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Hajime and Tokio: Chapter 11 - A Land Where Nothing Grows

by Angrybee ::: 20.Oct.2003

Mishima Eiji drove his small pickaxe into the hard clay ground. Nothing would grow, he knew. Nothing had grown this year, nor the year before. Still, what else could be done? The ground had to be tilled, it had always been tilled, it would always be tilled. Nothing ever changed except to get worse and worse.

If only Eiichiro would return. He would know what to do. Maybe their family could leave. Maybe father could get work in Tokyo. No, no one really needed farmers in the middle of the big city, did they? But, surely there was something else. Surely there was a time when things weren't so bad. Eiji had trouble remembering, and that disturbed him even more. He had trouble remembering the time before Senkaku came to their town. Before....

"Looks like hard work, eh kid?"

Leaning on the handle of his hand plow, Eiji straightened his back and put his hand to his forehead to shield his eyes from the blazing afternoon light. His eyes traveled up the strange woman standing above him. Her hair, pulled to each side in two short outward swishes, bounced slightly as she took a step forward. Eiji squinted, taking in the woman's bizarre clothing with one sweeping gaze. She wore some foreign form of kimono, a deep bluegreen, with a yellow sash and dark purple obi. Thick twists of rope had been tied into a bow at her back.

And she had a giant scythe propped up over one shoulder, its pole wrapped in a thick metal chain.

"Who are you?" Eiji asked, the suspicion in his voice palpable, "You better get outta here. This village..."

"Is this Shingetsu village?" the woman asked, cutting Eiji off.

"Yeah. But..."

"Then this is where I am supposed to be. Don't worry about it, kid." The woman giggled slightly as she knelt beside Eiji, running her fingers through the infertile soil. "Nothing is going to grow in this, you know."

Eiji shifted his weight uncomfortably as his mind warned, 'I probably shouldn't be talking to this stranger. But, what should I do?'

"So?" Eiji said, shrugging his shoulders, "Its gotta be tilled anyway. Sometimes you gotta do things, even if you know nothing will come of it."

"Yeah. I know what you mean. That's what hope is all about, isn't it?" The woman sat down in the dirt, cross-legged, and placed her scythe across her lap. "I used to work on a farm just like this one, except way bigger, you know? Me and my ten older sisters."

"Ten? Cripes." Eiji exclaimed, as he looked around to see if anyone was watching.

"Yup. Ten. Such a long time ago." The woman sighed deeply and ran more of the freshly tilled dirt through her fingers. "There is nothing like plowing and planting. Watching something grow. Sometimes I think men enjoy it so much because they can't have children."

"Uh?" Eiji found himself completely confused but shrugged it off. "I guess so."

"Look, I tell you what, kid. How about I help you finish your work here, and you can act as my guide around the village?"

"I don't know about that, lady. I could get in trouble," Eiji said, fingering his garden tool with definite uncertainty. "Why are you here, anyway?"

"I'm here to see Shishio-san," she replied, a faraway look settling in her eyes.

"Oh." The cutting curtness of the single syllable wasn't lost on the woman who looked up from her task of molesting the dirt to smile at the boy.

"Eh, don't worry, kid. I'm not going to hurt you. I'll even throw in some money for you. That'll be good, huh? Get your ma some nice gloves or your dad some good working boots, right?"

"I guess. It's not like I can say no, anyway." Eiji said as he turned around, setting his sights on the rows left to be tilled. His father was off plowing the main fields, but this vegetable garden was his task. And, he would certainly hate to go home at the end of the day with so little of it done.

As the woman stood, she said, "Best keep outta my way, kid. I'll knock this field out lickity-split."

"Look lady, I have a name, you know. Its Eiji. Mishima Eiji."

"Well, good to meet you Eiji. I'm Kamatari. And I assure you, I'm no lady."

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Things had, seemingly, returned to normal for the Saitous. Seemingly. Every day, Hajime went to work early in the morning. Tokio and Naoya would leave for the market sometime after that, returning in the mid-afternoon to prepare for the next day. When he could, Okita would stop by and entertain the women with his delightful conversation. After Naoya left to return home to make dinner for her brother and mother, Okita would sometimes stay to dine with the Saitous.

They would often speak of their days in the Shinsengumi, of battles won and battles lost, the men who had died and the men who still survived. Although her husband said nothing on the matter, Tokio believed that it strengthened him to know that another, not too dissimilar from himself, had adapted to the new age.

Of course, one topic never came up during their conversations, not in front of Tokio, at least. The Hitokiri Battousai. Tokio found their deliberate avoidance of the subject disconcerting. Did they think her so frail as to not be able to stand to even hear the man's name?

And perhaps she was, indeed, weak. What strength had she ever been able to show her husband? Getting kidnapped by Ienobu, trying to poison herself, being unable to bear him children, fainting in the marketplace, failing to stop her husband from hurting Kozue and dueling Okita...these were not the traits of a woman of strength, a woman of courage.

No wonder her husband had hardly touched her in seven months.

'What did I expect? If I were him, I would be repulsed, too. He probably isn't even thinking of such things, anyway. I am far too selfish in craving his attentions. How did I become such a needy, clingy woman? I detest such women. I detest myself. I will not stoop so low as to be one of those sorts of women. No. I shall not.'

Nonetheless, to Tokio, the whole situation felt far too similar to the first time they had been married. Just as during that time, Hajime never shared her futon anymore, if he even slept, which was rare.

'I will not beg,' Tokio thought, resolutely pressing her lips together as she walked towards the market. She'd given Naoya a few days off to visit with some distant relatives that had come to town, and had decided in the meantime to use the time to catch up on housework and shopping. 'I will not beg, nor even otherwise outwardly intimate that I feel something is missing, that I know something has changed. Am I angry? Only with myself, perhaps. I know I will never come first in his life. Never. I have accepted this. I have -always- accepted this.'

Looking at her feet as she walked through the early autumn afternoon, Tokio's thoughts continued to assault her. 'This is the way of life. One can not expect to be happy. One should not wish to be made happy by others. Such thoughts are greedy and vile. For the happiness of one person most certainly diminishes the happiness of another.'

'I will say -nothing-. Nothing to my friends, and most certainly nothing to my husband.'

Before long, Tokio found herself at the door of the Akabeko. She stared up at the building's frame dumbly as other market goers shoved their way past. One man's shoulder barely brushed against Tokio's leaving in its wake a lingering scent of sage and cigarettes. Feeling her legs weaken at the hauntingly familiar aroma, Tokio bit the inside of her cheek to keep her mind from lingering on some wantonly frivolous desire.

Straightening herself, Tokio entered the Akabeko.

She needed something to make the needing go away.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Soujiro smiled. Soujiro smiled widely. And for good measure, Soujiro smiled just a little bit more.

"Ah! Kata!" the impish young man exclaimed, completing one set and moving on to another. Nothing, really, better to do while Shishio-san and Yumi-san were in the next room, taking in the hot springs of Shingetsu. His katana flashed in the haze filled bars of midday sunlight that streamed into the room from the open windows lining one wall. Tapping one foot on the ground, his small body disappeared from sight, only to coalesce on the other side of the room in a crouched position. Soujiro flicked his head upwards, bouncing his short brown bangs out of his face.

Across the room, in the doorway, a silhouetted figure clapped its hands. "Oh, Soujiro, that was wonderful. Breathtaking. If you weren't my adopted brother, I might just have to think some very naughty thoughts about you right now."

"Kamatari," Soujiro acknowledged as he stood, sheathing his katana. "Have you been waiting long? Shishio-san wasn't expecting you until tomorrow."

Kamatari stepped into the room, his scythe tucked into the crook of his arm. Two rectangular boxes of light illuminated the curves of his hips beneath the his long blue haori as he cooed, "When Shishio-san is involved, I just can't help but travel just a little bit faster."

Soujiro nodded in response, his ever-present smile not wavering for even an instant, as he crossed the empty room and knocked at the back door. "Shishio-san? Shishio-san? Kamatari is here to see you."

After a prolonged pause, the voice from within the room answered, "Ah. Give me ten minutes."

"Certainly, Shishio-san," Soujiro chirped in reply, turning back towards Kamatari. "Shall we spar to pass the time, Kama-nesan?"

"And meet Shishio-san all sweaty? No, no, Soujiro, I think I will pass." Instead, Kamatari reached into his obi and pulled out a small mirror, which he held up to the light and began to check his hair. Traveling could make one appear so disheveled. "How have things been, Soujiro? No trouble, I trust?"

"Usui has gone and disappeared again," Soujiro replied, plopping himself down by the door cheerfully. Taking his tanto and a small whetstone from inside his gi, the smiling Tenken began the elaborate process of sharpening the blade. "And Yumi..."

Kamatari hissed audibly at the mention of the name, "Nevermind. I don't want to hear about her. Things were so much better when it was just you, and I, and Shishio-san. Don't you agree, ototo?"

Soujiro leaned his head against the wall for a moment, closing his eyes while still grinning, giving him a look of creepily happy nostalgia. "Hai. Those were fun times. But, we shall have fun again, Kama-nesan. Shishio-san has promised."

"Mmmhm," Kamatari acknowledged in a lilting half-giggle.

Inside, beyond the doors, the able fingers of Yumi of the Night wrapped bandages around the burned skin of her lord and master, Shishio Makoto. As the steam from the baths misted around them, Yumi looked up from her kneeling position and said, "I just don't understand why you need that queer little man, my beloved."

"He has his talents," Shishio replied, red eyes liquidly turning to gaze down on the exposed nape bobbing slowly upwards as Yumi wrapped his midsection. Moving two burnt fingers to lift her chin, he continued, "Do you not trust that I have everything meticulously planned?"

"No, of course I trust you, Shishio-sama, it is Kamatari that I do not trust."

"I assure you, Kamatari is unable to betray my trust. Like Soujiro, he is my prodigy, and while his skills in battle do not match those of the Tenken, his desire to please me makes him formidable in any mission I might assign."

As Yumi finished wrapping the burnt man, she turned to gather his deep blue robes from a nearby bench. "Shall I stay?"

"No, go out the back and go to wait with Soujiro. I want Kamatari to see you as he leaves, not as he enters. If his last sight before leaving is your face, he'll be all the more motivated to accomplish his task."

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

"More sake, ma'am?"

Tokio looked up from the table. Where was she again? Ah yes, that Akabeko place. She found herself face to face with a skittish young woman, whose shy smile seemed as cruel as icicles plunged into Tokio's heart. 'Was I not so very young, once, myself? So fresh and unused by the world? Did I ever smile with such carefree eyes? No. I suppose not.'

"Yes, please," Tokio whispered, looking back down at the table. She rubbed the soft material of the end of her scarf absently, like a child might do to a favorite blanket. Sake. Yes. That blessed liquid which burned away pain. That forbidden vice which only barely surpassed in comfort what it cost in shame.

Bending forward to look at the dim reflection in the shallow sake cup, Tokio wondered if this is what her husband saw. A broken woman. A weak woman. No one of import. No one of consequence.

When had it all begun? Tokio closed her eyes and lifted the sake to her lips, drinking it quickly to avoid the strong taste. About seven months ago. Yes. A few days after they had visited Katsu's grave.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Tokio was practicing her calligraphy. "A lady should have lovely writing," her mother had always said, "A woman's calligraphy can tell so much about who she is, be she mysterious or playful, charismatic or joyful." But, Tokio generally found her own writing to be particularly bland. 'It looks like nothing. Not perfectly precise like Hajime's, not artistic and stunning like Okita's, not atrociously haphazard like Naoya's. Just...lifeless.'

It was a project she would occasionally pick up from time to time, and then give up again out of disgust or boredom. But, since she'd been slowly teaching Naoya to read and write, Tokio had gotten the idea to set herself to the task once again.

Her husband had been sitting nearby, next to an open shoji, reading a newspaper and smoking. He'd occasionally grunt his disapproval at some article. Tokio had practically lost herself in her task when she heard her husband say, "Bring me more cigarettes, Tokio."

Laying her brush aside, Tokio stood and went to the cabinet where Hajime kept his boxes of cigarettes. Actually, where -she- kept his boxes of cigarettes. Running out of such items could cause a family crisis greater than any Ienobu or Hitokiri Battousai, so Tokio made certain to keep that particular cabinet well stocked.

"Here you are, Hajime," Tokio whispered, bending down to hand him the unopened pack. Amber eyes that had been scouring the newspaper flicked up and caught Tokio by surprise.

He wanted more than cigarettes, did he?

Tokio jumped backwards, barely avoiding her husband's swipe for her outstretched wrist. Biting her bottom lip to suppress a wide grin, Tokio backed away even further. She held up the cigarettes, tilting the box back and forth, taunting her husband.

"You must be growing old, Hajime. That was far too slow."

Saitou carefully folded his newspaper and placed it by the wall before standing. Too slow? Not quite, but she did look so irresistible when she thought she had gotten away with something. So, every now and then he had to at least let her -think- she was winning.

"Are you going to deny me such simple requests, Kitty?" Saitou replied, putting one hand against the shoji behind him, pushing it closed with a short shove. "I didn't realize you were one of those sorts of wives."

"What sort is that, Hajime?" she whispered, bracing her feet. If she could just determine how he would come at her, maybe she could dodge. By no means would he win this round. No, not after disappearing for two weeks without so much as a goodbye. 'I'll show you, Hajime!' Tokio thought, 'No one can tame the Wolf of Mibu, but Saitou Tokio can certainly make him howl.'

And then he replied, "The frigid sort, of course."

"Why, I never..." Tokio began to exclaim raspily. Unfortunately, the momentary distraction of his accusation was enough to give her husband an opening. Before Tokio even knew it, she found herself on the floor, one of her husband's strong hands behind the back of her head, the other casually attempting to wrestle the cigarettes from her grip. Saitou loomed above his wife, keenly observing her surprised face.

"Yare, yare. You must be growing old, Kitty. That was far too slow." Finally succeeding in removing the cigarettes from Tokio's hand, he held them in front of her face, "These are mine." Then, allowing his body to press sinfully against the woman beneath him, he continued, "This is also mine."

Well, he had won, again. This time. But, there was always next time, always yet another battle in the war which was her husband. And one of these days, she'd have her victory.

"Ah Hajime, I did miss you so," Tokio whispered, tilting her head upwards to kiss him on the neck, filling her nose with his familiar aroma.

"So ka?" he grunted, grabbing her arms as he rolled on his back, pulling her into a kneeling position straddling his chest. "You wouldn't think so, the way you had Okita strewn across your lap."

"But..." Tokio stopped herself. Ah, maybe this battle wasn't over, after all. Her husband couldn't be...jealous...could he? Tokio examined his face, looking for any sign of envy. Unable to find one, she decided upon a more provocative tactic. "But, Okita is such a delightful and...passionate...man. Who would blame me, really? Certainly not even you, my most wayward husband."

Saitou fumed inwardly. There was nothing between Tokio and Okita, he knew. He knew it with as much certainty as he knew the curve of his katana. Still, the edge of her words was pressing. Who would blame her, really, for cheating on him? Who would even blame her for leaving? Katsu's warnings about endangering Tokio suddenly flooded into his mind. No, he would not send her away. Tokio chose to stay. She promised to stay, and stay faithful. To wait for him. Forever. He would not ask her to break her vow.

Besides, she had that all too evident look of mischievousness on her face.

With a small sigh of mock resignation, Saitou replied, "I suppose, if that is what you wish, Tokio. Go and be with Okita. I won't stop you. Maybe I'll even get some work done around here without all your constant fussing and nagging."

"Why you..." Tokio thumped her fist against her husband's wiry chest. "That isn't amusing in the slightest, Hajime. Besides..." Tokio leaned forward, letting her long, unbound hair fall in her husband's face. Her whisper became husky as she continued, "Okita couldn't possibly do to me the things you do. He lacks a certain....inner wickedness."

"So ka?" Saitou growled, raising one eyebrow. Placing his hand on his wife's slender ankles, he ran his fingers along the outside of her calves, pushing her yukata forward as his hands explored. Suddenly, his fingers brushed something rough on Tokio's usually soft skin, causing his wife to wince.

Narrowing his eyes, Saitou tilted his head to the side to look at Tokio's left leg. Long, but shallow, lines of maroon scabs dotted her calf, snaking themselves in strange pathways almost all the way to her knee. Using the pad of his thumb, he gently brushed over the area, causing Tokio's to draw in a quick pained breath between her teeth.

"When did this happen, Tokio? What caused this?" His voice had already changed to bitingly cold.

Tokio turned her face away from her husband's. "It's nothing. It doesn't hurt much. It will heal fine in a few days."

"No," he replied icily, removing his hand and replacing the disturbed yukata. "That isn't what I asked. I asked what caused it."

"It happened..." Tokio's whisper became almost inaudible as she leaned forward to press her ear to her husband's chest, "In Katsu's garden."

"When?" Saitou grabbed his wife's upper arms and pushed her back up, forcing her to look into his eyes. The urgency in his voice grew even greater as he repeated his question, "When, Tokio?"

Tokio attempted to look everywhere except her husband's face. Eventually, she was forced to close her eyes altogether. "When you...dragged me away from Okita."

Tokio felt her husband's body tense rigidly beneath her, his muscles suddenly becoming strangely taut. Seconds later, she found herself bereft of his warmth, sitting alone on the tatami. Hajime crossed the room and re-opened the sliding door, his back to his wife as he lit a cigarette.

"I'm fine, Hajime. Really. It's my fault, anyway. I should have gotten up when you asked."

Saitou exhaled a cloud of smoke that seemed to hang stationary in the evening air. He tried not to think of the deep scar that lined her abdomen. Or let his mind touch upon another time, another place, when under the influence of sake he had almost raped a slip of a girl who had the severe misfortune to end up as his wife. "Yes, Tokio. You can be quite obstinate." Stepping onto the engawa, he felt his jaw clench. He needed to remove himself from her presence, figure this whole damn thing out. "I'm going to practice kata. Do whatever you please."

After her husband disappeared from view, Tokio sat stunned. Had he just started something and refused to finish it? Her confusion palpable, Tokio tried to reconstruct what had just happened. Her leg. He was disturbed by the fact that she had so easily been injured. Yet another weakness to add to her long list of self-recrimination.

In the back yard, Saitou Hajime went through all the positions and moves of his daily kata. Unfortunately, they weren't quite having the calming effect they usually produced.

'Hn. Kitty, what should I do? How shall I do right by you? Now, as then, it is by my hand that you are injured. By my own damn hand. And I have sworn to never feel guilt, to never regret any path I choose. To do so is to unleash a plague upon the soul. Look what happened to the damn Battousai. He let his former actions eat at him until he became this repulsive rurouni. Not even a hardly a man anymore, only a tormented farce that will someday either dissolve into madness or explode into violence.'

Giving up on what appeared to be a fruitless task of calming himself, Saitou re-sheathed his katana. 'And why don't you leave me, Tokio? What reason have I ever given you to stay? If you left of your own accord, then I would not have broken my promise. There would be no need to doubt my resolve, to doubt the strength of my own word, if you made your own decision to leave. Goddamnit, put yourself out of the path of danger for once, Tokio. Have some fucking common sense.'

Saitou opened the front shoji to find his wife asleep at her calligraphy. Her mouth formed silent words as she held her endless soundless conversation in her sleep. His wife's strange little habits had grown on him over the years. The way she talked in her sleep. The way she clutched at her neck when amused or distraught. The way she held her long chopsticks in that elegant way that he could never figure out how to replicate. The way she always smelled of honey and sugar. Saitou never thought he would prefer the company of another to the solace of living as a lone wolf. But then, Tokio wasn't really like other people. She didn't pester him with the need for insipid conversation. She didn't ask him to romance her with flattery or gifts. Whatever Tokio wanted to do, she did of her own accord. At the end of the day, the only things she had ever required of him were to get injured as little as possible and eventually come home. (With, perhaps, the possible exception of staying away from sake.) Come to think of it, he couldn't really discern why she needed him at all.

Cats were, typically, even more solitary creatures than wolves, were they not?

Annoyed by this entire category of thought, Saitou crossed the room and peered down at the sleeping woman. She'd written the same line ten times, each time with slightly different calligraphy, as if she couldn't decide how best to aesthetically express her statements.

"I am nothing, neither mysterious nor playful, charismatic nor joyful. How is it that I exist?"

Saitou's eyebrows crumpled with his vehement internal analysis of the written inquiry. What in the hell could that possibly mean? But the tone of dissatisfaction with her station seemed evident enough to him. Was Tokio truly unhappy here, but unable to express such a sentiment out of some sense of duty or responsibility? Goddamnit, if the other man didn't have such an obvious lack of experience with women himself, Saitou might even be pressed to have to ask Okita. -Despite- the overwhelming possibility that Souji would laugh at him.

Infuriating. Completely infuriating.

Deciding that thinking on this subject anymore would likely lead only to a headache, Saitou Hajime moved to the other side of the table and gathered Tokio up in his arms. There would be no worry of his wife waking, very little could stir the infamous Heavy Sleeper herself.

After a short journey into the back room where the pair slept, Saitou placed Tokio on the futon and threw a blanket over her.

Watching Tokio take hold of the blanket and turn onto her side away from him, the tall man stood in the doorway for some time, attempting to brush aside the gloom of his own thoughts until only one sentiment remained.

It really was infuriating how much he cared for her.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Yumi rounded the corner to find Soujiro still sitting against the wall, looking terrifyingly delighted as he continued to sharpen his tanto.

"Boy! Hey boy! Why'd you go and let Kamatari in?" she said, her hands against her hips.

"Because Shishio-san sent for him, Yumi-san," Soujiro replied with a giggle, turning the blade over.

With an exasperated sigh, Yumi sunk down into a pile next to the young man, fishing in her obi to produce her own knife. "Sharpen mine too, while you're at it. Maybe I can slit that scythe-wielding queer's neck when he comes out."

"You don't like Kama-nesan very much, do you Yumi-san? Why is that?"

Yumi rolled her eyes and thumped her head against the wall, "I..." Instead of answering the question, Yumi pursed her lips. "Why do you call him that, anyway? He's not a girl, you know. And I am pretty sure the two of you aren't related."

"Don't you know?"

"No. Tell me."

"I'm not so good at telling stories, Yumi-san," Soujiro replied, re-sheathing his own small blade to begin to work on Yumi's. "Maybe you should ask Shishio-san, instead."

"For goodness sake, just tell me."

"Alright, alright." Soujiro stopped for a moment to scratch behind his ear in thought. Shrugging minutely, he began. "A short while after I first met Shishio-san, we had to journey deep into the countryside for a while, because so many people were looking for him. Plus, Shishio-san wanted to go somewhere that he could teach me for a while, and perfect some of his new techniques in secret. We traveled far, I mean really far, I mean really, really far...I mean..."

"Get on with it, boy."

"We went so far that I didn't even always understand the Japanese that people spoke. I wasn't sure where we were going, but eventually we came to a farm pretty much in the middle of nowhere. We watched it for a while, you know, just to make sure everything was safe. It turned out that eleven sisters lived there, no father, no brothers, and no mother. Except for the oldest, who traveled miles and miles once a week to the nearest village to get supplies, they never went anywhere or saw anyone."

"They plowed some of the harshest land I've ever seen. Fields littered with rocks bigger than me, even. Hardly anything grew, so they were completely destitute. You know, no money? So, Shishio-san had me rent their empty barn during their planting season. He said that if they got too nosy, we could kill them off, which we would probably have to do when we left, anyway. But, until then, they were good to keep around since they brought us food and kept the place looking normal. I think Shishio-san told them we were on a quest to find spiritual enlightenment or something, and that we needed a place to meditate."

"Does this story have a point, boy?" Yumi cried.

"Sorry Yumi-san. Anyway, sometimes I would go outside for a stretch, and I'd see the sisters plowing their fields. You know, nothing strange there. Except the youngest one, who wasn't too much older than me, she had this enormous scythe that she used. It was so big, I didn't know how she even picked it up. I guess she saw me, because she stormed over one day, that great scythe across her shoulder. But, she didn't say anything, she just peered at me for a very long time. Finally, she reached out two fingers and just poked me, right in the chest. I didn't know really what to do, so I just stood there and smiled at her."

"Hm. What are you, then?" she asked in a very quiet tone, "You're very like me. Except..."

"But, before I could ask her what she meant, one of her sisters called her away."

"So anyway, the next day, she did the same thing. Just walked up to me and poked and prodded me a bit with her fingers, squinted her eyes at me, and then stormed off. I told Shishio-san about it, and he thought it was pretty suspicious, too, but nothing to get worried about."

"Then one night, I woke up to this horribly loud crash. I thought it was thunder, but nope: bandits. I guess they thought that a farm run by eleven women was a pretty easy target. Shishio-san and I went through the bandits in the barn like butter. Afterwards, we went up to the house to see what happened to the women. If they were dead, we'd probably have to move on, you know, Shishio-san being a wanted man and everything."

"The house was really in bad shape. The place was missing some of the walls and floors. And, just as we suspected, all the women were dead. But, it turns out, all the bandits were dead too. Everyone was dead except the girl with the scythe. We found her sitting with one of her sister's bodies laying across her lap. The body had a huge gaping gash across the chest."

"It was an accident," she said, her voice wavering, "You have to understand it was an accident. I was trying to protect them, but it was so dark, and everything happened so fast. I couldn't tell who was who. I couldn't see..."

"And that's when I saw her clothes. They had been absolutely shredded. She wasn't a girl, at all, you see. The scythe-wielding girl was a scythe wielding boy."

"After that she...he...passed out."

"Soujiro," Shishio-san said, "Get the plow horse from the barn and meet me out front."

"I did as Shishio-san told me, and by the time I came back, the house was already burning. Shishio-san had the scythe-boy over one of his shoulders, and put him on the horse while I set fire to the barn. We left right after that, and we traveled all night. Of course, I was a bit confused about something, so I asked Shishio-san."

"Shishio-san, why was that boy dressed like a girl?"

"It is not so uncommon in these parts," Shishio-san told me. "This place remains far from the new Meiji government's reaches, and there are still many skirmishes here. They probably brought the boy up as a girl to save him from being pressed into service for some passing warlord or general. Because of his uncommon strength with that scythe, he'd be a tempting prize for any passing military or political figure."

"And now he is our prize?" I asked.

"Well, Soujiro," Shishio-san said, leaning his katana against his shoulder, "Haven't you always wanted a big sister?"

"When morning came, we found a pretty good cave to hide in at the base of the nearby mountains. The boy woke up as we were eating a rabbit I caught. For a long time, he just sat against the wall of the cave, just staring at us. Finally, Shishio-san tossed him some of the cooked meat, which he ate not at all like a girl, I must say!"

He kept looking at the cave like it was going to eat him. After a while, he said, "Where are we?"

"In a cave," Shishio-san replied, "Northeast of your farm."

"I've never been off of the farm," the boy said cautiously.

"Are you frightened?"

"No. My...sisters, they never let me go, but I always wanted to see what was beyond the fields." Staring at the rocky base of the cave, he added, "You should be careful. I...I killed them...by accident...and I...might end up killing you, too."

Shishio-san laughed at that. He actually laughed.

Then Shishio-san said, "I'll give you a choice. You can go home to your farm and be alone with the ghosts. You can tend the land until some warlord comes and conscripts you into service for your abilities, beats you and molds you into a man, takes you to a battlefield, and lets you die for their cause. Or, you can come with Soujiro and I. I'll teach you how to wield that scythe and control that power of yours so you kill only those you care to kill. I'll leave you to be whatever you wish, man or woman, animal or demon. You can travel with us and see the world beyond that pathetic little farm. All I ask in return is that you give consideration to my cause and the possibility of lending your strength to it."

The boy thought about it for a long while and then replied, "I'll stay."

"So, do you have a name, kid?" Shishio-san asked.

The boy put two fingers to his lips as he said, "My name used to be Honjo. But, from now on it is going to be Kamatari."

Shishio-san took the scythe from where it lay behind him and tossed it at Kamatari, who caught it without even looking up from the meat he was eating.

"It suits you, Kamatari. Well done."

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

"Kamatari," Shishio Makoto said evenly as he lit his pipe, "You made excellent time."

Kamatari leaned his giant scythe against the door to the baths and bowed respectfully to his mentor. "Shishio-san," he said in greeting, "The weather was good and the obstacles few. Besides, you know how desperately I have always enjoyed travel."

"Indeed." Motioning to the bench upon which he sat, Shishio said, "Come. Sit. We have much to discuss."

Kamatari crossed the length of the steamy room, his heart mildly torn between the joy of seeing the object of his utmost desires and the sinking realization that his concerns about not being sweaty for the meeting had become futile. The heavy vapors of the bath hung thick and sticky in the air, coating everything and everyone with a thin sheen of condensation. Taking his seat on the bench beside Shishio, Kamatari said, "Soujiro seems to be well."

"Aa. He keeps busy. Unlike you, he was always content just to wield his sword. Simplicity was all he ever needed or wanted in his life."

"Mmmm," Kamatari responded, leaning against the wall behind the bench. "Is that why you sent me away to all those atrocious tutors and schools, but kept him by your side?"

Exhaling lazily, the burning coal eyes of Shishio traveled to look at his companion. "Soujiro will never be worldly enough to be able to manipulate people. The hindrances to his ability to express emotion allow him only to evaluate others as prey on a physical basis. But, you and I both know that being able to outsmart or control your prey off the battlefield can be just as important."

"I know it now," Kamatari purred, offering his mentor a slyly coy grin, "But I was sorely cross at you for some time, Shishio-san."

"And now?"

Kamatari laughed lightly, his eyes sparkling with delight and glee. "And now I speak seven languages, know far too much about art, literature and science, and can blend in with anyone, from monks to geishas."

"And you are the most capable great scythe wielder in all of Japan," Shishio added, calmly laying his bandaged hand upon Kamatari's. The overwhelming heat from his mentor's mere touch added to the rising warmth produced by his own rush of joy, flooding Kamatari's senses. Desperately fighting the urge to let his eyes roll back into his head, Kamatari tried to focus on something, anything, which would allow him to keep his mind on the task at hand. Oh yes. That was right. The task at hand.

"Did you have something you wished for me to do for you, Shishio-san?" Kamatari asked, the sultry lustiness of his voice evident. There would be no reason to hide his feelings for Shishio. The other man already knew everything. It was, after all, Shishio himself who had undertaken Kamatari's education in the finer points of seduction. Those had been interesting nights, when the pair had roamed the streets long after Soujiro slept. Shishio would point out some man or woman and give Kamatari his pointers. "That type likes flattery. That one would most be swayed by mystery. That one...violence." In the end, Kamatari would be instructed to get one of the passersby to follow him back to their hideout where Shishio would watch and later critique his performance.

The very recollection of Shishio watching him from the shadows as he seduced some stranger sent even more endorphins rushing through Kamatari's body, sending him into orbit within the hazy room. But, he found himself being prematurely plucked from his skyward travel by the sound of the bandaged man's voice.

"Aa. I have a mission for you." Removing his hand from Kamatari's, Shishio picked up a folder that had been laying beside him. "My contacts in Tokyo have alerted me to the existence of a man, a man I thought time had swallowed. He has not only legendary strength, but also a sharp mind. He would be an excellent addition to the Juppon Gatana, perhaps as a replacement for that idiot Iwanbo. However, it is unknown to me if he would join, be it through mere convincing or through the harsher tactic of manipulation.

Taking the folder, Kamatari leafed through the pages. "And you wish me to seek him out and provide you with an answer without revealing too much behind our own operations, I assume?"

"Indeed. I've had Houji set you up with suitable accomodations and funds in Tokyo. The information should all be in the folder." Shishio stood, looking down at the smaller man for a moment before turning towards the back door. "I would ask you to stay and enjoy the hot springs, but I know you would rather get started on your mission."

"Yes, Shishio-san. Perhaps another time," Kamatari called, watching the object of his esteem and adoration walk out of the room.

"Report back as soon as possible, Kamatari."

And then Shishio Makoto was gone. Kamatari breathed a small sigh of longing before shaking his head and turning his attention back to the folder in his hands. 'Saitou Hajime, hm? Wasn't he a Shinsengumi Captain?' Kamatari tried to recall Shishio-san's tales of the Wolves of Mibu. 'Interesting. It will be a challenge, and will take quite a bit of planning. Nonetheless...' Kamatari's eyes lit up at the next thought, 'Shishio-san must have quite a bit of confidence in old Kama-chan to bestow me with such a complicated mission.' Clutching the folder to his chest rather excitedly, Kamatari stood up, trying desperately not to swoon.

Exiting the room, he found himself diagonal from the sitting figures of Yumi and Soujiro, one looking bored and the other looking deliriously happy as he sharpened a tanto.

"Yumi." Kamatari said by way of greeting, a small hiss accompanying the syllables. Not only had she usurped his place at Shishio's side, but now she was sitting far too close to Soujiro. The evidence of her corruption upon Kamatari's happiness never seemed to end. Certainly someday soon, Shishio would see how frivolous she was. Someday soon, he'd rid himself of her.

"Kamatari," Yumi replied coldly. "Will you be staying the evening?"

"No, I'm afraid my -mission- is far too important to tarry," Kamatari said, pointedly reminding the woman that while -he- had a mission, she certainly didn't. In his expert opinion, Yumi of the Night was not only expendable, she was a complete waste of futon space.

"That's too bad," Soujiro commented, apparently missing the tension between the other two people in the room. "And I was so hoping to hear about that battle you had with the scythe wielder from Korea."

"Pish posh, ototo, you only have to see that I am standing before you to know how it turned out. Well, anyway, ta! I'm off. Take care of yourself, Soujiro." As an afterthought, as he walked out the open door, Kamatari added dryly, "Goodbye Yumi."

Handing her back the tanto, Soujiro said with eerie chipperness, "There you go, Yumi-san. If you hurry, you can try to stab him in the back."

Yumi peered at the young man at her side, the boy who never showed any emotion but joy.

If she wasn't mistaken, he'd just insulted her.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Saitou Hajime had a great deal on his mind. Because of this, he scowled even more deeply than usual as he made his way through the streets of Tokyo towards his home. The men and women of Tokyo spontaneously moved to the other side of the paths and streets when they saw the wiry policeman slinking through the city. People had always instinctively feared him. Perhaps even the most common man had an ability to sense ki, and had, since the days of the dinosaurs, used the shadowy ability, unbeknownst to themselves, to keep far from the path of danger.

Raijuta had scratched the Hitokiri Battousai. 'How pathetic,' Saitou mused inwardly, 'Even at half his normal strength, the assassin from the Bakumatsu would have taken that pig easily. It is utterly disturbing to see a man fall so far in his abilities.' Still, what troubled him more than the disgust with his old rival were the implications of the situation. If the Battousai could slip so far in his swordsmanship, could not anyone? And really, when was the last time he'd truly fought anyone of his own level of ability? He'd briefly run up against Okita, but from that short battle, he could tell little. Besides, it would make sense to assume that Okita, too, had lost some of his old power since the days of the Revolution. Even if he still practiced in secret, Okita certainly didn't fight on a day to day basis.

While this thought preyed on his mind, still another ate at him from the opposite direction. Reports just didn't seem to coming in from certain remote areas of the south. Policemen, and even a few that worked for him, had seemingly disappeared off the face of the earth. Reinforcements tended not to report back. Something strange had been brewing, and while the government had not yet been brought to a panic, Saitou Hajime certainly didn't relish the realization that he just had no idea what was going on. He went through a list of possibilities in his head. Perhaps some contingent of Saigo Takamori's samurai had survived the Seinan Wars and were rebuilding some sort of army. Perhaps a powerful foreigner had set up some sort of remote stronghold, and had bribed all of the policemen to join his force. No, neither of these seemed likely. Surely in either of these instances at least -one- of his charges would have returned or sent word. He did, after all, only send the most loyal of his spies on missions abroad.

On top of this, someone had definitely been watching him. Someone clever enough to do so only in public places, and then, from his estimation, only through a network of underlings. Still, it was enough to make his hackles rise and keep his body and senses at a constant state of alertness.

Okita had noticed it too, as the men had gone together one afternoon to watch a local kendo competition.

"There is certainly someone keeping an eye on us," Okita mumbled, "But I don't sense any immediate danger."

"Aa. They don't follow me home, however. So they likely already know where I live."

"Disturbing." Okita remarked. "Don't worry. I'll keep an eye on the ladies in the afternoons. I don't want them to end up dealing with another Ienobu."

Saitou grunted his consent. Souji had finally revealed to him the ultimate fate of the Hachinisasareru ninja. And while Hajime found it more than slightly annoying that Okita had killed Fusada rather than allow him to be arrested and questioned, he also found himself generally pleased with the knowledge that Okita, unlike the Battousai, would still kill if so moved by his personal interpretation of Shinsengumi ethics. Whereas Himura had buried the killing sword, Okita had only laid it aside to pursue his brother's goals. And there it remained, at his side, ever ready to be picked up once again should Souji's conscience demanded it.

As he finally came to Taito street, the most sticky situation came back to mind. Tokio. The immediate buzzing that filled his head upon merely thinking of his wife these days would have driven a lesser man to insanity. Tokio. Tokio. He even fewer answers regarding her now, fewer then did the night seven months ago when he discovered the scars on her legs,

What the hell was he supposed to do? What the hell did she want him to do? If she stayed by his side, certainly she'd end up getting seriously hurt one of these days, perhaps even killed. Besides, it seemed obvious that she was unhappy as his wife. Why didn't she say so? Why didn't she leave?

He had hardly touched her in the past seven months. Had he wanted to? Of course. What warm blooded man wouldn't want to be buried in his wife's passionate embrace, to hear her repeatedly whisper your name, her lips trembling as if she were in the presence of a God? Yes. A man would pretty much have to be dead not to want that after experiencing it once.

But, he just couldn't. Every time he even contemplated it, he'd remember all the wounds he'd ever caused her. He'd recall the sadness that she had expressed in her writing that night, and now exuded all the time. That proved far too distracting, so in the end he had forced himself not to think about her. Not to touch her. Someday soon, she'd leave of her own accord. She'd leave and he would be able to, once again, focus on his mission.

Approaching his house, Saitou placed his hand on the gate and pushed it forward, expecting it to swing wide and allow him to pass, as usual. Instead, after opening about six inches, it hit something on the other side with a muted thud.

The metallic odor of blood hit his nostrils only a second later.

Blood. But, not much blood.

Leaning into the gate with his shoulder, Saitou pushed it open a few more inches and stepped inside. In the dirt before the door lay his wife on her side. Tokio's limbs arranged themselves in a haphazard position, one arm outstretched in front of her, the other above her head, her legs tangled upon themselves and the length of her kimono. Her left hand bled lightly through the dirt and gravel set into a wound likely gained from stopping herself as she fell to the ground.

Then he smelled the sake. What had she done? Bathed in the stuff?

As the jarring by the door apparently dislodged Tokio from whatever drunken stupor she had worked herself into, the woman's head turned from the side to stare upwards through a lacy labyrinth of untamed back hair. Saitou squatted down beside Tokio, attempting not to be overpowered by the thick scent of alcohol. Then, one of his wife's amber eyes blinked open. Trying to focus, Tokio whimpered in her whispered way, before settling on the image of her husband.

"Hajime," Tokio pronounced in her hushed tone. "Come closer."

Saitou raised his eyebrows in response and lowered his face towards his wife's. Tokio rolled her head from side to side to remove the tangles of hair blocking her view. Her other eye opening, though remaining as generally unfocused as the first, Tokio lifted her head from the ground carefully and brought her nose level to his.

And then she spat at him. The thick wad of Tokio's saliva struck her husband at the corner of his mouth, dripping grotesquely down his chin. Saitou leaned back on his haunches and wiped away the goo with the sleeve of his uniform. His wife, on the other hand, appeared to be laughing madly, her rasping uproar sounding a great deal like sandpaper against metal.

Leaning forward again, he easily pulled his wife from the ground and threw her over his shoulder. She attempted to protest, but in her drunken state, her small fisted blows and attempted kicks found themselves even more resolutely without power. Finally giving up, she whispered from her upside-down position against his back, "I see now. I have to be drunk for you to want to touch me."

"You are acting like a spoiled child, Tokio. And if you act like a child, I will treat you as one."

Tokio attempted to form a reply, but instead found her vision swimming from the incongruous passing of the upside-down world. Instead she merely groaned quietly and let her head bounce against her husband's lower back. Where -was- he carrying her? But, it was too painful to think.

"Hn. There are few things as repulsive as a woman who drinks," he said, leaning forward again. Seconds later, Tokio found herself laying in a pile on the floor of the small bathhouse. She curled up on one side, trying to keep the world from spinning.

"I really don't care what you think anymore, Hajime. Besides, why shouldn't I drink? You're the one who can't handle his liquor, you arrogant son of a bitch."

From her curled position, Tokio couldn't see what happened next, though she certainly heard and felt it. Three clicking steps resounded as her husband stepped across the room and picked up two buckets of water. He splashed them both on his wife in quick succession, causing Tokio to bolt upright and sputter as she brushed wildly at her face.

"Stand up, Tokio," he commanded coolly, dropping the second of the two buckets onto the ground as if to punctuate his statement with the clatter of wood against wood. Tokio did as her husband bade, though the process of standing proved difficult, the now slick floor a dangerous obstacle to her balance. Slipping only slightly, Tokio caught herself by leaning against the wall as she stood.

"Now," he continued, "Take off those wet things."

Tokio flicked her wet hair to the side, a tiny smirk reaching her lips as she reached behind her back to untie her obi. "Is that...what you want, Hajime?" Her husband did not move during the entire time it took her to remove the constrictive belt and toss it to the side.

Running her fingers down the front of her kimono, she allowed it to fall open, revealing the full length of her youthful body. Her long blue scarf fell over her chest, slipping into the divide between her breasts like a strange silk waterfall.

Stepping forward carefully, foot in front of dainty foot, she ran her fingernails along the dark wood of the bathhouse. Approaching her husband, she stopped briefly as slats of light from the high thin windows of the bath illuminated her torso.

'Don't look at her body,' Saitou's mind warned, 'Look at her eyes. Keep looking at her eyes. Do not be swayed from the path you have chosen. Do not give in to her now. Do not be tempted.'

Tokio reached out and grabbed her husband's gloved hand. Bringing it to her mouth, she nipped softly at the fingertips until clenching down on the material with her teeth and pulling the glove away from the calloused hand. Then, very slowly, very deliberately, she guided the newly liberated fingers towards the naked flesh at her hip.

"Tell me what you want, Hajime," Tokio purred, "I would give anything to you. I would do anything for you."

"Anything?" he replied, with some difficulty, through his teeth.

"Yes."

Reaching to his side with his free hand, Hajime pulled a short bathing yukata from a nearby shelf. Thrusting it at his wife, he replied, "Then put this on."

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Tokio wandered the streets of the dark city, the small suitcase in her hand seeming heavier by the minute. Where to go? Where to go? Night would fall soon, and she would have to find some place.

Her heart still fluttered from the last interaction she had with her husband, causing Tokio to occasionally forget to pay attention to her own feet. She stumbled into an alleyway to catch a breath.

Okita's wasn't far from here. No. That wouldn't work. An inn, perhaps? Far too many people. Besides, she might need her money for other purposes later.

There was on option, and she knew it, instinctively, to be the best one for the situation. With a heavy sigh, Tokio stood and headed further into the alley, her gaze intent on the trash bin at its farthest depths.

Climbing into the pile of refuse, Tokio pulled her suitcase against her torso as a makeshift blanket. The whole contraption smelled of spoiled fish, so Tokio wound her scarf lightly around her face and attempted, successfully, to fall off to sleep.

An hour or so later, a shadowy figure dislodged itself from the wall. Stalking quietly across the passageway, the moonlight betrayed the person's presence as it reflected smoothly down the blade of an oversized scythe.

Lifting up a few thin pieces of wood, Kamatari peered inquisitively at the sleeping woman who seemed to be silently talking in her sleep.

"Hmmmmm," he cooed, putting two fingers to his lips in amusement, "Why would Saitou-san go and throw away a perfectly good wife?"