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Against a Sea of Troubles: Chapter 2 - A Citizen's Duty

by Haku Baikou ::: 01.Dec.2003

“Onii-chan.”

“Yes?”

“What’s a runt?”

His eldest brother’s hands paused briefly in their work.  “Did someone call you that, Shinta-chan?”

He considered telling the truth, then thought better of it.  He didn’t want anyone to get into trouble.

“No.”

“A runt is the smallest, weakest one of the litter.  Like Dragon.  He was a runt.”

“Oh.”  Dragon was a good puppy.  He’d been small, but he’d grown up strong and fast.  

So, perhaps the village boys hadn’t been making fun of him then.  He was never sure.  He couldn’t imagine why they’d say anything deliberately hurtful to him when he’d never done anything to them. It made no sense.

They continued working in silence.  They were planting seeds, the three of them.  Eldest Brother placing the seeds in the ground, and Second Brother a few yards down the field, breaking up the earth with the garden hoe.  And Shinta helped as he could by following his biggest brother, holding the basket of seeds for him as he worked.

“Onii-chan.”  He couldn’t resist another question.

“What is it, Shinta-chan?”  Ever patient.

“Am I really a demon?”

His brother’s hands froze this time.

“Who said that?”  The tone of voice was unusually harsh from his otherwise quiet eldest brother.

“N-nobody.”

“Shinta-chan, you are a terrible liar.”  His brother’s violet eyes regarded him seriously.  “Why did they say such a thing?  Was it because of your hair?”

His brother waited.  And when it became apparent that Shinta had no intention of divulging any more information, his brother sighed in frustration.

“Shinta-chan, you are neither a runt nor a demon,” said the older boy quietly.  “You’re small because okaa-san is small.  And your hair…. Well, you’re the only one of us to have okaa-san’s red hair, and what’s wrong with that?  Okaa-san is beautiful, is she not?”

“Hai,” he agreed fervently. 

“Oi, is someone saying bad things about our Shinta-chan?  Point them out to me, otouto, and we’ll kick their asses into the next town,” said Second Brother from behind him.  Shinta whooped with delight as Second Brother picked him up with strong arms and swung him onto his shoulders.

“Careful, you two.”  This from the eldest.  “You’ll spill the seeds.”

“Feh, you worry too much, onii-san,” said the middle brother.  “Shinta’s never spilled anything, right?  Let’s go.  I bet okaa-san has lunch ready for us, neh?  I’m starving.  Wait any longer, and I’ll start grazing on the lawn like one of old Jiro-san’s cows…. No, better yet.  We could always sneak over and roast one of old Jiro-san’s cows….”

“Onii-chan!” Shinta said in shock.  Then burst into gleeful giggles, joining Second Brother in laughter.

Second Brother was always like that.  Full of laughter and good humor.  It was infectious, being around him.  And even Eldest Brother couldn’t remain stern and serious for long in his presence.

The eldest of the three brothers smiled.  “Gods, you two.  Enough with poor Jiro-san’s cows.  All right, let’s head back then.  Maybe otou-san will be feeling better by now.”

Thoughts of their father’s sudden illness that morning dampened the cheer for a moment, but as the three of them headed slowly home, the laughter slowly returned with one of Second Brother’s infamously raunchy jokes, the funny ones that really ought not to have been told in little Shinta-chan’s presence.  But Second Brother went on telling the jokes anyway even if Shinta really was too young to be hearing them.  And Shinta loved him for it.

Shinta smiled.  Life was good.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

His mind floated in the pleasant limbo of half-sleep, the vestiges of a laughter-filled, sunlit morning from long ago lingering on the edges of his awareness.  The world was a distant dream, image and sound mingling together in an odd haze.  He debated on whether or not he should try to wake up.  He was tired.  So very tired.  And all he wanted to do was to remain as he was, eyes closed, limbs heavy, only partially aware of who or where he was. 

But habit, deeply ingrained, forced him to open his eyes, to at least try to take in his surroundings so he could properly decide whether or not he could allow himself the luxury of sleeping in. 

He opened his eyes a crack and awoke to a sea of lavender, a soft blur of silk.  The familiar scarf was a mere inches from his face, the fingers of his left hand curled possessively around it.  He moved his hand experimentally.  It felt as if he were moving through water.  Or sand.  His body felt strangely disconnected.  With an effort, he brought the scarf slowly to his face, and inhaled.  The scent of white plum was long gone from the fabric.  But in his mind, he could smell it still, the sweet fragrance surrounding him, heady intoxication as memories of the woman he loved became the whole, the sum, the entirety of his world. 

He shut his eyes, living solely in the immediate moment.  She was alive again in times such as this, when his thoughts were like liquid, and his mind could deceive itself into believing everything was as it should be.  He could almost convince himself that she was with him, her presence near, her soft hands running through his hair.  He was happy.  He wanted the moment to last.

“You’re up?”  A gruff voice from nearby.  “I didn’t expected you to be awake so soon.”

His illusions fragmented as the stranger’s voice intruded upon his dream. 

The world crystallized.  The last fog of sleep slipped away. 

He became aware of several things, then.  He was in a strange room, and he didn’t know how he got there.  He was with a strange man, and he wasn’t sure if he was friend or foe.  He was lying on a futon without his sword, which was odd considering he never slept that way. 

But foremost of all, he discovered that he hurt.  Terribly.  And he couldn’t immediately recall why.  His right side throbbed in washes of pain from his jaw down to his hip.  His neck was a blur of agony.  He was suffocating, barely able to breathe.  He discovered, to his dismay, that he couldn’t move his sword arm.  It was constricted, strapped against his chest in taut layers of cloth that immobilized and bound far too tightly for comfort.  His hand was free, but even wiggling his fingers sent jolts up the length of his arm and straight to his chest and gut.  Turning his head hurt.  Movement in general hurt.  Breathing hurt. 

He opened his eyes to find a silhouetted form of a man against the bright light from the window nearby.  He resented this stranger.  Resented him for forcing him to come back to the world, to return to awareness.  He resented the man for chasing his beloved away. 

The figure stooped down beside his futon, looming over him, intrusive, unwelcome.

“Can you understand me?” the man asked.

 “Yes,” he said.  Or tried to say.  He wasn’t certain if he’d succeeded.

The figure waved a hand in front of his eyes.

“Can you hear me?  Do you understand what I’m saying?” the voice asked again.

“Yes, I understand,” he responded, more forcefully this time.  He felt as if he were shouting, but his voice came out as a pathetic, feeble sound that surprised him.  Such a small sound from so much effort on his part.  Gods, how he wanted to drift back to sleep, to chase that elusive state that had been so pleasant before.

“What is your name?” asked the stranger.

“Himura….” He couldn’t continue. 

He never imagined it would be so difficult to say two simple words.  His vision began to darken at the edges.  He was overwhelmed, assaulted by senses that seemed strangely warped.  There were pungent medicinal smells drifting from the tray next to him.  The bright sunlight hurt his eyes.  And the overbearing pain.  His entire being pulsed with it.

“Oi, stay with me here.”  The loud snap of fingers near his ear.  “I need answers.”

He tried to comply.  He truly did.  But his body wouldn’t obey him.  His mind began to drift.

“Stay with me.  Battousai!” said the stranger suddenly.

The word was like a slap to the face.  He flinched, blinked involuntarily.  He felt his heart pounding through his bandages. 

“No,” he breathed.

“No?  You deny it?”  The stranger’s voice was oddly calm.  “Come now.  Red hair, cross scar, and a demon’s yellow eyes.  You are the assassin, aren’t you?  You are Hitokiri Battousai.”

“No… Not anymore,” he protested, hoping the stranger heard.  He tried to shake his head.  “Not anymore.”

“Not anymore?”  Disbelief in the stranger’s voice.  “What do you mean by that?  Are you or aren’t you Battousai?”

The stranger wasn’t going to let him slip into oblivion without him giving an answer first.

“I was,” he admitted softly.  “But I promised her… never again….”

His eyes fluttered open again.  He frowned.  He hadn’t been aware that he’d closed them.

“Where am I?” he finally thought to ask.  “Who are you?”  He really wasn’t doing well if it took him this long to think to ask such basic questions. 

He could sense the stranger’s hesitation.  “You may call me Sato,” said the man.  “That is my family name.”

“Sato-san,” he said.  “You rescued me?”

“My friend and I pulled you out of the water,” said the man irritably.

“Thank you.”

The stranger seemed suddenly very angry.  “Don’t thank me just yet.”

He couldn’t understand what Sato-san meant by that, exactly.  “Sumanai,” he whispered faintly.  “I’ve offended you.”

Sato sounded almost flustered.  “Do you remember what happened to you?  How you got here?” 

“No,” he answered truthfully, although he suspected he’d recall if he put enough effort into doing so.  But he wasn’t feeling up to exerting himself at the moment.  He wondered when this stranger would leave him alone.  Hadn’t he answered enough of his questions?

“There was a shipwreck,” insisted Sato-san.  “You were on board.”

Shipwreck?  He frowned, vague memories struggling to surface.  “No,” he said.  “No, I wasn’t.”

“I don’t understand.  You mean you weren’t on board?  Or—Come on now.  Not yet!  Don’t fade out on me just yet,” said the voice harshly, a tone strangely at odds with the gentle touch of the stranger’s hands. 

He felt the Sato-san’s hand against the nape of his neck then, lifting his head.  A cup was placed against his lips.  He resisted.  His neck hurt when his head was tilted this way.  The bandages dug into his chin.  And the herbal smell from the cup nauseated him.  He doubted he could keep any of it down. 

“Stop fighting.  Drink this,” Sato-san commanded, and the warm, bitter concoction was poured slowly down his throat.

Sato-san’s ki flared briefly.  It confused him…. So angry, so overtly hostile though the man’s actions and touch were gentle.

“I apologize for inconveniencing you,” he managed to whisper.

“You—Just drink this, will you?  It will help with your fever.  And the pain.”  Sato-san’s voice still held an odd, sullen note.  But the anger was gone, at least. 

He felt a cold wet cloth settle on his forehead, chilling him.  It was all too much, finally.  His eyes closed and he sank back into the warm haze of sleep, refusing to respond anymore to Sato-san’s insistent urgings.  He retreated into memory, to a place where a beautiful woman with sad, sad eyes welcomed him with open arms.  And wrapped him gently in lavender silk and the comforting scent of white plums.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“He looks twelve,” Hideo observed as he tilted his head and studied the sleeping assassin.

“Which would’ve made him, what, nine during the Ikedaya Affair?” asked Noriya deadpan.

Hideo laughed grimly, a quick barking sound of cynical amusement.  Three years ago, neither of them would have been able to joke at such a thing.  It was good seeing Noriya regain some of his equilibrium.  “So, Noriya, did he say anything when he was awake?”

“Not much.  The usual ramblings of a delirious mind.  He talked in his sleep.  Called out to his mother.”  (Hideo rolled his eyes at that.)  Noriya shrugged.  “And he called out for a woman named Tomoe.  His wife, perhaps.”

“The one they say he killed?” mused Hideo.

Noriya nodded and kept rowing. 

“Damned heartless fiend,” Hideo spat.

They were in Noriya’s rowboat, the three of them, with Noriya and Hideo at either end.  The middle seat had been removed, and Battousai was tucked amid a pile of blankets in the bottom of the boat between the two of them.  Noriya had intended to move the boy early yesterday morning, but the boy had been too fevered and pale still.  Noriya hadn’t been sure the boy could withstand the trip.  He still wasn’t sure now, but he didn’t know what else to do with him.  So Hideo had come by for an early supper, and the two of them had bundled the assassin into the boat to take him into town before the council.  Let the town leaders decide what to do with the boy.

They were at the mouth of the harbor.  Almost there.  A short while longer, and the boy would be out of his hands, the responsibility lifted.

“You’re awfully quiet,” observed Hideo with his usual brilliant tact.

Noriya shrugged.  What was he to tell his friend?  That he had misgivings about handing the boy over?  That he wasn’t sure it was the best thing to do, to bring a known murderer to the council for justice?  At least, that’s how Hideo would surely see it.  His friend would chide him for having second thoughts.  He could picture Hideo scowling, accusing him of being far too softhearted to be showing mercy to a cold-blooded killer such as Battousai. 

And if this boy weren’t Battousai, why, then Noriya would have nothing to feel guilty about, would he?  The boy would be released, could then recuperate in peace.  Simple as that.

But it wasn’t that simple.  Was it?  He knew this boy was Battousai.  Of that, he had no doubts. 

But the boy’s behavior in the last two days unsettled him.  Complicated things.  Made him feel most uncomfortable with his initial hatred of him.

Battousai had awakened a few more times since yesterday morning.  And each time, he’d been a paragon of civility.  Polite and restrained.  Uncomplaining despite dressing changes that doubtlessly hurt like hell.  The boy had even tried to help Noriya with the dressing changes despite the fact such movements must have caused him additional agony. 

And he’d answered Noriya’s questions as well as he was able.  Although Noriya was capable of being deceived, his immediate feeling was that the boy was being honest with his answers.  And it was those answers that had unsettled Noriya the most, that capsized his beliefs, that challenged what he thought he knew of the hitokiri and made him truly wonder at the enigmatic mind behind those strange amber eyes. 

Sato Noriya found himself torn.  And he knew Hideo would not understand.  Hideo hadn’t been around when the boy was lucid and cooperating.  Hideo hadn’t seen the disquieting kindness in those yellow eyes. 

He couldn’t reconcile this quiet young man with the stories of the legendary demon who’d most likely killed his son.  In the boy’s eyes, Noriya could not see the heartless, bloodthirsty demon who slaughtered gods-knew-how-many good men during the Bakumatsu.  If Himura was indeed Battousai—and surely he was—his legendary past did not mesh with the strange, quiet boy Noriya had rescued two days back.

Noriya frowned.  It could all be an act, of course.  And politeness didn’t necessarily come hand in hand with kindness or moral rectitude.  How many villains had Noriya known, back in the old days, who could smile and seduce as easily as they could kill?  Plenty.  But all those wicked men had had a slippery quality about them, a faintly distasteful aura about them that Himura seemed to lack. 

If he hadn’t known about the hitokiri’s bloody past, he would have assumed the boy he rescued to be an exceptionally well-mannered young man, one with elegantly proper old-fashioned manners that were often lacking in young folks these days. 

He found it all very disconcerting.  Was he being a gullible fool?  Battousai was said to be a tricky bastard.  Was the assassin playing mind games with him?

Noriya shivered.  Was his son’s ghost turning over in its grave, knowing Noriya even harbored such soft-hearted thoughts toward a mass-killer?  Was it a sin?  Was it a weakness to give Masaki’s killer a chance to justify himself, to tell his side of the story?

Noriya was thoroughly disgusted with himself.

“Noriya, what the hell’s wrong with you?”  Hideo was staring at him oddly.  “Are you all right, man?”

He blinked.  And realized Hideo was poking at his arm with his oar. 

“I’m fine.  I was thinking.”

“Hmph, I’ve never seen you think so hard,” growled Hideo when he seemed assured that his friend was all right.  “Don’t do that.  It’s damned eerie.”

“Sorry.”

Hideo peered at him, a sneaking sidelong glance as Noriya concentrated again on rowing.

“So.  Out with it,” sniffed Hideo.  “It’s about time you told me what you discovered from the boy.  Or weren’t you planning on sharing with your oldest friend?  Something’s bothering you, and I want to know what that is.”

“Hideo….”

“I’m serious, Noriya.  I want to know.  What did Battousai say about the ship?  Was it full of Ishin spies?”

“No.  It was a simple merchant vessel, far as he knows.”

“Far as he knows?”  One of Hideo’s eyebrows quirked upwards sharply in curiosity.

“He wasn’t sure.  He claimed he wasn’t aboard the ship,” explained Noriya.  “Said he was walking on one of the small roads on the cliffs when he saw the ship wreck off the rocks.  Said he jumped into the water to try to find survivors.  He found two, and tried to get them to shore, but they were swept away at the last minute, and he lost them…. He had tears in his eyes when he said that, Hideo.  Now why would Battousai have tears in his eyes from the deaths of two complete strangers?”

Hideo stared at him a long moment.  Incredulously.  And finally he couldn’t keep it in any longer:  “You fucking believed that?  What a load of shit, Noriya!  Worst sob story I’ve ever heard!  I mean, seriously.  A decent liar would have come up with something a little more subtle at least.  Kami-sama, I never figured you for a gullible idiot!  Of course he’s going to tell you that to save his own skin!  He’d tell you anything to keep you from taking him to the council!”

“He doesn’t know I’m taking him to the council.”

“Huh?  You didn’t tell him?”

“No.  And it didn’t feel as if he were saying such things out of an overblown sense of self-preservation.  No, Hideo.  I didn’t tell him.”

Hideo cocked his head to the side and snorted.  “Well, that’s the first thing you’ve done right.  He doesn’t need to know.“

For some reason, Hideo’s words made him unreasonably angry.  Noriya bit back a retort and guided their small rowboat toward the docks. 

“Sato-san!”  a familiar voice cried out to them.  Noriya caught sight of Etsuo’s smiling young face near the fishmonger’s stand.

“Gods,” Hideo growled.  “How does he always do that?  Pop up in the most inconvenient of times?”

On impulse, Noriya flipped a bit of blanket over Battousai’s head, hiding the boy completely from view before Etsuo arrived.  Hideo looked at him oddly, but thankfully kept his mouth shut.

Etsuo skidded to a halt and fidgeted as Noriya secured the boat to the dock.

“I take it you never found any bodies, Sato-san?” the young man asked.

“No, Etsuo.  Did you?”

“No.  No more bodies.”  Etsuo grinned.  “But we did find survivors.”

Ah.  It was good news.  So that’s why the young man had been so excited. 

Noriya smiled.  “Truly?  That’s wonderful to hear.”

“Hai,” said Etsuo.  “Akira and I spotted them half a mile beyond your place.  Two men.  Part of the crew of the ship.  And they’re shogunate supporters.  Can you believe that?”

“Fantastic,” said Noriya, truly surprised.  “Go on.”

“Well, they said they were saved by some crazy foreigner who came out of nowhere.  But he must’ve drowned while saving them.  He disappeared just before they reached shore.”  Etsuo’s face fell slightly with that revelation.  “Damned shame, really.  Sad that he died saving them.”

“Foreigner?” asked Noriya slowly.  He didn’t have to turn around to know that Hideo was staring intently at Etsuo, just as interested of a sudden.

“Hai.  Some poor gaigin with red hair, they said.  He spoke Japanese perfectly though, apparently.  They haven’t found his body yet.”

“I see,” said Noriya.  He looked at Hideo who seemed uncharacteristically quiet.

He made a decision then.

“So, what brings you into town, Sato-san?” asked Etsuo, oblivious.    “It’s a pleasant surprise to find you here.”

Noriya blinked and thought fast.  “Just picking up more sake, Etsuo.  Hideo, the rat bastard, drank the last of my supply.”

Hideo scowled.

Etsuo laughed.  The warm laugh of an innocent, thought Noriya.

“Ah, an important mission.  I won’t keep you then,” said the young man.  With a quick, polite nod, Etsuo was off, doing…whatever it was that Etsuo did with his days, running about here and there with his endless errands for the council.

Noriya sat back down in the boat.  Dead silence from Hideo for once. 

“Well, old friend,” said Noriya.  “You know what I’m going to do.”

“You’re not taking him to the council.”

Noriya nodded.  Hideo sighed.

“I know, Hideo.  You think I’m making a mistake.” 

“Damned right you are.  Council will want to know why you gave refuge to the enemy,” sighed Hideo.  He shook his head and looked away.  He was unusually quiet.  “But hell, Noriya.  I’ll stand by your decision.  I’ll keep my mouth shut for now…. Kami-sama, the boy killed—“

“Shut up!” he snarled, surprising even himself with the viciousness of his words.  He softened his tone with an effort.  “I’m well aware of that.  You think that thought hasn’t crossed my mind about a hundred times?”

Hideo yanked the blankets away from Battousai’s face and looked intently at the boy.  “Why are you doing this for him?” he asked Noriya quietly.

“I don’t know.  Gut feeling, Hideo.  Gut feeling.  And I want to understand him.  I want to know why he did the things he did.  If he has any regrets.  Any remorse.  I don’t know….” The reasoning sounded stupid even to his own ears.   Hideo was right to think him a fool.  “Maybe I just don’t want to watch the council tear the boy apart.  You know that’s what they’ll do once they discover who he is.  Forget about a fair trial.”

“Sato-san.”  A soft whisper from the pile of blankets.

“Shit!” Hideo hissed, startled.  He scooted against the edge of the boat, backing away from the assassin bundled between them.

Battousai’s amber eyes were lucid.  The boy was looking at Noriya, face resigned, tired and wan.  How much had the boy heard?

“Himura-san,” Noriya responded, ignoring Hideo as the greengrocer silently mouthed, ‘Gods, Noriya, you told him your name?’ at him like he was an idiot.

“Sato-san, your friend is right.  You should take me to your council.”

That was it.  Battousai’s quiet statement was the final piece clicking into place.  Noriya was sure, now, of what he would do.

“Forget it, Himura.  You don’t even know what’s going on.  You have no idea what our town’s been through, boy.  You have no idea what they’ll do to you.”

“But it’s your duty as a citizen of this village, is it not?  If you don’t turn me in, your loyalties will be suspect.  You’d be in danger.”

But Noriya wasn’t listening to the boy anymore.  He’d unfastened the rope from the pier and begun rowing away.  After a moment’s hesitation, Hideo did the same, sullen and quiet, but loyal as always.

He didn’t look back at his friend or at the boy.  He could feel Battousai’s amber gaze on him.  He couldn’t tell what the boy was thinking.  But the eerie feeling was enough to make his hairs stand on end.  He refused to allow himself to be swayed, however.  He’d made his decision, and nothing Hideo or Battousai said would deter him.

So.  Sato Noriya, upstanding citizen, would now be harboring a war criminal.  Insane idea or no…. So be it.

He sighed deeply, hoping he’d made the right choice.