--- Outskirt
of Kyoto
There were
birds singing somewhere.
He lay still
for a long time listening to the soft sounds, listening to his own heavier breathing.
Gradually, he became aware of more things. The rough scratchy feel of straw
against his skin, the warmth of a cotton blanket covering him, a stale fishy
smell in the air.
His body felt
heavy, not his own. Opening his eyes took some effort. Dust motes floated in
the air above him, highlighted by soft golden rays of light that shone in from
cracks in the thatched roof above. The dust motes danced in an intricate play
of movement, stirred by gentle eddies of air too soft to be felt. His mouth felt
dry and parched.
Where am I?
Instinctively
he reached for his katana, beside his sword hand where he usually put it. His
fingers closed on empty space. Frantic fear rose up in him. His katana never
left his side, it was as much an extension of his body as his arms were.
Fingers searching frantically suddenly brushed against something solid, almost
out of reach, a cool smoothness very familiar to him. With a sigh of relief, he
clutched the sword into his hand.
Next, he
needed to find out where he was. Years of living on the edge as a hitokiri,
then as a guerilla fighter, had trained that reflex into his bones.
Pushing the
covering blanket aside, he tried to sit up and was alarmed by how weak he felt.
His arms trembled and could barely support his weight. Light-headedness and
dizziness assaulted his head, but he stubbornly continued to push himself up,
leaning to his left.
Immediately
his left arm buckled under the strain, half-dumping him back to the pallet. The
partially registered stiffness on his right side flared into hot pain. He
gasped and went absolutely still, teeth clenched tight. After a while, the
pulsing pain subsided into a bearable ache. But it had served to jolt his
memory back to what had happened.
The river. Kyosuke.
I’m alive.
There was a
strange twinge somewhere deep in his heart on realizing that, but he refused to
acknowledge it. He kept lying down for a while, catching his breath. He noticed
someone had replaced his blood-soaked
clothing with a clean yukata that fit loosely on his thin frame. Looking
around, he saw that he was inside a small wooden hut with a blanket spread over
a pile of straw for bed. There were only a few rough, clay-cooking implements,
bare in the extreme.
Once again he
tried to get up. Very carefully, he pushed himself up to his knees, favoring
his injured left arm. Moving slowly reduced the pain to a bearable level. Using
his katana as a crutch, he supported himself to his feet, leaning on the wall.
His head felt too heavy and his feet wobbled uncertainly, but they did not
collapse. Careful not to move too fast, he slowly crept along the wall towards
the closed wooden door. A push sent it open with a protesting creak.
Outside, the late
evening sun reflected brilliantly from the wide river surface, turning it a
glittering crimson and gold. The hut stood on the slope of the slightly raised
bank of the river, surrounded by tall grass. A well-worn path led to a small
rickety dock beside the river. A few narrow fishing boats dotted the placid
surface, a lone fisherman on each boat.
Kyosuke is probably in one of those boats.
The thought
was barely out of his mind when a voice hollered somewhere from the side.
“OY! OY,
HIMURA!”
A large man
was waving his hands vigorously on top of the small hill. When he saw he had
Kenshin’s attention, he started down towards the hut. Kenshin judged the
distance to the hut and decided to wait for the other man inside. On the
pallet. His head was starting to spin and the glare hurt his eyes. He walked
back at the same invalid pace as before, crushing his impatience firmly. Slow
was far better than flat on his face in the dirt.
When he
attempted to sit back down, his feet simply gave way and he sprawled rather
painfully on the straw. Cursing between gritted teeth, he pulled his limbs into
a semblance of dignity just as Kyosuke entered the hut.
Kyosuke’s
wide friendly face was scrunched up in a worried frown, “Hey, you’re not
supposed to be moving yet. The sensei who patched you up said you lost a lot of
blood, you need rest.”
Kenshin shook
his head, then stopped when it made the spinning worse. “I’m fine.” His voice
sounded rusty to his own ears. “How long was I out?”
Kyosuke knelt
beside him and lifted a cup of water sitting beside the pallet. “This is the
fourth day after I fished you out of the water.” Kyosuke grinned as he offered
Kenshin the water.
Kenshin’s
mind reeled. He stared at Kyosuke in shock, “FOUR DAYS?!” Then he sputtered as
Kyosuke insistently fed him the water. The cool water felt incredibly wonderful
to his parched mouth and he drank thirstily.
“You had one
hell of a fever. Your wound was infected, and you were soaked in that river
water. For a while there, we were really worried.” Kyosuke’s eyes were somber
as he scrutinized his friend. Kenshin tried not to fidget under the concerned
gaze, unaccustomed to such attention. Then the moody expression disappeared
from the big man’s face and he was smiling his usual bright smile.
“Don’t worry,
nothing happened. Well, not to us anyway. Kyoto was in chaos though - thanks to
you we got the list of Shinsengumi and some seifu spies. Now most of them are
dead or in hiding. Katsura-san said you’re to rest for two to three weeks
before you have to do anything. He said ‘good work’ to all of us.” Kyosuke
beamed at him.
Kenshin
hardly dared to believe their luck. “The mission was a complete success?”
Kyosuke froze
slightly, his eyes rising to the ceiling as he stammered, “Et-to...”
Sighing, Kenshin
resignedly said, “Tell me the whole thing Kyosuke. You’re a horrible liar
anyway.”
Kyosuke
scratched the back of his head sheepishly, “Maa, maa, Himura. I just didn’t
want to worry you. You always take things so seriously, I thought...”, seeing
Kenshin’s glare, he hurriedly added, “aah, I thought I’d tell you the whole
thing? Anyway, our part went off perfectly, but the one who was supposed to
break into the safe in the Shinsengumi’s headquarter was caught red-handed. By
the Third troop’s Captain, Saitou Hajime.”
Kenshin
looked up in surprise, “I thought he was supposed to be in Edo?”
“He came back
the day before.” Kyosuke hastily raised his hands to ward off Kenshin’s glower,
“Katsura-san thought it’s best not to distract you.”
“Anyway, our
man got the spy list, and a few other things, but he didn’t get it all. He did
burn all those documents before he escaped, so Katsura-san said those
Shinsengumi are probably still trying to sort things out now. He said we could
take advantage of that. It’s not our fault,” he added on seeing Kenshin’s
increasingly bleak face.
Kenshin said
nothing, his mind in dark turmoil. After
all that effort, we still didn’t get the most important things. It’s a good
thing we finally know who the spies in our midst are, but with those other
documents, we could do so much more. His fists clenched in bitter anger. How much is this all worth in the big
picture? If this is all that I can do when I put in all my efforts, how little
it all means in the end.
A hand
holding a rice ball appeared before him. He started, looking up into Kyosuke’s
warm brown eyes. “Eat some, you haven’t eaten in four days. We couldn’t get
anything into you.”
Kenshin eyed
the food, nausea rising in sickening wave in his stomach. “You eat it,” he
murmured, turning his head away, “I’m not hungry.”
He felt
sturdy palms on his shoulders, then Kyosuke was firmly turning him towards him.
Kenshin stiffened at the flesh contact and had to stifle his ingrained reaction
to push the hands away. He looked at Kyosuke’s earnest brown eyes, a frown
creasing his friend’s thick brows. After a moment, Kyosuke sighed and bowed his
head.
“I’m not
supposed to tell you this,” he muttered softly, but his eyes were smiling when
he looked back at Kenshin, “But I can see that you’re just going to be
miserable otherwise.”
Kenshin’s
eyes flashed, but Kyosuke spoke before he managed to open his mouth, “Our man
who got into the safe managed to get quite a few useful pieces of information.
Katsura-san said probably more than the Shinsengumi suspected. Among other
things...remember the rebellion near Biwa Lake? Well, we found out the schedule
and route of the next supply runs to the military suppressing it. He’s sending
a group of Shishis to intercept it, destroy it if necessary. There could be
something fishy in that run, since it made it into the top-secret documents.”
“So you see
Himura,” he grinned at him, “the mission’s not as bad a failure as you think.
And I’m just a simple fisherman, so Katsura-san won’t tell me anything. But I
think he was quite pleased, so there’s gotta be some nice stuff we’ve gotten
our hands on.” He pushed the rice ball into Kenshin’s hand. “Now, eat.”
Kenshin
stared at his gently smiling friend for a while, then at the food in his hand.
His stomach did not rebel quite as badly as before, so he took a tentative
bite. They ate their meal in silence. Later as Kyosuke bustled about tidying up
their meal, Kenshin cleared his throat and said in a soft voice, “Kyosuke...
arigatou.”
Kyosuke just
grinned at him. They both knew the thanks were for more than the food or his
rescue from the river.
“Himura, are
you tired?”
Kenshin
leaned back carefully against the hut’s side. “I’ve slept enough, I think,” he
replied dryly. “What is it?”
Kyosuke scratched
his head again, “Ano... if it’s not too much trouble...”
Kenshin broke
into a rare soft smile. “It’s alright. But I’m afraid you’ll have to help me
bring the paper and brush.”
The other man
scrambled hastily to his feet, wide smile on his face, “Of course, you just
stay there, Himura. I’ll prepare the ink for you.”
Kenshin
watched his friend with fond amusement as the big man hurriedly fetched all the
writing implements. He laid them all carefully on a low wooden box in front of
Kenshin, just high enough for a convenient writing position. Kenshin propped
his elbows on the box, thankful for Kyosuke’s thoughtful consideration, and
reached for the writing brush. “Alright, what do you want me to write then?”
Kyosuke
pursed his lips, brows drawn in fierce concentration, “Etto... the usual first
Himura. How are you tousan, kaasan, I’m fine, don’t worry. Tetsuya, Michiru,
Akari, are you all healthy? How’s tousan’s back, is kaasan still coughing in
the night, did you get the medicine I sent you...”
“Slow down,
Kyosuke,” Kenshin interrupted with some amusement, “I can’t write that fast.”
“Aaa, sumaan,
Himura !” Kyosuke apologized sheepishly, then he grinned at Kenshin rather
wistfully, “You’re so clever, Himura, you can read and write. I don’t know how,
only our village chief knows how to. If you haven’t helped me, I’d have had to
pay so much to those writers in Kyoto just for one letter.”
Kenshin
shrugged, careful not to smear the words, “Shishou taught me how to, he said
that he didn’t want to be embarrassed by a student who couldn’t even spell
‘Hiiten Mitsurugi Ryuu’.”
He let his
mind wander as he wrote down Kyosuke’s words. As usual, when thinking or
talking about his shishou, there was a dull, leaden pain in his heart. For the
hundredth time, he wished they had parted on better terms. If Hiko Seijurou did
not stop to save him that cold night eight years ago, he would be just another
nameless dead body. And he had taught him Hiiten Mitsurugi Ryuu - the best in
the art of killing. Had given him one skill that saved him from being a
powerless victim, one skill that he could use to make a difference to this
world. And yet...
It could not
be helped. They believed in different things, and Kenshin grudgingly admitted
both of them were stubborn to a fault. Neither of them would yield in their
belief in what was the right thing to do. He wondered though, knowing what he
did now, if he would have chosen the same path, given another chance. Kenshin
gave a mental shake to himself. There was no point in thinking of what
might-have-been. One could only go on the best they know how. But a nagging
whisper persisted at the back of his mind… no
matter the cost ?
Kyosuke was
finishing the letter in his usual way, “...and take care of yourselves, all of
you. I missed you all a lot.” He hesitated a bit, then added in a rush, the
words coming out in an uneven tone, “I love you all, remember that. No matter
what happens, I always will. So take care and be happy. Your big brother,
Kyosuke.”
Kenshin
looked up at Kyosuke somewhat in surprise, but the older man was looking down
at the floor. That addition was unusual, but if the man did not want to talk...
“Done,”
Kenshin said aloud to Kyosuke, carefully blowing on the thin paper to dry the
ink.
Kyosuke looked
up and beamed at him, “Domo arigatou, Himura,” Whatever strange mood had
prompted those last sentences was no longer present in his face. “I’d better
give this to Taro-kun now, he’s going to go back to our village tomorrow. He’ll
also help me take some of Kyoto’s sweets for Tetsuya, Mitchiru and Akari, I’m
sure they’ll love it! A bit more of those medicines for ‘kaasan, and some money
for ‘tousan. What, Himura?” Kenshin was shaking his head, smiling slightly at
him.
“You’re a
good man, Kyosuke. Any woman who gets to marry you will be very lucky.”
Kyosuke’s
face reddened and he laughed, slapping the back of his head, “What are saying,
Himura? I’m just a poor peasant, I’m not handsome like you, and I’m not smart
or good with a sword either. Women don’t give me second looks like they give
you, Himura.”
Kenshin shook
his head again, replying quietly, “Don’t sell yourself so short. In matters of
happiness, looks and skills don’t really amount to much. A dependable man with
good heart is better able to bring happiness to his family.” Something that I could not do.
“Hah,
arigatou-yo. Ara, Himura, are you tired?”
Kenshin had
leaned back against the wall, his eyes shut and brows drawn tight. His side was
starting to ache badly again, even though he really did not do much. His
muscles felt tired and heavy. “A bit.”
“Dame-yo,
Himura. Come on, I’ll help you lie down. You need rest.”
Kenshin did
not resist Kyosuke’s help. It troubled him how weak he felt and he wondered how
long before he could gain back his health. He rather suspected it would be some
time.
After he had
helped Kenshin get comfortable, Kyosuke said apologetically, “I’m sorry, I
tired you out Himura. I just... I thought it’s best to send my family a letter
before I go. Himura, I have to leave tonight for the mission.” Seeing Kenshin’s
questioning look, he continued, “Remember what I said about the shipment? I’ll
be ferrying our people down the river near the ambush point, maybe also join in
the attack itself. It’ll probably be three to four days before I can get back.”
Kenshin tried
to get up, his right hand instinctively reaching for his katana, “I should…”
“No,” Kyosuke
gently but firmly pushed Kenshin back down, “you are most definitely not
joining in. You’re too weak, you should know that. Don’t worry, we have enough
people to roll over the escort.” He grinned at Kenshin, “We might not have much
skill, but we have numbers. Besides, they don’t know we’re coming.”
“But I
can’t…”
“Yes, you
can. Katsura-san said you’re to take leave until you’re recovered. And that’s
an order. He knew you’d be like this, that’s why he told me not to tell you.
Please, don’t be stubborn this time, Himura. You really need to rest.”
Kenshin
reconsidered his condition. His first instinct was to go by his friend’s side.
An ambush on a military escort was chancy at best. If there was indeed
something important about this particular supply, odds were it would be heavily
guarded, and most probably with guns. That always left heavy casualties. He did
not want Kyosuke to be one of those. That possibility had obviously occurred to
Kyosuke, it explained that disturbingly worded letter.
So that’s why...in case he never comes back.
But he could not
protect him now. Kenshin was honest enough with himself to admit that he
probably would not be able to walk to the river without falling on his face,
let alone wielding a sword in a fight. He would just be a burden to the rest.
Once decided, he forced himself to relax on the pallet.
“That‘s
better,” Kyosuke grinned. “I’ve asked Mamoru-kun to bring some warm food for
you everyday, his wife’s a good cook. The physician is coming back in two days
time to check on you. Don’t move around too much or you’ll tear your wounds
again.”
Kenshin
forced a small smile, “Go. Stop worrying over me like a mother hen. I’ll be
fine.”
Kyosuke
laughed heartily, “Like a mother hen, am I? All right, all right, I won’t say
anything anymore. I swear, you are so much like him...”
Kenshin
blinked in surprise. “Who?”
Kyosuke’s
smiling face was shadowed with a hint of sadness. “Iya, nandemonai...” He
abruptly turned around, “I’ll see you in a few days. Jaa, Himura.”
“Kyosuke...”
The other man
paused beside the door, “Aa?”
“... take
care.”
Kyosuke’s
warm smile lit up his whole face. “Arigatou, Himura.” He stepped out of the
hut.
Kenshin
stared at the closed door for a while. He had wanted to say - Live. He sighed and tried to relax. But
despite his exhaustion and pain, his mind was racing around too much for him to
sleep. He could not push away the worry that something might happen to Kyosuke,
and he would not be there to help him. Even though he only knew Kyosuke for
less than a year, he was genuinely fond of the older man.
The first
time he had met Kyosuke was in one of the safe houses, after one of the
missions. Back in those days, Kyosuke seldom went on attacks. He worked in the
background, providing supplies and equipment for the assault teams, and
occasionally ferrying them on his fishing boat to wherever they needed to go.
He also prepared food, help dress injuries, and basically did all the household
chores for the others. He never minded doing things that many men scorn as
women’s work. He would simply laugh it off and say that he was used to helping
his ailing mother care for the household.
For whatever
reason of his own, ever since they met, Kyosuke had seemed to make it his
business to take care of the former hitokiri. And Kenshin had needed some
caring in those first few months after Tomoe’s death.
He
did not realize it at first, but there would always be some hot food left in
the kitchen on those days when he would return to his room straight after a
mission, skipping food. Kyosuke regularly knocked on the door of his room,
calling for him to come and eat. Cold rebuttals and stony silence were blithely
ignored, biting rejoinders to leave him alone would simply result in a tray of
food left in front of his door. On those days when he went off alone and returned
bone-tired from a demanding mission, medicine and bandages would be ready side
by side with hot food on the table. Through it all, Kyosuke asked for nothing
back from him and did not seem to expect anything either.
Kenshin was still
cautious about trusting anyone again after what happened with Idzuka. But after
a while, Kyosuke’s apparent good will and warm heart finally succeeded in
penetrating his considerable inner wall. He was not sure if he trusted Kyosuke
fully, but he was still one of very few people that Kenshin called a friend,
and he knew that he would not hesitate to fight to protect Kyosuke.
Although he
wondered how much that was worth.
The gods
seemed fond of playing cruel tricks on him; he was feared as one of the
deadliest man alive, and after he had changed to being a bodyguard he had done
a good job of protecting his fellow Ishin Shishi. But in all his life, he
always failed those whom he most wished to protect... starting from his
parents, Kasumi, Sakura, Akane.... and Tomoe.
Stop it, stop thinking like this again. It doesn’t
help, it never did, never will. Stop.
The heavy
mood was smothering him, but he was helpless to escape from it. In the silence
of the hut, there was nothing to disturb him, nothing to distract his thoughts
from trudging down the well-worn path in his mind.
Stop.
His hand
reached out and clamped around the cold hilt of his katana, pulling it in to
huddle against his side. There was a certain comfort that came with the familiar
presence of the sword. More and more, he found himself reluctant to part from
it. It was one of the many changes he had noticed in himself in recent months.
Subtle changes, but telling. Even if he did not want to know what they were
telling him.
The blanket
was warm enough, but he still found himself shivering. A familiar soft voice
murmured in his mind’s ears, an image of her calm face tilted up to him – can
you sleep without a katana by your side?
Once. One
night, when he rested with a pair of gentle arms encircling him, and for the
first time was able to forget what he was.
Do you have
anywhere that you belong to?
A savage
twist in his heart made him close his eyes tightly, his body unconsciously
half-curling against the rough bedding.
Not anymore.
Times like
this, he wondered if everybody that he cared for would be touched by this curse
of his, to die a violent death with him powerless to protect them. He
desperately hoped that was not true. Sometimes it felt so lonely...
He crushed
the thought away - it had been that way almost all his life, he had learned to
live with it. People did not stay. And in a time like this, death was too
common. He kept most people at a safe distance away, was it to prevent himself
from caring again? And from hurting when they die...
The only
person who had ever reached past the walls of his heart was Tomoe. She had
touched his soul, and for the first time in his life he was not alone. And he
had destroyed that most precious light with his own hands.
He wearily
drifted off into a fitful rest. A phrase he had heard once came back to haunt
him to his sleep - misfortunes dealt by
the gods can be absolved, but those brought about by one’s own hands are
unforgivable.
***
The next
day...
The late
afternoon sun beat down on the forested hills, cool mountain wind stirring up
the fallen autumn leaves. A trail of men and horse-drawn carts were making
their way down a deserted mountain road.
It was a
reasonably impressive entourage, around forty soldiers clad in leather armor,
half of them armed with western rifles. They surrounded the convoy of carts
loaded with sturdy boxes. Several officers rode on horseback at the front of
the line, setting a comfortable pace. They were well within schedule, there was
no need to hurry. The convoy was too big for any roaming bandits to try for
their precious cargo, and besides, they had been assured that none of the
rebels knew of their supply run.
He did not
know that carrier pigeons had been released two days ago to carry urgent
messages to him and several other entourages. He and his men were in between
communication posts, and they had no way of knowing the danger they were
walking into.
Their first
warning of trouble was when the ground burst under their feet in a succession
of powerful explosions, right in the middle of the convoy. Over half of the
carts tumbled into the air in broken pieces, wooden boxes crashing heavily to
the ground. Most of the carthorses and the soldiers standing nearby were killed
outright or heavily wounded. Panicked screams from men and beasts alike, and
confused shouts filled the air as the rest of the convoy scrambled frantically
away from the deadly ground. Some of the braver ones tried to help their
injured comrades, which only added to the chaotic tangle.
The officer
at the front screamed orders at his men, desperately trying to salvage the
disaster, knowing there was more coming. His shouts gurgled to a stop though as
a shaft of arrow pierced his neck. He fell off the horse clawing at his neck as
more arrows rained down on the soldiers from both sides of the mountain trail.
The distance was too close for leather armor to save the soldiers and another
ten men fell to the ground.
The first few
gun-shots cracked through the air as some soldiers lost their calm and started
shooting wildly towards the mountain sides. Almost all of them missed as the
ambushers ducked behind surrounding trees. Order would have completely
disintegrated if not for the second officer. Riding low on his horse, he kicked
and cursed his panicking men into order. He had half of the remaining men with
guns lined up and laying a suppressing fire towards the left side of the trail.
All the rest charged screaming to engage the opposite side, those with rifles
supporting their comrades from behind.
Their
attackers were crouched behind the tree line, a motley crowd of poorly dressed
men with no armor and mismatched weapons. As previously instructed, both sides
came down the trail to hit the convoy with a flanking move. Bows were thrown
down, replaced by axes, scythes, and spears as they rushed down to meet the
soldiers’ charge.
The battle
was engaged in earnest at last.
The first few
minutes cost the ambushers dearly as multiple shots rang out and men were hit
sprawling into the dirt. For a while, the last-ditch tactic worked, the line of
rifle-men shooting down attackers and slowing down the charge from the left.
The rest of the soldiers fought with the right flank attackers for all they
were worth. The only way for them to survive was to kill enough of this group
before the rest could attack them from behind. And yet, even though the
ambushers were inferior in equipment and skill, there were more of them. For
each man the soldiers killed two more took his place.
Then with a
roar, all of the left flank ambushers rushed towards the line of rifle-men,
ignoring the shots that whittled them down. At the forefront, a tall one-eyed
man led the charge as the ambushers crashed into the rifle-men, the katana in
his hands flashing red as he wielded it with lethal skill and ruthlessness. The
sheer momentum and brutality of the mass attack overwhelmed the soldiers and
the line crumbled. Order and discipline dissolved in the pitched, close-quarter battle, battle-fever and stark
survival instincts taking over. Again, superior number proved a decisive factor
and it did not take long before the soldiers were barreled over.
The main
force was still locked in a fierce melee when the left flank ambushers smashed
into them from behind. And the outcome was sealed.
***
Kyosuke swung
the spear in his hand in a powerful side blow. In the close quarters, the long
pole crashed into two men at once, Kyosuke’s incredible strength sweeping them
both to the ground. Two Ishin Shishi beside him rushed forward to engage them,
and he was about to follow when another soldier armed with a katana jumped in
their place.
The other
man’s eyes were wild with berserk rage and desperation, and he screamed as he
brought his sword down. Kyosuke blocked his overhead blow, the other’s crazed
strength making him grunt a little. He flexed his elbows and surged up,
throwing off the katana, then he thrust for the soldier’s stomach. The soldier
twisted aside and slashed for Kyosuke’s head. Frantically, Kyosuke raised his
spear straight up, blocking the blow. He had a frantic moment to pray that the
spear would not get cut in half, then the katana hit his weapon with a vicious
jar, biting half an inch into the wood.
He saw his
opening and as the soldier tried to pull off his weapon, he tilted the spear
and slammed its lower end up between the man’s legs. Not very honorable, but he
was no samurai. The soldier’s eyes bulged out, his mouth open in a soundless
exclamation, then Kyosuke smashed the side of his spear against the man’s neck.
A sickening crunch of bone signaled a crushed neck, and a man who had been
alive a fraction of a second ago fell limbless to the ground.
Before he
drew more than one ragged breath, a gun-shot cracked near enough for him to
jump. Whirling around, he saw behind him a group of men surrounding a soldier
in horse-back, an officer by the look of it. They were trying to pull him down,
but the obviously battle-trained horse was in a berserk rage, rearing wildly
and kicking anyone who tried to come near. The officer itself had a small gun
on his hand, trying to shoot his way through the mob.
“Get the
horse!” Someone was screaming above the commotion. “Get the damn horse!”
One of the men was clipped by a glancing kick from
the horse and fell with a cry, landing dangerously close to the stamping
hooves. Kyosuke recognized the man from a few dinners together. As the horse
reared above the man, he rushed forward without even thinking and slammed his
entire weight against the horse's side. The animal staggered under the force,
its hooves landing a bare foot away from the cowering man underneath. Kyosuke
took the chance to grab the horse's bridle, forcing it down. He panted as his
mucles strained against the bucking
horse, flinching as it snapped foam-lines teeth
inches from his shoulder. If he could only hold the animal still long enough...
Then he heard a soft click and found himself
looking up a barrel of a revolver, and the officer's cold eyes behind it. He
froze Death stared him right in the eyes, the black hole of the barrel
expanding out of proportion to engulf him...
Suddenly the
officer jerked forward as a blade tip emerged miraculously from his chest. The
gun fell from his hand as he reached vainly for his wound. The horse bucked
again, pulling Kyosuke off the ground and nearly wrenching his arms off their
sockets, and the officer was thrown to the ground. He lay limply on his side, a
wakizashi piercing him through from behind.
Kyosuke
scrambled away from the mad horse and dragged the other man with him. He
twisted around wildly for more threats, but all the ones standing near him were
Ishin Shishis.
“Kyosuke!”
He looked
around to see a man striding purposely in his direction. A lean man with a
distinctive vertical scar running across his blind left eye. The leader of this
mission.
Kyosuke had
to try twice before his throat could work enough to answer, “Kan… Kanzaki-san.”
The one-eyed
man came up beside the fallen officer and prodded him once to make sure he was
dead, then he turned towards Kyosuke.
“Nice of you to hold the horse still,” he
remarked drily, “but I wouldn’t call grabbing on to an angry war-horse a very
smart move, Kyosuke.”
Kyosuke could
only shake his head mutely, not trusting his voice. Kanzaki pulled the
wakizashi out of the officer’s and wiped the blade clean on the man’s trousers.
“But thanks for the help. This guy’s the second-in-command. Wouldn’t do to have
him running for help.” He glanced over at Kyosuke, “Relax, Kyo. It’s over.”
“E..eh?”
He realized
then that all the fighting was mostly finished, the forty something members of
the convoy already lying on the ground, dead or heavily wounded. The
surrounding area was littered with bodies, not all of them in soldier uniform.
It was only
then that he was aware of his frantic panting. Not out of breath, but rather
the frenzied adrenaline of battle. His heart felt ready to leap out of his
mouth. He leant on bended knees, half-hunched as he tried to steady his shaking
legs. Funny that they only started shaking now, now that it was all over.
How did Himura do this? Day after day.
That gun… he
felt the late reaction setting in, magnifying his trembling until it rattled
his whole body. He clamped down on it as much as he could, feeling Kanzaki’s
eyes on him. This was not the first time he had been shot at, but it was the
first time he had a gun pointed right at his nose. If Kanzaki had not thrown
that blade, he would have been dead now.
“Thanks,
Kanzaki-san,” he croaked out. “I mean… that gun…”
Kanzaki
slapped him on the back, “Don’t worry about it. When you feel better, come and
help me over there, eh?” He walked away, calling out to other men.
Kyosuke took
deep breaths and turned to find a patch of ground to sit on. His gaze fell on
the soldier he had killed earlier, the one dead with a crushed neck. The man’s
sightless eyes stared at nothing, already filmed with death.
Kyosuke hurriedly averted his eyes and
edged away from the dead man. Cold sweat beaded his face and he sank to a rest
leaning on a tree.
“Please don’t
haunt me later, alright?” he muttered up at the sky. “I didn’t really hate you
or anything, you know? I’ll burn some offering for you next time I go to the temple.
I know it’s not much, but…” He trailed off miserably, feeling the foolishness
of his words.
Would the
dead man hear him? Some of his friends would laugh him off for being
superstitious. Kyosuke did not know if he was being foolish, but burning those
offerings at the temple had not been completely because of fear of ghosts. It
was guilt.
Guilt that
the other man was dead and he was alive. And that he felt so relieved to be
alive, after he had killed another person.
What would
Himura think?
The thought
of the younger man made him remember their last sparring together. Not that it
had been a real spar, Himura simply went through a few simple forms with him.
The younger man had shown him the move he had used to kill the soldier. Hr
remembered laughing with embarrassment at that low move, but Himura had looked
at him with those eyes of his gone all still and cold, and told him - You’re not a samurai. You have a family back
home. The only thing you need to concern yourself with is to live. By any means
necessary.
Would the
former hitokiri think his guilt a foolish thing too? Kill, or be killed. Was
that not the rule that all kenkaku understand and embrace? Which means
that the younger man most probably *would* call him stupid.
Except that
he remembered Himura tossing in his delirium a few days ago, whispering
something about eyes. Did he see the eyes of the dead? Did they too haunt him
the way they haunt his dreams?
“Oy,
Kyosuke!”
He looked up,
startled out of his thoughts. “Hai!” One of his friends was beckoning for
him.
“Come on
over, we need your strength to move the boxes.”
“Alright.” As
he followed his friend towards the road, he noticed a few of the Shishis
checking all the downed soldiers. He heard a strangled sound from the side that
was abruptly cut off. Swallowing hard, he kept his eyes firmly fixed ahead, and
away from the torn bodies of men caught up in the buried ceramic explosives.
Half of the bodies lying too still were Ishin Shishi, men he had known. The hot
wind was thick with the stench of gunpowder, fresh-spilled blood, and
worse.
A few groups
of men were poking and prodding at the shattered supply boxes scattered on the
ground, trying to sort out the mess. Kanzaki was standing beside the largest of
the convoy boxes, one that had miraculously escaped the explosives unharmed. It
was the only one of its size, all the others were much smaller.
“…better be
worth it, after all of this,” one of the man was muttering sullenly. “We lost
nearly half our numbers on this ambush, Kanzaki.”
“Shut up,”
Kanzaki snapped succinctly, pulling at the wreckages. “Make yourself useful and
help me with this.”
Kyosuke edged
in to help, tossing away broken pieces of planks. Straws littered the ground
where the boxes had broken open.
Straws? The convoy
must had been moving armors or weapons then. Only those warrant protection like
this.
“Kanzaki-san!”
A group working on another box stumbled over to them, two of them cradling a
large piece of something in their hands. From the awkward way they move, it was
something heavy. “Take a look at this!”
Kyosuke
craned in his head curiously as Kanzaki uncovered the soft cloth tangled around
the thing. The cloth caught his attention, being thick and fine, too high a
quality to be used for covering goods. Then it fell away and Kyosuke stared
along with the rest of the men.
It was
obviously a weapon – but like nothing Kyosuke had ever seen before. It looked
like a cross between a small cannon and a gun, with a big barrel over two
meters in length. Two slender handles protruded from the end of it, serving no
obvious purpose that Ksyosuke could discern. Saw-dust and dirt slightly marred
the polish of brand-new metalwork, but it still gleamed with a muted sinister
sheen. He turned a questioning look at one of the men, who was looking a bit
pale. The man shot Kyosuke a look and said in a hushed voice, “Gatling gun.”
“Kami-sama...”
he whispered in awed shock and fear.
He had heard
the whispered second-hand tales of people who had come face-to-face with it and
barely lived to tell the tale. He had never heard of gatling guns in seifu
hands.
But there had
been rumors…
“How many of
these did you find?” He heard Kanzaki
asked the men roughly.
“Et-to… five
so far, but we haven’t checked all of them yet.”
Kanzaki ran a
hand down the smooth metal, his remaining eye dark with thought. Then he turned
and started pulling at the planks that made up the large box.
“Everybody,
help me with this.”
“But
Kanzaki-san, what about…”
“Will you
shut up and do as I say!”
Kyosuke was
the only one close enough to hear Kanzaki talking from gritted teeth as they
worked.
One of the plank
bent under Kyosuke’s hands, then splintered with a crack. From the gap, the
others were able to gain leverage, and soon one side of the box crashed down,
revealing the content.
Straw dust
filled the air and Kyosuke coughed from the lungful of dusty air. His watery
eyes could barely make out the large shape inside, something dark grey and
filling the entire box from end to end.
He heard a
sharp intake of breath from Kanzaki, and a few outright gasps from the others.
It had become very quiet all of a sudden. He blinked a few times and finally
saw what the others did.
Longer even than the gatling-gun, a muzzle wider
across than a man's width and more than half a meter across at the other end.
All made of dark steel of the highest quality as thick as his wrist. It sat
there cradled in the thick filings of straws, brooding and ominous in the
shadows. It had none of the smooth elegance of the gatling-gun, not even the
grace of a well-made rifle or revolver. It was a brute weapon made simply for
smashing destruction.
This weapon, Kyosuke had seen before. Once. On the
only glimpse he had had of an iron frigate, flying a red and blue flag. Lying
on the straw, it looked clumsy without its wheel support. But he remembered the
fire that had spat from its muzzle, and the devastation that had rained down
from it.
An Armstrong
Cannon.
He jumped as
Kanzaki kicked the broken box hard. Their leader was breathing hard, his eyes a
little wild.
“How in...?
This should be impossible... they promised... Those bastards!!”
They all
stared at Kanzaki a bit fearfully. One of the men asked timidly,
“K-Kanzaki-san?”
“Aa,” he bit
out, “Pack this all in and move them to the boats. Move quickly! We don’t want
to get caught by any reinforcements. And we sure don’t want them to get these
back, do we?”
“Hai!” All
the men scattered hastily to right overturned boxes, collecting the scattered
weapons from broken containers.
Gatling-gun.
Armstrong Cannon. Iron Frigate. The three ultimate weapons of war. Everybody
knew that Bakufu had tried everything to get them, but they had never
succeeded. The westerners were quite zealous about keeping this bit of
technology exclusive to themselves.
At least,
until now.
As he worked, he swallowed against the sick feeling
in his stomach. His insides were roiling like it usually did, just before
something bad would happen. The sky was bright and cloudless, but it felt like
a storm was coming. Unanswered questions piled up in his mind until he
felt like bursting.
Those weapons… why would they be here, in a secret
shipment to nowhere? Who had sold this to the government? How many more are
there?
And the most
important question of all, the question that turned his mouth dry -
Will seifu start to use these against us ?
***
Notes:
1. Japanese
terms:
Iya = no
nandemonai =
never mind / nothing
et-to = umm
/err, delaying phrase
seifu =
government, referring to the Shogunate here
kenkaku =
swordsman
2. Guns
(muskets and rifles) were already available to Japan since the 16th
century, and has been used in the army for almost as long. The early models are
single-shots, and not very reliable. But it’s quite common to see soldiers
equipped with rifles (thank you Serizawa Kamo-san!). Gatling guns and Armstrong
cannons were a different matter though ^_^. And steam ships were very difficult
to come by, although you could buy one or two from weapons merchants or black
market. Shanghai was one such black market. When Takasugi Shinsaku went to
Shanghai in 1862, he came back with a ship (obtained without permission from
Choshu leaders ^_^, a big stink was raised over it).