Chapter 1 : Vision from the Past
---August
1865, Kyoto - Kanto Festival
The annual
Lantern festival was in full swing. The streets were strung with hundreds of
glowing paper lanterns, lighting the night with brilliance. People thronged the
streets, couples strolled through stands selling snacks and toys. Children ran
shrieking with wild abandon, crowding around stands offering games, pulling
their parents to join the gatherings
around street performers doing their wonders.
A thick crowd
was lined along the streets - the main attraction was parading its way down the
main roads of inner Kyoto. Festival participants balanced bamboo poles hung
with tiers of lantern of different shapes and heights, sweating with exertion
but grinning at all the enthusiastic clappings and gasps from the spectators.
The lantern arrangements were a wonder of balance and creativity, the light
they cast almost turning the night into day. Festive music drifted to the
streets from the larger restaurants here and there. Those with more money were
inside enjoying the fine food and finer entertainment.
It was hard
to believe that Kyoto was in the middle of civil war. The specter of death that
lately hang constantly around the capital city of Japan was banished for today,
the uncertainties and worries for the future set aside in this night of
celebration. The people of Kyoto had had enough of death, and the night was
still young. If the shadow of the reaper still lurked just beyond the circles
of illumination, if the inevitable would still return tomorrow to claim their
dues - then it only made the celebrations today all the livelier, the laughter
louder and more boisterous. For today, the people of Kyoto celebrated their
living.
***
The small
ramen eatery was packed full with people, the rougher and poorer sort. Two
overworked waiters dashed in a near run along small spaces left between the
all-male patrons. The air was noisy with shouts for more sake, more food, and
faster service.
The curtains
at the entrance was swept up again as another customer came in, a slight young
man with a high, reddish ponytail. He hesitated at the entrance, perhaps
reconsidering his choice of eating place. The youth’s left cheek was covered by
a white dressing, the rest of his finely delicate features too pale and too
thin - as if he was just recovering from an illness. There was weariness in the
way he stood and the worn, stark black tunic he wore added to his haggard
appearance. The set of daisho at his waist attracted a few looks, but not many.
In these increasingly turbulent time, even young men barely into their
adulthood were given swords to carry.
"Irasshaimase,"
the nearest harried waiter greeted the newcomer. "Douzo, please take a
seat, we’ll be with you shortly." With that, he scurried back to attend to
a more than slightly drunk crowd near the kitchen.
Looking around
again, the young samurai sighed and wound his way through the tight passage
between tables and bodies to find an empty seat. He found one near a corner,
the other seats occupied by three older men. He politely excused himself and
sat in the remaining place. The three men continued their heated conversation,
ignoring him. That suited him just
fine. He snagged a waiter that passed close-by, ordered a beef ramen and green
tea, and settled himself against the wall.
"Of
course the ‘Silver Springs’ is the best in all of Kyoto," one of the men
was exclaiming enthusiastically, "Who could possibly rival the ‘Crimson
Blossom’ Komagata Yumi? Ooh, I would have paid my whole year salary to be
accompanied by her for just one night !"
His
companions laughed coarsely at his fervent words. "Yes, but would she want
to service an oaf like you ?" one of them mocked the speaker with a grin,
"She’s very picky, that one. If she doesn’t like you, then she won’t even
bat an eye-lid at you, no matter how much you pay her."
His other
companion chortled gleefully, "Heh, heh, so true. And how much can you pay anyway ? There were so many men
after her, officials, samurais, rich merchants’ sons, she has so many to pick
from. Why would she pick you loser ?"
The first
speaker went red in the face, aided by the not inconsiderable sake he had
downed, "So what if I’m not rich ? Not some damn stuck-up samurai ? I
heard she got secret lovers that she bedded without pay. If she likes them
enough, she’ll even pay for their expenses..."
The young
samurai tuned down the various loud conversations in the room into a muted
roar. Hugging his katana against his right shoulder, he let his weary body
relaxed slightly against the wall. The sleepless nights and rigorous activities
were taking a heavy toll on him, and he wanted nothing more than to curl up in
a safe place and get some sleep.
But that was
the catch, a "safe place". There were precious few of those left, and
after being surprised in two places guaranteed by his fellow Ishin Shishi as
safe, he was starting to doubt that there were any secure hiding places left.
His knuckles
tightened momentarily on the hilt of his katana as he thought of the traitor
that had spilled so many of their secrets to the government. So many of his
fellow revolutionaries died during the surprise attacks launched by the
Shinsengumi. He had barely been able to protect Katsura-san and the others, and
escorted them to safety during twice of those attacks. The first time he had
escaped unharmed, his skill carving a way out for his leaders. But the second
time, he was not so lucky.
Unconsciously,
he rubbed against his bandaged right side. Burning pain punished his meddling,
forcing him to surreptitiously bit down against the pain. The second time they
had been ambushed, it had been the First Troop of the Shinsengumi, and he had
come face-to-face with the famous
Captain of the First Troop - the smiling, soft-spoken Okita Souji. The young
captain had deliberately sought him out and engaged him in a single duel to
free his men to attack the rest of the Ishin Shishi.
Okita Souji
had been as good as his reputation, perhaps even better. Normally, he would
have been able to at least fight him to a draw, but his first duty was to
protect his leaders. He had sacrificed his left side, taking a deep three-inch
sword wound to break away from the duel and back to the side of Ishin Shishi
members. They were lucky the sky had chosen to dump a heavy rainstorm on them
right then. Visibility was reduced to practically nothing and he managed to
guard his charges until they could loose themselves among the woods. Not
everyone had made it.
Strange that
he had lived with the traitor for so long without suspecting a thing. Strange
to realize how naive he was then, despite everything he had seen and done.
Because of him they had lost so many good people, the movement forced to take a
step back to rebuild their forces. Because of him, he had lost...
...her...
A wave of
weariness swept over him, dousing the simmering anger. The bone-deep fatigue
that he could not seem to shake off ever since that winter. Was it really only eight months ago? When I
was truly happy, for the first time in so long... I wanted nothing more...
He looked up
with haunted eyes at the opposite wall of the small eatery. Why did I come back here? , he thought
tiredly. Out of all the restaurants in
Kyoto, why here? As if to answer his unspoken question, an image came to
his mind - a slender, delicate figure sitting quietly beside a table opposite
him, her long raven hair falling down to cover her face. He did not need her to
raise her head to know her face.
He stared at
her blankly, a mirage, is that all I
want? Just to see her ghost for a while. He closed his eyes, and when he
opened them again, the table opposite was occupied by a group of rough
dock-workers, laughing and drinking sake. He lowered his eyes to the floor. It’s alright; even a mirage... is alright.
His train of
thought was interrupted by a hurried, "Douzo," as the bowl of ramen
and tea he had ordered was placed in front of him. "Arigatou," he
murmured but the waiter had already bustled off. He sipped his hot soup slowly.
It burned a trail of warmth down his throat, warming his cold limbs. The air was
balmy, but he still felt a bit chilled.
It was
probably foolhardy for him to volunteer for this current mission in his
condition. But it was a very dangerous mission, almost suicidal even. With his
skills, he might be able to accomplish it and return alive. Others might not
have that chance. When the mission had came up, he had volunteered without
hesitation, understanding the importance - no, the desperation behind it. The
ambushes and loss of safe houses from vital information leakage had hit them
badly, and the Ishin Shishi needed this mission to succeed. Or the Shinsengumi
would simply continue to tear them to death piece by piece.
Besides, if
anyone was to die so others could live, who better than the killer who had the
blood of hundreds on his hands. It would be fitting. It would even be justice.
A sudden bang
in front of him jolted him from his thoughts, his body reflexively tensing. He
forced himself to relax when he saw it was one of his table-mates who had bang
the table to make his point. It was the half-drunken one, his face now flushed
with more than just sake.
"That’s
my point! Who the hell do they think they are? Setting fires all over Kyoto,
what if the fire spread to other areas?! Damn those Ishin Shishi, it’s not
their city that’s going to get burned to the ground! " Apparently,
somewhere along the way, the conversation had turned into more serious things.
*The
burnings*. His hands tightened around the bowl he was holding, but outwardly he
remained impassive.
The drunken
man’s more sober companions tried to shush him, nervously glancing around the
room. Heads had started to turn,
attracted by the loud noise.
"Not so
loud, Fuji," one of them hissed, "They’re just burning the gaijins’
houses. It’s none of our business."
The man
called Fuji did not heed the advice, raising his voice even louder and slurring
slightly, "It’s always us ordinary people who got it worst. How many times
did the Ishin Shishi clash with the Shinsengumi? These days, you can’t even
walk on the street without being afraid that you’ll run into a fight and get
killed! By both sides! Things weren’t so bad before those roshis moved in here, they’re troublemakers, all of them!"
From a table
near the entrance, a big burly man who had had quite a lot to drink himself
shouted angrily, "What did you say?! It’s spineless cowards like you that
made the gaijins step all over us. I say let those dogs burn, good
riddance!" The man’s friends muttered their assents, glowering darkly at
the three men. A tense quiet was falling over the small restaurant, the other
patrons wary of a possible fight.
"Ah,
hah, hah," the older of Fuji’s friend laughed nervously and tried to
appease the big man, "Please, don’t mind my friend, he just had a bit too
much to drink. He didn’t mean anything by it."
"Humph,"
the burly man snorted, "You’re lucky I’m feeling generous today. A free
piece of advice for you, you go on talking like that, you’re not going to live
very long."
"Ah,
yes, yes. Thank you for your warning." The older man heaved a sigh of
relief as the other man ignored him, going back to his own conversation. He
slapped Fuji over the head none too gently, "You idiot! Are you trying to
get us killed? You never know who’s government people and who’s Ishin Shishi,
best to just keep your mouth shut." He shot a quick glance at the young
man sharing their table, but the latter ignored them, quietly sipping his tea.
The scare
seemed to have sobered the other man somewhat. "Sorry," he muttered
softly, a hint of bitterness still in his voice.
The third man
coughed and tried to switch the topic of conversation. "Say, have you two
heard of Shinsengumi’s big fight against Ishin Shishi two days ago?"
His sober
friend snorted, "Yes, about fifteen times. Heh, everybody’s been talking
about that. But I heard they bite the dirt again, like last time. Didn’t manage
to collar the big ones."
"But I
heard that Captain Okita Souji got into a duel with Hitokiri Battousai. And I
heard he nailed that demon good."
That bit of
news seemed to cheer up Fuji, "Really?" he boggled at his friend,
"Now that’s one piece of good news. And not a moment too soon, I tell you.
Should have killed him since the beginning, then we wouldn’t have had to bury
so many people."
None of them
noticed the pain that flickered briefly in the samurai’s eyes, before
disappearing once again behind the expressionless mask.
"Eh, I’m
not so sure," the second speaker snorted. "How many times did the
rumors said somebody has finally killed the Battousai? And every time he
re-appeared again happily chopping people up. I wouldn’t be convinced until I
saw his head displayed in the public square. It’s not so easy to kill a shadow
assassin like him."
"But
Captain Okita Souji could do it," the third man argued. "And if not
him, there is still Captain Saitoh of Shinsengumi Third Troop."
"Hmm,"
the other man rubbed his chin thoughtfully, "Yes, if anyone could, Captain
Saitoh Hajime could kill Hitokiri Battousai." He grinned, "I would
have love to see that match."
"Hah,"
Fuji slapped him hard across the back, "you’d probably end up a smear on
the dirt in no time at all."
The other man
sputtered in outrage but the samurai was no longer listening. He finished the
ramen that he barely tasted and got up from his table. Leaving a few coins on
the table, he replaced his daisho against his waist and traced his way back
outside.
At least,
that was his intention.
The same man
that had shouted down his table-mates earlier started up from his table in an
unsteady lurch, maybe intending to harass the waiter or to relieve himself.
Unfortunately, he was nowhere near sober enough to stand on his own. He ended
up lurching straight towards the youth heading for the exit.
In no mood
for such foolishness, the samurai simply stepped aside and let the drunkard
fell on the floor. But the man’s flailing arms snagged the nearby table and he
landed on top of the neighboring table. Crashes and shouted curses filled the
air as the man pulled the table down along with him, and the ramen bowls and
sake bottles on top of him. His friends sprang to their feet while the previous
hosts on the fallen table snarled obscenities and wiped ramen soup from their
hands and clothes.
The samurai
calmly picked a free path and continued towards the exit.
"WAIT,
kisama!!" the enraged bellow from the floor stopped him. Turning around,
he saw the fallen man struggling to get on his feet. He was drenched all over
with soup, sake, and tea. Strings of noodles and the odd few seaweed tangled
with his hair. It was a ludicrous sight, and some of the patrons started
sniggering. The man’s face grew impossibly redder, and his eyes spat fire at
his target, the slight youth in front of him.
"SHUT
UP!!" he thundered angrily at the crowd, then turned towards the samurai.
"What the HELL d’ you think you’re doing?"
The object of
his ire merely looked at him blandly and replied calmly, "I didn’t do
anything."
But the man
was not going to be reasonable. He was drunk, he was humiliated, and he had a
ready target in front of him who looked like an easy victim. His gaze drifted
to the set of daisho on the other’s waist and sneered contemptuously,
"You’re a samurai? What did you do to get those? Kiss some ass? Go back
home to your mama, boy." With that he hooted with laughter, his drinking
companions immediately joining him.
The samurai’s
eyes narrowed as he assessed the rowdy crowd coldly. Only the man in front of
him had a katana. The others carried short knives, but none of them looked
sober enough to use them properly. From their earlier words, they seemed to
have no love for the government, but their attitude disgust him. Drunkards and
bullies, he hoped they were only a local gang and not actually part of Ishin
Shishi, but that was by no means certain.
He was
planning to attract some attention, but not from his own side, and not the
attention of petty thugs like these. He had a mission to accomplish. With that,
the cold emptiness enveloped him again, the anger and disgust dissipating like
smoke. Without a word, he turned around to walk out of the exit.
Seeing the
youth turning his back on him, the drunk man sneered and spit on the floor.
"Don’t walk away when I’m talking to you. " With that, he lunged
towards the young man, fully intending to lift him by the scruff of his neck.
The next
thing he knew, he was lying on his back on the pavement outside the small
eatery, his rump smarting from the rough landing. Blinking some of the stupor
out of his eyes, he saw the young samurai standing in front of him, one hand
resting loosely on the hilt of his katana, his dark eyes looking down on him
with cold disdain. It was that disdain that made him snap. His vision turned
red and he forgot to question just how a small youth had managed to threw him
on his ass without him even realizing it.
"WHAT
ARE YOU MORONS WAITING FOR?! GET HIM!!"
With a rather
discordant roar, the rest of the gang piled out of the door and flung
themselves at the samurai.
The young man
nimbly leapt away from the clumsy attacks. At the last moment, his right feet
shot out and tripped the lead attacker. The man immediately fell face-first to
the ground, and tripped two more of his friends on the way down.
"SOORREAARHH!!"
the remaining screamed and charged towards the samurai with their short blades
unsheathed.
On seeing the
naked blades, a hard glint came into the young man’s eyes. Instead of withdrawing, he suddenly surged
forward to practically within inches of touching the two men. Before they could
withdraw the now hopelessly extended blades, the red-headed samurai had brought
his wakizashi up in one smooth arc, still sheathed. It cracked against the
nearer man’s jaw with sickening force, the deceptively elegant move strong
enough to break the man’s jaw. He went limp and began to fall to the ground.
The other man
used the precious second to leap back out of reach. Gleefully noting his
opponent’s apparent mistake, he swung his blade towards the youth’s wide-open
left side. A swift blur was the only
warning he had before the sheathed blade of the katana followed the
circular path of the wakizashi and crashed into the side of his neck. He was
out before he landed on top of his friend, both of them crashing to the ground
almost in the same instant.
Less than
five seconds had passed.
By this time,
the other three gang members had finished picking themselves up from the
ground. But the fall, and the sight of their friends being beaten so easily,
had knocked some sense into them. They stood there nervously clutching their
weapons, none of them eager to go first. Meanwhile, a sizeable crowd had
gathered around the altercation on the street, people drawn in from other parts
of the crowded street.
The samurai
calmly replaced his daisho against his belt, his right hand hovering over the
hilt of the katana, right foot forward and body slightly crouched. Even to
those without formal sword-training, the formal stance for battou-jutsu was
easily recognizable.
The gang
members’ faces were acquiring a distinct greenish cast, and they looked as if
they desperately wished they were anywhere else but there. That fact did not
escape the samurai’s sharp gaze.
"I don’t
want to kill you," he said in a cold voice, the sudden words making his
opponents jumped. "Leave, and I won’t pursue this. Continue this
foolishness, and next time, it will not be the saya that hit you."
His opponents
looked at each other nervously, but before they could say anything, their
leader shoved his way forward with an angry roar, "What kind of
good-for-nothing cowards are you people? Afraid of just one brat barely out of
the cradle?! Idiots!!"
He planted
his foot firmly a few feet before the samurai and crouched down in the
identical stance of a battou-jutsu, his left hand gripping the sheath of his
katana tightly. The samurai observed him with cold eyes. The leader at least
seemed to have some proper sword-training, and the adrenaline seemed to have
sobered him up.
"Come
on, samurai," he grated angrily, twisting the last word into a curse.
"KURRAAEEE...!!"
With that shout, he grounded his left feet firmly on the ground and leapt
forward, pulling his katana out of the sheath with twice the speed of a normal
sword slash. But to his opponent, it was simply too slow.
The samurai
uttered no battle cries. His eyes blazed with a sudden cold light and faster
than his audience could see, he sprang forward on his right feet. His katana
transcribed a perfect smooth curve ending precisely before the hilt of his
opponent’s weapon, barely half out of its sheath.
A loud ring
of metal against metal jarred the air. The force of the blow, aided by the
incredible speed of the draw wrenched the katana out of its owner’s hand. It
slammed into the wooden support structure at the eatery’s awning where it
continued to tremble from the residual force.
For a moment,
an eerie quiet fell across the crowded street. Then, as if a bubble had burst,
the cheering and clapping started. But the two main participants simply stood
silently regarding each other. The older man’s face was a study of mixed
emotions - stunned disbelief, anger, and reluctant fear mixed with something
akin to awe.
When the rest
of his gang members approached him, he wordlessly turned around and left the
clearing, ignoring his katana that was still stuck to the awning. After
shouldering their two unconscious members, with many wary glances at the
samurai, the rest of the gang took off after their leader, their previous
bravado and belligerence gone without a trace.
The young
samurai re-sheathed his katana, and staring at all the audience, gave a small
shake of his head, tiredness warring with disbelief at the surreal situation.
He saw the owner of the restaurant, a portly middle-aged man, standing near the
door. He counted out some coins and pressed them against the man’s hands.
Meeting the owner’s startled gaze, he quietly said, "I’m sorry for the
trouble. I hope this is enough to cover any damages." With that, he turned
around to leave the place.
"Wait,"
the owner suddenly called out. He turned his head to see the man coming towards
him, smiling widely, "I remember you, you often came here a few months
back, didn’t you?" He laughed loudly, slapping the young man hard across
the back, making him stagger a little, "Yes, and the last time there were
a bunch of good-for-nothings asking for a fight, too. Harassing that pretty
young lady, wasn’t it?"
He chattered
on, not seeing the samurai’s face turning pale. "Did you see her? She left
just after you did, in a hurry too! I thought for sure that she was going to go
and thank you for your help. So, did you see her?"
The samurai
raised his head weakly to meet the boisterous owner’s grinning face, and softly
replied, "No."
The man
frowned, "Ah, too bad I suppose," then he brightened again,
dismissing the answer, "You’re welcome to come to my place anytime, young
man. It was rare nowadays to see such good young people. Too many people simply
don’t care about what’s right, and what with the Shinsengumi and Ishin Shishi
clashing all the time, us ordinary people need all the help we can get."
"Thank
you," the young man murmured, his eyes lowered. "I’m sorry, but I
need to go now."
The owner
blinked, "Ah, yes, yes. Go quickly before you were caught for disturbing
public peace. Although we could all testify that you’re only helping to
preserve public peace. Ah, hah, hah!"
The samurai
hurriedly left the circle of people surrounding him and disappeared into a side
alley. Without anything else to watch, the crowd began to disperse, some still
talking about the fight they had just seen. But one person did not go back to
the revelries. He left the area with quickening footsteps, as if on a pressing
business.
***
The night was
silent once again, the celebration having come to an end hours ago. Even the
most foolhardy of drinkers had already seek their beds, or the nearest
convenient resting place. The only sound was the occasional banging of the
nightwatch, marking the time.
A silent
shadow flitted through the rooftops of Kyoto, a male figure covered from face
to toes in black. He reached his destination and crouched down on the tile roof
of a small inn. Slowly, he lifted a few of the tiles, careful not to make the
smallest noise. With barely more than a whisper of rustling fabric, he dropped
down the hole he had made into the dark corridor in the building’s upper floor.
The intruder
went on silent feet to the room at the end of the corridor and stopped in front
of the sliding door. Reaching inside his waistband, he came up with a thin reed
tube. Carefully, he pierced the tube through the paper covering of the door,
pressed his mouth against the tube, and blew softly. On the opposite side, a
silent puff of white smoke came up from the tube mouth, quickly dispersing into
the air.
After waiting
for a few moments, to make sure the sleeping powder had taken effect, he slowly
slid the door noiselessly aside, and step warily into the room. He could see a
lump nestled under the blanket on the futon in the corner. Quietly, he slid a
dagger out of the sheath in his waist, and moved closer to the futon.
The faintest
rustling behind him was the sole indication that something was terribly amiss.
But before he could turn around, a cold steel edge was pressed against his
throat.
"It is a
bit too late for a friendly visit, isn’t it?" a soft voice murmured behind
him. A slight pressure on the blade pressed him to move further into the room.
The door slid shut with a whisper. The intruder was beginning to sweat.
"Who
sent you?" No answer. "Very well, I can guess the answer anyway. Tell
Captain Okita Souji of the Shinsengumi First Troop," the blade pressed
harder against the throat, "meet me tomorrow same time as now, at the
clearing near White Fox Shrine west outside of Kyoto. We’ll continue our
‘unfinished business’ there."
Swallowing
against the sharp steel, the newly-drafted messenger quietly asked, "And
who should I say the message came from?"
The small
room was silent for a moment - then,
"Hitokiri
Battousai."
With that,
the cold pressure against its neck was lifted. The black-clad man turned around
and scrutinized the red-haired samurai standing behind him in his black tunic,
his unsheathed katana on his right hand. A large cross scar could be seen on
the young man’s left cheek. Wordlessly, he passed the samurai and disappeared
down the dark corridor.
Himura
Battousai slowly sheathed his katana, his eyes glinting colder than the steel
blade in his hand.
"So it
begins ... Okita Souji."
***
Notes :
1.
This is kind of an introduction
chapter, explaining the recent past and the current circumstances, and setting
the stage for the next chapter.
2.
"Katsura-sama" is Katsura
Kogoro, Kenshin’s superior as shown in the manga.
3.
‘roshi’ is masterless samurai, a lot of
those during Bakumatsu. I got the impression that many of them join either
sides, Ishin Shishi and Bakufu (including Shinsengumi).