bodies in the street, exposed for all to see. I idly wondered who would clean them, or give them a burial. I certainly hoped they wouldn't rot away or be thrown in the river.
I sighed, welcoming the rain to wash away the blood from my face. Its coppery smell filled my nostrils, causing my stomach to clench uneasily. The past was always harsh to a modern woman. The only thing that kept me sane was years of military training.
Kondō's arm was suddenly at my side, his smile unsure as he handed me the comb that Chizuru had placed in my hair.
"I believe this is yours."
I eyed the beautiful adornment carefully, checking for any damage. Somehow, that simple reminder of beauty caused my eyes to midst.
"Unfortunately, not, it's Chizuru. But she'll be glad to have it back in one piece."
I took the proffered comb, surprised to find my hand covered by the larger one of the Captain. I lifted my gaze to Kondō, finding his hair splattered around his face, and a spot of blood at the corner of his jaw. I'd seem him fighting out of the corner of my eyes; even though he preferred diplomacy, the man was skilled. Those men would have found someone to talk to, even if he'd been alone. Yet, I was glad for Fuchukō's hunch. Kondō would have died, and Yamazaki with him.
"You are an incredible fighter, Kitsu. Forgive me for underestimating you."
Too bad I wasn't in any frame of mind to take a compliment, albeit I stored it in a corner of my mind.
"Story of my life...", I snapped. "But you'd be dead without someone's worrying".
Taken aback, Kondō shared a startled look with Hijikata. And thus, we took off in the deserted street, all of us surrounding our Captain. I eyed Harada by my side, checking for any injuries. He was spotless, and I wondered how he'd managed such a feat.
"I've never seen someone fight like that", he mused.
"Like what ?", I asked, wondering what he meant. True, my style was pretty different from theirs, but it came from learning with so many different people. It must seem pretty inconsistent from the outside.
"It's like a spirit dance."
Not what I was expecting… The image brought a smile to my lips. That Kitsu nickname really suited me well.
"The blade helps a lot."
"A sword never kills on its own."
What was meant as rightful praise sent me in an abyss of self-loathing. I had just killed humans. Two of them, if not three. It wasn't the first time but I always felt like it ripped a piece of my soul.
"No, it never does", I sighed.
I had just been defending myself, right ? When we reached the entrance of the coumpound, I found myself dreaming for a hot bath. The rain had ceased, at last, leaving behind volutes of moist in the darkness. Both Hijikata and Yamazaki had stopped in the courtyard for a quick report. The ninja threw me a speculative glance. I guess that, soaked to the core, and legs exposed by the ripped kimono, I must have looked a fright. Or a strange amazon. Or whatever mystic creature they had in Japan. Yet, I doubted a Kitsune could look like a drowned rat.
"My kingdom for a bath", I exclaimed, wondering if they would allow me to the captain's bathhouse on my own. Harada sent me an amused look.
"You shouldn't. You look all funny like that."
"Uh ?"
"You've got curls, like everywhere."
I then realised that the rain must have soaked me through, and I was having a bad case of curling hair. And given it's propension to fall in ringlets, the smaller strands around my nape must have curled to death. One quick look at his, and the long – flawless - ponytail of Hijikata a few feet away nearly got me jealous.
"Of course, you all with your hair straight as justice wouldn't have this, uh ?"
Harada laughed at my discomfiture.
"It's cute", he protested. "It's not often we see curly hair here."
Right. Gaijin. I was used to being different. I'd always been dubbed strange anyway, even in school, due to my peculiar mind and inner sense of right and wrong. Being five years old with thousand years old principles, and a tendency to predict future events had singled me out by default.
Then, it was my experience as the Keeper of Time. People called me haughty; I just had trouble relating to my counterparts whose marks in school and love life constituted their main interest. I didn't judge them; this is what their life was made of. But when you travelled through time, killed people, and barely survived wars that threatened to wipe humanity, your priorities tended to change. I'd become aloof, scarred, and had a tendency for melancholy.
Dead men haunted my steps, long lost cultures infused my habits, my dreams propelled me with King Arthur's knights, or in middle earth. I knew some of my reflexes were post-traumatic stress disorder. But what could I do, uh ? After all those life-threatening adventures, after loosing people I held dear, after failing at saving them, watching them die in my arms, how could I relate to the modern preoccupations ?
But this simple reflexion – curly hair is cute - was another level altogether. I'd never been so foreign that I couldn't even set a foot outside for fear of being assaulted. I wasn't too sure how I felt about that, so I just walked away, calling over my shoulder.
"Don't call me cute, I'll tell your wife."
Harada only shrugged, calling back to me on the engawa.
"She will like you."
Happy new year !