This fan fiction is based on the Rurouni Kenshin manga. Rurouni Kenshin characters are the property of creator Nobohiro Watsuke, Shueisha, Shonen Jump, Sony Entertainment, and VIZ Comics. This is a non-profit work for entertainment purposes only. Permission was not obtained from the above parties.
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Against a Sea of Troubles: Chapter 8 - Roads


by Haku Baikou ::: 12.Jul.2004


She kicked the sheath away from the hitokiri, keeping the potential weapon well beyond his reach.  She looked around briefly, making sure no one else was near.  The wooded path was silent, save for the sound of distant crickets.  A slight breeze made the night air almost unbearably cold, but she didn’t shiver.  Didn’t move a muscle.  This was not the time for showing vulnerability, Fumiko knew, as she held her sword steadily.  

She kept her face impassive and her weapon trained on the throat of the killer before her as stray, morbid thoughts flitted about in her mind.  She found herself wondering if Masaki saw those freakish golden eyes before he died.  She hoped her Masaki had been one of the first to fall the night Battousai attacked his squad.  Hoped that things had happened so quickly Masaki didn’t have time to be afraid.

Battousai.  Just thinking of the name made her sick.  And the confusion from old Noriya’s strange attitude towards the boy, and the boy’s own odd behavior these past few days, did nothing to make her feel better.  

But here he was in answer to her prayers, Hitokiri Battousai, pinned and helpless before her.  She had waited for this moment for years.  And if she killed him now, she would have no witnesses.  The men in town would say this Ishin Shishi bandit had killed Battousai, that the two men had been found, both dead in the path.  Yes, the bandit and Battousai had obviously killed each other.  

Revenge without consequence.  The opportunity to kill her enemy without being held accountable, without being charged for her crime, without taking her away from Isamu who needed her so.  How she’d fantasized over the years….

“Don’t,” said Battousai, his voice quiet and disturbingly calm, as he looked at the blade in her hand.  He didn’t seem at all bothered by the situation, with him sitting defenselessly on the ground and Fumiko standing over him, clearly at an advantage.  Why wasn’t he afraid?

“Why shouldn't I kill you?” she murmured.  “You deserve no less.”

“Kill me, Fumiko-san… and you kill a part of yourself.”  The amber eyes locked upon hers, the gaze unwavering.  “Sato-san would not like that.”

She stared in disbelief.  “What would you know of Noriya-san’s thoughts?”  

Her words lacked conviction, however, for deep down, she knew the boy was right.  Noriya would not approve.  And neither, to be perfectly truthful, would her own conscience.  She bit her lip in frustration.  After all the years of longing.  All the waiting.  And when the situation finally presented itself…. It was cruel.  Fate was so very cruel to tease her with this after she’d just begun to come to terms with Masaki’s loss.  Cruel that now, when she could finally have the revenge she’d dreamed of for years, she was no longer sure she wanted it.  

She gripped the sword more tightly and bolstered her resolve.

“Where is Noriya-san?  What have you done to him?” she demanded harshly, annoyed at herself for being weak-willed.

The amber eyes blinked in apparent surprise.  “Nothing.  He took Etsuo-san to Morim—“

“Etsuo?  Etsuo-kun was out here?”

He nodded.  “They went to Morimoto-san’s house.”

She frowned.  “Why there?  Are they all right?”

“Mostly.”

Mostly?  What was that supposed to mean?  

“Why aren’t you with him?” The sword was getting heavy.  She took a risk and lowered it.  There was always the possibility that Battousai was faking his weakness, a small part of her mind noted warily, that any minute he could push the dead man from off his legs and come at her.   Overpower her.  Take her sword and kill her with it in some horrifically gruesome manner—

She tensed suddenly at a movement of Battousai’s good arm towards her sword.  But he didn’t reach for Fumiko’s blade.  Only adjusted his sling instead.  She noticed then, that his hands were trembling badly.  She doubted it was from fear of her.

“I came to find you,” Battousai answered her question.  And as always, failed to elaborate upon the minimal information he provided.

“Find me?  And then what?” she asked.

“Sato-san said to bring you to Morimoto-san’s house,” answered Battousai, his voice suddenly sounding very tired.  “But I don’t know where that is.”

She narrowed her eyes, her anger now starting to turn towards a new target.

“Noriya-san,” she fairly growled.  “You mean Noriya-san assumed you’d find me, and that we’d…what, bow to each other, and just merrily stroll over to Hideo-sa—“

Noises in the distance made them both freeze.  The sounds of men moving through the brush, of weapons hacking away at brambles to clear a path, of soldiers calling quietly to each other as they roamed the forested path, searching.  No doubt for Battousai or herself.  No way to tell for certain which side those soldiers were on, but the voices didn’t sound like the young men of the village.  Which left only the Ishin bandits.  

They were coming from the direction Fumiko would have to take to get to Hideo-san’s house.  Not good.

“Hideo-san’s house is that way,” she murmured softly, indicating the direction with a nod of her head.  Battousai frowned in understanding as he realized it was where the enemy soldiers were.

“Somewhere else then,” he agreed to her unspoken thoughts.  “You should hurry.”

She glanced at the hitokiri, mind racing.  And damn it, but Noriya’s insanity must be catching, for despite strong misgivings and doubts, Fumiko came to her decision.  “Yes, we need to get out of here quickly,” she said, not failing to notice Battousai’s startled look at her choice of the word “we”.  

She ignored the amber stare as she set her sword down and pushed at the man lying atop the hitokiri’s legs, rolling him off the boy.

“Careful,” Battousai warned, just as the man let out a low groan.  Fumiko yelped in surprised fright, yanking her hands away from the man and nearly falling from her sudden backward movement.    

“He’s alive!” she gasped.  “You didn’t kill him?”

Battousai’s eyes widened, showing distress for the first time tonight.  As if her assumption had hurt him.  

“No,” he answered.

Fumiko let out a shaky unsure breath.  Battousai had spared a man….

She grabbed the sword again and looked closely at Battousai’s fallen opponent.  The man was stirring a bit, frowning and moaning, but with his eyes still closed.  “We’ll have to leave him.  Neither of us can carry him.  He isn’t hurt too badly, is he?  He won’t die out here if we leave him?”

Battousai shook his head.

“All right then,” she said and held out her hand to the hitokiri.  “We’d best be going.”

He hesitated a moment before taking her proffered hand and allowing her to help him stand.  The boy was shaky.  Very shaky, she noted.

“We could go back to Noriya-san’s house,” she said.  “But we still might run into more of them.  You’re not up to fighting any more of them, are you?”

He shook his head.  “No other choice.”

She gripped the sword tightly in one hand and Battousai’s hand in the other.  Nodded and led him back down the path then, the way they she had come.  She walked quickly as she could and was surprised that the hitokiri managed to keep up considering he looked as if he would fall over any second.  

She hacked at the underbrush blocking their way as best she could, but she was unfamiliar with the feel of a sword, and progress was slow.  It was some time before they could see the main road.   

Two bandits stood in their way, blocking the path.  

Battousai noticed them first.  Tugged on Fumiko’s arm in warning.  Fumiko bit back a gasp when she saw them and quickly pulled the hitokiri off the side of the path to hide with her behind the trunk of a massive, gnarled tree.  Her mouth suddenly dry, her heart pounding.  She shut her eyes tightly, wishing she were back at home doing something civilized like arranging flowers or brewing tea.

“Did you hear something?” one of the men asked the other.

“Eh?  Iya,” said the other dismissively.  

“I thought I heard something.”

Fumiko opened her eyes to stare into amber pools that were completely calm as Battousai stood still beside her, listening intently to the men’s conversation.  To her utter dismay, she found herself taking comfort in the fact that the hitokiri was beside her.  His slight, yet solid presence was shamefully reassuring.  Fumiko wondered if she’d forgive herself for such weakness if she got out of this mess alive.  

“Probably a squirrel,” the other bandit was saying.

“No, I’m sure of it.”

She heard the unmistakable hiss of steel as a sword was drawn, and she almost forgot to breathe.  

“Kami,” she whispered.  “They’re coming to check.”  

Fumiko did the only thing she could think of to do.  She pressed the hilt of her sword into Battousai’s good hand.

The hitokiri looked down, startled.  “You trust me enough to give me this?” he whispered.

“Iya,” she shook her head.  “I trust Noriya-san enough to give you this.”

He frowned, but nodded grimly at her, seeming to relax from her words.  As if he was more comfortable with that statement than he would have been had she declared her trust of him directly.  But then the eerie golden eyes hardened as the men approached, and Battousai took the sword, readying himself to fight.

The first guard walked past their hiding spot, and as he turned and saw them, Battousai sprung into action.  And Fumiko was struck with awe.

It happened so quickly.  She couldn’t really see what he had done, partly because of the darkness, but mostly because it happened too fast.  One moment Battousai was standing next to her, and the next, he was gone.  All she had been aware of was a rush of air, the soft rustle of clothing and a blur of dark red hair.  

Then a soft thud and a low grunt of surprise as the first bandit went down hard.

The other guard, realizing what was happening, swung his sword up and took in a breath, ready to shout for help.  But the man never had a chance to yell as Battousai’s blade caught his, sending off sparks in the darkness.  The bandit gasped, shook off the attack, and swung his sword around for a second pass.  

A pass he never completed, as he too was struck by a lightning quick blade that Fumiko could barely see.  A flash of metal, and a choked scream as the second man also went down, his sword thudding softly as it landed in the high grass.

Fumiko was stunned.  The entire fight could not have lasted more than a minute.  Two men were down, and she had no idea how it happened.  She strained to see better in the soft moonlight, but all she could discern was Battousai kneeling on one knee, leaning against his sword, and two unconscious men at his feet.  

She suppressed a shiver as she left her hiding spot hesitantly and stumbled over to the men.  The night was still, and all she could hear was the steady harsh breathing of the hitokiri as he rested and gathered his strength.  

Fumiko bent down and inspected the two bandits, afraid of what she would find.  But they were both alive.  Battousai had left them alive.  And Fumiko could find no signs of blood anywhere despite searching through their clothing.

“Flat of the blade,” Battousai said quietly in explanation, still breathing hard.  “Slows me down though.  Sumanai, this shouldn’t have taken so long.”

She could find nothing to say to that.

“They’re lucky they weren’t very good,” the hitokiri added.  Strange, but the boy seemed terribly sad as he spoke those cryptic words.  Either that, or it was simple exhaustion, judging by the way he sagged against his sword.

“Let’s go,” she managed at last, assured that the bandit men would be all right.  They’d probably wake up with pounding headaches and sore ribs at the most.  “We’ve got to go.  There may be more of them.”

Battousai hesitated.  “Can you make it alone?”  His voice was odd, his speech slightly slurred.  

She frowned at him, fear creeping in and breaking through her stunned numbness at last.  The hitokiri was very still, eyes closed, head resting against the hilt of the sword.  It had never occurred to her that he may have been injured in the exchange.

“Did they get you?”

He shook his head.  

She was caught off guard by the relief she felt upon learning he was unharmed.  But it was obvious the boy had reached the limits of his strength at last.  And the longer they stayed out here, the more dangerous it would be.  For both of them.

She had to get out of here.  The feeling of vulnerability and exposure was maddening.  The rustle of the leaves and the chirping of insects sounded menacing this night.  And it took all of Fumiko’s control not to run off in a blind panic, screaming like a madwoman and releasing all the built-up tension that churned under her carefully maintained calm.  

She moved toward Battousai and carefully hooked an arm under his sling around his waist.  He winced, but allowed her touch as she helped him to slowly stand.  She took the sword from him and waited for him to regain his equilibrium.  She resisted the temptation to pull at him more forcefully, to make him to hurry.  To leave him behind.

“Come, it’s not far,” she encouraged, as she and the hitokiri stumbled wearily down the road.


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


“You’re going to wear a trench in my floor if you keep pacing like that,” said a very irritable and sullen Hideo.

“Where are they?” asked Noriya as he made a conscious effort to keep still.

Hideo shrugged as he pulled the covers over a fitfully sleeping Etsuo.  “I’m sure they’re fine.  She’s with Hitokiri Battousai, Noriya.  Heh.  Probably the safest place to be in all of Japan.”

“Assuming he found her,” Noriya pointed out.

“I’m sure he found her, Noriya.  Damn, but you think too much.”

“I should go look for them.”

Hideo was on his feet in an instant.  “You sure as hell should not.  I’ve known you a long time, old man.  But I’ve never known you to be stupid.”

Noriya sighed in frustration.  “You’re right, of course, but I’m going crazy here.”

“Heh, I noticed,” said Hideo through clenched teeth as he checked the pot of boiling water over the fire.  “Now shut up and sit down.  Have some tea.  It’ll do you good.”

Sato Noriya did not want any tea.  Didn’t have time for tea.  Tea was the furthest thing from his mind.  But his hands curled reflexively around the cup Hideo shoved at him, and he sat down as he was told when Hideo grabbed him by the shoulders and pushed him down forcefully onto the mat.  

“They’ll be here,” said Hideo, giving Noriya’s arm an encouraging pat.  “And if they don’t come here, they’ll go somewhere else that’s safe.  The kid survived years on the front lines. You think a few brigands are going to do him in?”

“Himura’s not fully recovered.”

Hideo sniffed.  “He doesn’t need to be.  Long as he’s strong enough to wave a sword around a bit, I’m sure he and Fumiko-chan will both be fine.”

“Wish I could be as confident as you.”

“Huh, you’re always telling me to trust the boy.  Trust Battousai, he’s a good lad.  So put your money where your mouth is, old man, and trust the damned kid.  Sure, he's a puny sort, but he’s strong enough for a bunch of lousy bandits.”  Hideo scowled.  Then peered sideways at Noriya and gave an evil little grin.  “Bet he’s got ‘em shitting their hakama in fear right about now.”

Noriya smiled.  Trust Hideo to put things in perspective.

Watch out!”  

A sudden cry from the bed as Etsuo-kun came awake with a start and bolted upright.  Then promptly groaned as he hunched over, his arms curling protectively around his head.

“Kami-sama,” breathed Hideo.  “Etsuo, boy, calm the hell down.  You trying to give me chest pain?”

Noriya sighed, wishing Hideo would show a little tact at least once in a while.  

“Etsuo-kun.”  Noriya set down his cup and went over to the bed where Etsuo was blinking blearily, trying to orient himself.  Noriya settled himself down with a creak of stiff joints and sat on the edge of the bed.  He was getting to be an expert at looking after injured youngsters, he thought to himself with some grim amusement.  “It’s all right, lad.  We’re at Hideo-san’s place.”

Etsuo sat hunched amid crumpled sheets and squinted up at him.  Noriya did not envy the boy.  Etsuo was surely in the throes of the worst headache of his life.  And the kid looked like hell, messier than Noriya had ever seen him.  Etsuo was normally such a fastidious lad.

“Sato-san?”  The boy’s voice quivered a bit, but he seemed alert for the most part.  

“None other.”  Noriya smiled.  “You’re all right.  You’re safe.  Gonna ask you an odd question, lad, but would you mind telling me your name?”

Etsuo blinked.  “Etsuo,” he said, even more confused.

Noriya laughed.  “Sorry, Etsuo-kun.  I just had to be sure.  You took a good hit to the head.  I was afraid you wouldn’t be thinking straight because of it.”

Etsuo gingerly poked at the lump on his head and winced, his face a shade paler as a result of it.  

“I ought to thank you,” Noriya added, more seriously.  “You saved my life tonight, Etsuo-kun.  I won’t ever forget that.”

“I did?”  Etsuo frowned a moment, then widened his eyes, as memory returned.  “Shit, Sato-san!  I need to report to council,” he declared urgently as he flung back the covers and swung his feet over the edge of the bed. “Kami-sama, I’ve got to get reinforcements!”

Noriya put out a steadying hand as Etsuo stood up and swayed on his feet, practically falling over.  He grabbed the boy’s shoulder as Etsuo tried to walk past.  “Etsuo, you need to rest.“

“Sato-san, my friends are out there,” said the boy, staggering a bit as he shouldered past Noriya and headed for his swords which were on a rack near the door.  “Akira’s out there.  Granted, he’s been a bastard these last few days, and I’d like to kill him myself, but… I can’t leave him and the others out there alone with those bandits crawling all over the place!”

“Etsuo, baka.  Listen to Noriya-san, boy.  Don’t be a fool,” said Hideo sternly.  

“There’s no time to lose,” said Etsuo, as he fumbled with his swords.

“Etsuo!”

Etsuo winced at the sharp tone in Noriya’s voice and shut his eyes, his hand automatically going to his head again.

“Etsuo, you can’t go out there,” said Noriya as he stood up an approached the lad.  “You won’t be of any help the way you are now.  You can’t even walk a straight line, boy.”

Etsuo put a hand to the hilt of his katana, and Noriya stopped where he was, frowning in surprise at the boy’s crazed determination.

“You’re right, Sato-san.  I wouldn’t be much in a fight right now.  Everything’s…pulsing and spinning,” said the young man, clearly distressed.  “But I can’t leave them out there, Noriya-san, I’ve got to get help at least.  Go into town, alert them and ask for back-up.”

“Back-up?  What back-up?”  asked Hideo.  “If the town had other soldiers, they wouldn’t have sent a bunch of kids like you out there in the first place.”

Etsuo swallowed, clearly offended, but too polite to say so to his host and his elder.  He tucked his swords into his hakama and straightened his gi.

“Morimoto-san, I appreciate your concern, but I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if anything ever happened to my friends, and I did nothing to stop it.  How could I call myself a man if I cowered here nursing a headache when they’re out there, possibly getting hurt?  Or killed even?  If it were Sato-san out there, wouldn’t you go for help?  I know you would.”

Hideo looked at the boy, shrewd eyes narrowed.  But didn’t say anything.

“You’re not going out there, Etsuo,” said Noriya slowly.  “Not without me.”

He tried to ignore the near-worshipful look of relief on Etsuo’s face.  

“Arigato, Sato-san,” said the young man quietly.

“Damn, Noriya.  I thought we went over this already.  You’re not going out there!”  Hideo was furious.

“No, I agreed to trust Battousai, Hideo.  But Battousai’s with Fumiko, not these boys.  This is different.”  

“You fucking idiot.”

Noriya merely shrugged.  “Besides, we’re not looking for a fight.  We’re just headed for town, right Etsuo?  We’re going in the opposite direction of the bandits.  We should be fine.”

Noriya grabbed the sword he’d picked up earlier in the night and took a deep breath, preparing his old bones for yet another exhausting exertion.

“Idiots,” murmured Hideo as he pushed himself to his feet and grabbed his haori.  “Your spare brushes are by the window.  Write Fumiko-chan a note so she doesn’t worry when she finds this place empty.”

“You don’t have to come,” said Noriya softly, his heart warming at Hideo’s decision to join them.

Hideo’s eyes narrowed in annoyance.  The greengrocer swiped Noriya’s sword out of his hands and tucked it into his own hakama.  “Someone’s gotta watch over you.  You can’t fight for shit, Noriya, and you know it.  Now write the damned note, and let’s be going.”

Hideo crossed his arms, fuming, never taking his eyes off Noriya.  

“Wipe that damned smile off your face, Etsuo-kun,” said the greengrocer without turning around.  “And don’t even think of foolish heroics.  We’re sneaking into town as fast as we can, and that’s all we’re doing.  No damned adventures.”

Etsuo-kun started guiltily behind him, and lowered his head, looking serious and properly chastised.

Hideo was right.  What they were doing was foolish.  Two old men and a wounded boy, none of them fighters.  They should stay at home where it was safe.  

But his heart felt light, and he knew he was doing the right thing.  The town had to be warned, and it felt good to be taking action.  He wrote a quick note assuring Fumiko-chan that they were well, and did not give any other unnecessary details.  

“I thought you were in a hurry,” said Hideo.

“Hai, hai.”  Noriya set down the brush and grinned at his friend.  “I’m glad you’re coming with us.”

“Hunh,” said Hideo as he turned around without a word and stormed out into the darkness.


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


He couldn’t understand why she was helping him.  She hated him.  She’d made that quite clear in all their previous encounters.  Yet here she was, supporting him, careful of his broken ribs, careful of his arm.  Her movements were as gentle as they could be as she helped him across the final few hundred yards toward Noriya-san’s home.  

The trip down the cliff-side path had been particularly hellish, the narrow windings in the steep trail wreaking havoc on his already numbed sense of balance.  It would not have taken much for him to fall off.  He wondered that Fumiko didn’t try to push him.  She had wanted to kill him with her sword only an hour or two ago, after all.  

“We’re almost there,” she was saying to him, her breaths now as short as his own as she too fought exhaustion.  She had both arms around him now, having discarded the sword when they started down the cliff by Noriya’s stretch of beach.  

He felt badly for using her so, for tiring her out.  He’d told her more than a few times on the way here to leave him, but she wouldn’t listen.  She was as stubborn as Noriya-san, and equally as incomprehensible.  Kenshin could not understand why these people bothered.  Why they continually went out of their way to show kindness for someone they should by all means have hated.  

He was too tired to think about that now, however.  It was a struggle simply to put one foot in front of the other and keep moving.  His bad shoulder ached with every movement, the sling failing to provide enough support for bones and tissue that had only just begun to mend.  The fighting had cost him dearly tonight, even though he’d fought left-handed.  He’d over-exerted himself, and he didn’t want to think about how sore he’d be in the morning.

They were inside, finally.  He was dimly aware of that much.  Fumiko-san left him a moment to start a fire and warm the place up.  He’d slid down to the floor in a boneless lump somewhere along the way, his back against the wall, head hanging forward, glad to be resting at last.

He felt arms around him again, and tried to stand under his own power to spare Fumiko-san the effort.  A few more steps to the comfort of his futon.  He remembered, suddenly, as she helped him to lie down, that the futon had once belonged to Fumiko’s husband.  

The thought galled him, and he tried to apologize.  But he couldn’t seem to muster the coordination to do so, and he couldn’t seem to protest at all when he felt gentle hands adjusting the makura under his neck, then slipping off his tatami sandals and tabi, and finally pulling the covers over him.  

He wanted to thank her, to apologize to her, to say a number of things.  But his eyes wouldn’t open, and his voice eluded him, and soon, darkness enfolded him.  The last thing Kenshin felt was the pressure of Fumiko’s small hand on his good shoulder as he finally drifted off to sleep.

“There now, it’s all right,” said a soft, feminine voice as gentle fingers brushed through his hair and rested lightly on his shoulder.  “It’s all right, little one, you can come on out now.”

Shinta  looked up, clutching his top for comfort as he warily regarded the newcomer’s voice.  It was a woman, a petite young woman with soft brown eyes and a kind voice.  She was obviously an adult, but she was small enough, apparently to follow him under the wagon cart where no one else could fit.   She was small like okaa-san was.  Shinta bit his lip at the memory of his okaa-san.

“You have such pretty hair.”  The young woman smiled at him as she sat hunched down next to him.  She had to keep her head bent at a funny angle, but for some reason, she looked graceful doing it.  Not silly at all.  “My name is Akane.  What is yours?”

Her voice was sweet, and her smile was real, he could tell.  He’d always been good at reading people’s intentions.  It was why he’d long ago taken a liking to old Jiro-san (whom everyone else thought was a grouch), and why staying at Uncle’s strange home had bothered him from the moment he'd walked through the door.  Uncle’s intentions had been hard to read.  They were complex in a way Shinta had never encountered before.  He wasn’t like okaa-san or otou-san.  He wasn’t gentle.  And he wasn’t like Jiro-san who was grouchy on the outside, but nice on the inside.

Uncle had had so many layers, Shinta couldn’t tell what was real.  He was like an onion, was the way Shinta thought of him.  Shinta peeled and peeled away at him, trying to figure him out, but Uncle was too fancy.  Too grown-up and complicated for Shinta to comprehend.  

And Uncle’s words never seemed to match any of what he was feeling.  Shinta remembered the day Jiro-san had offered to adopt him, to take him back home to be raised on Jiro-san’s farm.  Shinta had wanted to go with the old man badly.  He felt comfortable around Jiro-san, and he was sure Jiro-san would let him work near the cows.  He really was fascinated by Jiro-san’s cows despite laughing at all of Second Brothers jokes about eating them.  But Uncle had refused Jiro-san’s offer even though Jiro-san argued and argued with him.  They even started shouting, much to Shinta’s distress.  Jiro-san had looked about to cry, but Uncle was adamant.  Uncle said that Shinta was family and that he wouldn’t hand over his family to just anyone.  Shinta was his sister’s child, after all.  Uncle had to watch over him.  

Shinta had believed him then, despite an odd feeling that something wasn’t right.  And now that he thought back on it, he realized that Jiro-san had also felt wrong about the situation.  Uncle had been hiding something, but neither Jiro-san nor Shinta had guessed what it could be.

Now he knew, of course.  Shinta was just a child, but okaa-san had always said he was a bright boy.  And it didn’t take much to figure out that Uncle had only wanted money in exchange.  Jiro-san had offered to take Shinta, but Jiro-san had never thought to offer money for doing so.  The slave traders had.  So Shinta had foolishly trusted Uncle and climbed up onto the saddle with Uncle and allowed Uncle to take him into town.  How foolish he'd been.  It had come as a complete surprise when Uncle handed him over to the strange businessmen on the riverside dock.  And only after Shinta was on the boat, and Uncle was riding back home without him, did he realize that he had just been sold.

He shivered at the memory and clutched more tightly at his top.  He had been so happy that he’d thought to take his top with him.  He didn’t know what he would have done if he had left okaa-san’s precious gift at Uncle’s house that day.  Shinta swallowed, refusing to cry.  He’d made a promise to okaa-san that he’d be brave.  And after his shameful fit of crying the day okaa-san had left, he had sworn to himself that never again would he be such a weakling.  A runt, as the boys in town had called him.

“Oh my, Hyosuke-san really was frightful to you, wasn’t he?”  Akane-san frowned, her large eyes filled with worry.

He’d almost forgotten Akane-san was there.  She seemed different from the others.  He wanted very badly to trust her, but in the last couple of months, he’d sensed such hostility and anger from everyone around him, it was almost impossible to believe that someone could really be nice in this horrid place.  He stared at her, still refusing to speak.  

He hadn’t spoken a word to anyone in the two months since Uncle had sold him.  Some of the traders in the company had become angry, saying that Shinta was obviously a dullard, not worth the price they’d paid.  Others had said that it didn’t matter if he spoke or not.  Long as he did his share of the work.  And who cared if he was a dullard.  They’d bought him for the red hair and violet eyes, not his brains.  Some rich house in the city was sure to take him as a novelty item.

Shinta frowned.  He didn’t want to be a novelty item.  And he didn’t want to go to the city.  But that was not something he could help.  Their caravan was headed for Kyoto, and there was nothing he could do.  He’d already tried running away once, but they’d simply chased him down.  And he didn’t want to remember what they’d done when they found him.  

“Akane, hurry it up down there,” came a gruff low voice from beyond.  “Get the brat already.  Let’s go.”

“Hai, Tatsuya-san,”  Akane’s delicate eyebrows lifted in sympathy as she shook her head in apology for the man’s rude words.  She held out her hand again.  “Despite all appearances, Tatsuya-san is one of the kind ones.  Don’t worry.  He doesn’t approve of what Hyosuke-san did to you.  He hates Hyosuke-san, actually, and he threatened to beat Hyosuke-san just as hard as Hyosuke-san beat you if Hyosuke-san ever touches you again.  They may be partners, but they’re not alike.”

Shinta wanted to believe her.  He shivered.  It was chilly enough without the new holes in the back of his gi.  He really didn’t want to spend any more time outside.

“It’s true,” Akane-san continued, shifting a bit to find a more comfortable position in the cramped space.  “You belong to Tatsuya-san as much as you do to Hyosuke-san.  Hyosuke-san had no right to damage the company’s property.  It was wrong of him to hurt you.”

“Akane.”  The voice sounded angry and impatient.

“Hai, Tatsuya-san, we’ll be out soon,” she said.  Akane-san ran her fingers lightly down Shinta’s gi and made little sounds of disapproval at the fresh welts on his back.  “I hear that Hyosuke-san really didn’t even have a good excuse for what he did.  That you did nothing wrong, and he was just being a drunken boor like he usually is.  Am I right?”

Before he’d even realized it, Shinta found himself nodding.

“Well.  From now on, you travel with my sisters and me.  Tatsuya-san said you could.  You stay with us in our room from now on, and Hyosuke-san and the other men won’t be allowed near you.  You’d like that wouldn’t you?  To stay with my sisters and me?  Kasumi-chan and Sakura-chan would love to meet you.  We’d love to have your company, little one.”  

Akane-san looked uncomfortable hunched over for so long.  Shinta felt badly about making her suffer the cold out here with him.  And when he looked down and saw her knees, he felt even worse.  “There’s mud on your kimono, Akane-san.”

Akane-san’s eyes widened, as if she hadn’t expected him to speak.  She smiled, then laughed softly.  “Not to worry, little one.  I can wash it.”  She wiped a stray strand of hair from her face.  “What is your name?  I can’t very well keep calling you ‘little one’ now, can I?”

“Shinta,” he whispered, shy of his own voice after so many weeks of silence.

“Shinta-chan,” she repeated.  “A fine name.  A sweet name.  Come along then, Shinta-chan.  We’ll put some salve on your back and mend the holes in your gi.  How does that sound?  And we’ll have hot soup and fish for dinner.  Sakura-chan made it.  She’s the best cook out of all three of us.  Does that not sound pleasant?”

He nodded.  It did sound nice.  He tucked his top back into the folds of his gi, and crawled toward the young woman.  Soft arms folded about him as she led him out from under the wagon.

Shinta looked up warily into the stony face of Tatsuya-san, one of the traders in their company.  He was frowning at them both, but he didn’t make any move to strike them.

“Fix the kid up, Akane.  Get some food into him.  We’ve got a long way to travel tomorrow, and I won’t have him wasting precious space on the wagon.  He walks next to you in line.  It’s a long road. Make sure he doesn’t fall behind.”

“Hai, Tatsuya-san,” said Akane, bowing low, averting her eyes.  Tatsuya-san turned on his heel and walked back toward the men’s rooms at the inn.  Akane-san watched him leave, an unreadable expression on her face, and then gently led Shinta toward the warehouse where the goods were stored and the slave women lived.

They held hands as they walked.  

“We’re going to be good friends, Shinta-chan,” said the young woman, her voice merry once again.  “We’ll take care of each other, neh?”

“Hai,” whispered Shinta, so softly, Akane-san couldn’t possibly hear.  But all the same, it was a promise of the heart, one he fully intended to keep.


To be continued.

Japanese Terms:

Ishin Shishi: Imperialists, the side for which Kenshin fought during the war
Iya: no
Makura: pillow
Okaa-san: mother
Otou-san: father
Tatami: a type of sandals
Tabi: a sock with a separate compartment for the big toe, to be worn with tatami sandals

Author’s Note:

Man, it's been a while since I worked on this fic. Not for lack of interest, mind you, but real life just kept getting in the way! Sorry to keep you all waiting! But I'm back to work, and the whole story's been plotted out. Just a matter of actually writing down the events now. Hopefully I'll have updates fairly regularly, although I can never be sure, especially since I may be volunteering on various school projects or working the rest of the summer. But I'll do my best.

Thanks to everyone who wished me well on my exam. I'm glad it's done with. And thanks to everyone who critiqued this fic and offered insight as well as support. And thanks to those who politely asked me to get moving. Heehee. I need people to kick me in the butt every once in a while to get me back on track.

As always, warmest appreciation to the reviewers: ChiisaiLammy, hanabi musume, Redwood1, Neko_Katakura, Maeve Riannon, Linay, MP1, Hakaita, mvdiva, missaw, Oniryu, Wolfgirl13, Lily of the Shadow, Poppy2, kenshin_admirer, Wistful-Eyes, Mirune Keishiko, BakaBokken, Calger459, Night-Owl123, Rarity88, Henrika, Tiger of the Sonicboom, AnkaraStark, tina, mad melma, Deman, Mysti-chan, Wingstar-chan, AmunRa, pu-chan, Shaolin 10, Author-chan, Kasifya, holly, shinobigyrl7, Mockingbird917, Arldetta, FireSenshi2, Ms. Zeal, incybincer, Corran Nackatori, Bloody Akiko Nagi the Insane, tati1, KoChanneo, Toilet Marauder, Shadowsage Hopesong, Meji no Pan, misaoshiru, xZig-zagx, Windswift, SkyDancerHawk, Anna from Russia, ESP, hitokiri-oroness, Uzumaki901, and wyrd. (Whew! I hope I got everyone.)

One last announcement. I'm holding a Rurouni Kenshin fan art contest at my site! The deadline is July 31, 2004. All are welcome to enter. And the prizes are real. RK DVD's, manga volumes, RK soundtrack CD's, etc. Check it out. I know many of you writers out there are artists as well. The link to my site is in my profile. Hope to see you there.

--HB
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