"Yield!", I yelled at the top of my lungs, capturing some attention amongst the chaos. "Yield, or face my wrath!"
To care and protect.
Some of the men flinched. Others fled. Good. I charged in that tiny opening created by Harada's troops, blade aimed high in a move so reminiscent of Hijikata's hiratsuki that I felt his spirit cheering me on. Then, everything dissolved into cries, pain and death. I fought like a madwoman, filling the blade with light as I cut a path open for Shinpachi's men to retreat.
My control didn't last long enough; fear was consuming me, and I was too weak to call happiness forth in the midst of all this pain. Both mine and the one I was dealing took a heavy toll. Too heavy. Or perhaps my magical potential was depleted already. Who knew? Without missing a beat, I unsheathed the wakizashi and started anew that familiar dance with death.
Fortunately, my intervention had disorganised the troops that blocked Shinpachi's path. With both my efforts, and his company's, we hacked the men to pieces. Except for a few, most weren't skilled swordsmen. Unfortunately, I was now facing one of those. While I had got used to gaining victory in two or three moves, at worst, that one kept pushing me back. I was getting sloppy, my blows less precise, arms weaker than usual. The samurai took advantage of it and tapped my blade aside. He would have impaled me if my wakizashi had not crossed right in time, pushing him back.
Muscle memory. Thank you, Saitō.
The man had the gall to smile, dark eyes gleaming with anticipation.
On a normal day, I would have beaten him. But I was dead tired. He attacked again, and I deflected, only to block a second attack coming at my legs. I allowed his blade to pass, the wakizashi preventing it from digging into my calves as I twirled … only to nearly impale myself on another's sword. My right arm came up at once, the elvish blade deviating the blow at the latest second.
A grunt of pain came from behind me, and the first samurai fell down, his sword still aimed at my head. Behind him stood Shinpachi, a weary grin upon his face.
"Come on!" he said, "We're charging out."
Damn, that was close.
I nodded, panting heavily; my chest was on fire by now; I didn't know how long I would last before collapsing. So I followed Shinpachi's lead. His bulk alone provided cover; doubled with his superior skill and stamina, the second captain led us out of the bridge. Harada's unit – mine – had lost many men trying to keep that impossible position, and they surrounded us at once.
"Retreat!" he bellowed.
The flow of soldiers pushed us forward. I noticed blearily that the sun was dipping already, harsh rays turning orange. How long had this battle lasted?
As we ran up cobblestones, I felt my legs give way altogether. I would have kissed the ground harshly had Shinpachi's hand not reached for me.
"Just a little longer, Kitsu," he said.
Dozens of feet pounded upon the ground, but the SatChō remained down the bridge we had failed at securing. My blood boiled with dishonour. Damn them and their superior guns! What could swords do against such an arsenal? Even my elvish blade was no match for their artillery ! The noise of pounding cannons told me Saitō had also failed at taking them out of commission. Or perhaps they'd brought in new ones?
Could any of those cannons be ours?
We were now out of rifle range, and the captains allowed for a slight pause. Shinpachi didn't sheathe his sword. My vision was slightly blurred, and my arms so heavy that I had trouble flicking the blood away before returning the blades to their respective scabbards.
I felt Shinpachi's strong arm slide under my shoulder. A sharp pain at my back told me a massive bruise had formed, and I leaned into him for support. That damn magistrate office had never felt so far away, each step a torture. Sanosuke and his men guarded our backs once more. Most faces were weary, and I feared to notice whose were missing.
My head lowered as shock settled in my stomach. Our men laid upon dirt streets and cobblestones, never to be buried properly. The toll of war.
My knees buckled once more, and I cursed against that damn bone weariness. Was it the magic of the blade eating away my energy like this? Damnit. My hair was sticking to my face, from the sweat and drying blood. The cleaning session wouldn't be too fun either, and I hoped Hijikata wouldn't throw a fit.
Is he even alive ?
I chased that horrible thought away when I felt my stomach knot, focusing on the injuries that littered my skin. A few bruises, a huge one in the back, and minor slashes except for that pain that pulsed in my temple. After all, it could be much, much worse. After such a battle, I was lucky enough; some of our men were carried by their peers. Yet, I was happy to see that most were still functional. Well … most of the remaining ones.
Shimada led the units upwards. I was too scared to count, but out of three units of twenty-five men it seemed at least seventy percent had made it back. Or so. My head hurt too much to count.
"Kitsu, how bad is this?"
Harada's voice shook me out of my musings as he narrowed his eyes at the cut that marred my temple. Truth be told, Toshizō's hachigane had probably saved me from much worse.
"Not as bad as it probably looks. Stings like bitch though."
Shinpachi's voice, too loud, as usual, retorted with amusement. "You should wax your hair, Kitsu, like those samurai that have a topknot. It would keep them out of the way."
I could only surmise the tight braid had released many strands during the battle. I shook my head with a chuckle; the movement sent a sharp pain by my cheek and I winced. Talking about hair, really? Those guys were unbelievable.
"Aaaw," Harada chuckled. "But she wouldn't have the curls anymore."
I squinted: "Call me cute, and I'll have your head."
Harada laughed. "I can pierce you all the way down to 1869 before you can unsheathe your wakizashi. Especially now that you're as energetic as a dry octopus."
With his naginata … yeah. I had to admit defeat. I was dead on feet.
Fucking war.
Our return in the common room stirred quite the emotional commotion. "Tadaima !", Shinpachi chimed, using the Japanese 'I'm home' to announce our arrival. Given the disbelief I read on Saitō's face – a feat! – they had given up on us.
I almost wept when I caught Hijikata's stunned gaze; he was alive. And from the looks of it, mightily relieved to see us. For a moment, I allowed my hazy mind to drown in the swirling depths of his eyes. Were his hands shaking ? I took a good look at him, shoulders squared proudly but exhaustion plain on his face. Aside from a bandage upon his hand, he seemed unharmed. My heart lurched in my chest and I swiped the room. Saitō and Inoue-san were here too. But where was Kondō? Dread coiled in my stomach as I watched the dejected faces around the room.
"Hey!" Shinpachi exclaimed. "We're not ghosts, we got feet." The joke fell flat as he offered his arm to lower me to a cushion. I sighed in relief. Damn, I wanted to curl into a ball and sleep. As soon as I titled my head aside, several gasps rose in the room.
"Kitsu-san," Inoue addressed me. "We should see to that wound."
I heard Hijikata's sharp intake of breath, but quelled his protests at once. Something urgent was nagging at my insides. "Where's Kondō-san?"
"Wounded in our assault." My breath caught as Hijikata's face closed off; I couldn't get a sound out. "How bad?" Harada asked, his calm voice doing wonders to my twisting stomach.
"Just a stab to the shoulder. He'll be evacuating to Ōsaka with all the wounded we can move in the morning."
I sagged in relief, and allowed Shinpachi to report. Neither Saitō nor Hijikata had been successful in their endeavours. I almost felt better that our failure was shared, but it left us in a bad posture.
"The bridge cannot be held," Shinpachi said. "It almost killed mine and Sōji's entire unit. If Kitsu had not been there to slice clean through their rifles, I doubt there would be more than a handful of survivors."
I acknowledged his praise with a nod, and allowed the lull of voices to fill my mind. The Yūgekitai – namely, Iba Hachirō's comrades – were regrouping somewhere named Takasewaga, and the Shinsengumi were wondering whether to join them. Eventually, it was decided to await for dawn to decide, since Sanan and the Rasetsu corps would attempt to dislodge the cannons that pounded upon the Magistrate office during the night. Residing here, in the heart of Kyotō gave us an advantage.
"Perhaps we could light a decoy?" I mused, remembering how Jack Aubrey – captain extraordinaire of the Surprise – had pulled the deception to keep the Acheron wasting their bullets upon a slightly deviated target.
"Que penses-tu ? (What do you have in mind?)", Harada asked.
"A quoi tu penses," I corrected automatically. Then added, "Light up lanterns in a secluded part where no one stays, and extinguish those around our sleeping and healing quarters to make it seem the gardens. This way, if they keep firing during the night, we have fewer chances of being buried."
"That could actually work," Inoue-san mused with a smile. "What do you think, Hijikata-san?"
The Vice Commander frowned, and I saw the signs of fatigue that indicated a headache was forming behind his eyes. My hands ached to massage it away, but the same dull ache was overtaking my own skull.
"Let's do it. If they are stupid enough to waste their bullets, I'd rather not take them square in the face."
"I'll see to it, Fukuchō," Shimada offered.
Was that man ever tired? The meeting was dismissed. As people filed away, probably hoping to wash the grime from their faces and catch something to eat, I slumped on my cushion. The faces of people I'd killed filled my mind, and I couldn't take away the smell of blood and gore.
I vaguely heard Inoue and Hijikata discuss one last thing before the sixth captain left the room. Dazedly, I realised Inoue-san had been a steady figure since the very beginning of this adventure, from the day he's taken care of me to now. I hoped he would be alright.
That stupid wound was done stinging; now, it just pounded. A set of familiar grey hakamas landed in my field of vision, blood splattered over the fabric like a macabre painting. Then, a worried frown as a gentle hand lifted my chin. I winced as it pulled on the torn skin.
"Come, Kitsu, we'll ask Yamazaki to care for it."
His voice was nearly even. Nearly. If I had not known Toshizō so well, I would have missed the emotion coiled in the usual rumble. I shook my head gently; poor Yamazaki was probably flooded with dire wounds. Antiseptic and steri-strips would do the trick well enough. Or so I hoped. Thank God for tetanus shots !
"Warm water and alcohol should suffice. I've got strips to replace stitches."
Another worried frown greeted that statement, but I was surprised that no protest left the Vice Commander's lips when he stood.
"Stay put," he ordered.
I almost obeyed, dragging myself to the more solid wall of the room to lay my aching spine against it. It felt so good that I exhaled … and fell asleep at once.