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Against a Sea of Troubles: Chapter 9 - Captive

by Haku Baikou ::: 20.Aug.2004

It was dawn by the time Noriya and company made it back into town. What was normally a relatively easy walk had become a journey of seemingly epic proportions. Etsuo was barely conscious and seemed to be moving on instinct alone. Noriya's joints ached more with each step. Of the three, only Hideo had been untouched by the events of the night, and only by his constant urgings and tauntings were they able to stumble into town. For once, Noriya grudgingly had to appreciate Hideo's sharp tongue. The resulting anger and irritation at his old friend was of great help in lending him the strength to keep walking.

Noriya and Etsuo had promised Hideo there would be no "damned adventures" as the greengrocer had put it, that they would head straight for town.

They'd lied.

The three of them had searched for hours, traveling through the forest and thick underbrush with as much stealth as they could manage, looking for signs of Akira and the others. But they had found nothing. No sign of either the boys or the bandits anywhere. And with the lack of danger, the surge of energy that had driven them on their initial search, waned.

Etsuo's enthusiasm drained slowly out of him, and the toll that the night's battles had taken on him physically began to show. The boy was barely able to stand. Noriya had asked him at one point how his head was, and the young man's uncharacteristic reply had been to growl that if it hurt any more, he'd vomit. It wasn't exactly encouraging.

But they were back in town now, and the sun was rising. And with the coming daylight, Noriya felt a return of his energy. Strange, how merely seeing the sun could do so much to restore a man.

"Council should just be starting their daily session," he murmured to no one in particular.

A gruff "hai" from Hideo, who had never much cared for the council.

They approached the building, and sure enough, the town's senior members were trickling in.

Old Takaharu stood on the engawa, leaning heavily on his walking stick, wisps of his long white hair floating gently in the breeze. The senior-most councilman noticed the three of them as they neared, his drooping eyes widening slightly at the site of them.

"Noriya, my boy," the eldest of the village council greeted him in a familiar soft wheeze. "What the hell happened to you?"

Noriya was sixty-seven. Had hair that was completely grey. And still, the Ancient One took a perverse pleasure in calling him "my boy" every morning. On any other day, Noriya would have delighted in making a great show of indignation and affront. Would have engaged the eldest of the elders in some rebelliously witty banter that both of them so enjoyed.

But not this morning.

"Have Akira and the boys reported in yet, Takaharu-san?" Noriya asked.

"No, not yet. Why? Has something happened?" Takaharu frowned, peering at Noriya more carefully and squinting slightly. His expression hardened as he finally seemed to realize the three of them were bloodied and injured. "Come inside, you fools! Sit down. The young one's about to fall over."

Noriya hooked an arm about Etsuo—who mumbled reassurances that he was fine—and led the boy inside as Takaharu called for someone to bring them some water.

"We were attacked by the bandits last night, Takaharu-san. No sneaking around this time, they actually attacked," Noriya explained as they settled down on the mats. "Etsuo here helped me fight them off. We were afraid the other boys might have run into more of them. They were all over the roads last night. And some of them were rather skilled warriors."

He kept his story simple. He left Fumiko out of his account, afraid to mention her for fear it would lead to further questions from the old councilor. Why wasn't Fumiko with them? Where had she gone? The questions would potentially lead to Himura-san, and Noriya, exhausted as he was, didn't quite trust himself to be able to keep his secrets at the moment.

"So they're growing more bold," said Takaharu quietly. "Are you well enough to give a report before the council?"

"Hai," said Noriya. "I—"

He was interrupted by a commotion outside.

Noriya followed old Takaharu to the doorway and out onto the engawa. A small crowd was gathering. And improbably, amazingly, in the middle of that crowd, stood Akira and the other boys, heads high, smiling proudly.

They were escorting a prisoner toward the council house.

"Takaharu-san! Takaharu-san," one of the council messengers came running excitedly and stating the obvious: "Young Akira and the boys have caught one of the bandits!"

The old councilman arched a bushy white eyebrow and looked as if he would say something. But he merely pursed his lips instead.

Noriya frowned as he watched Akira and the boys poke and prod the man in the back, forcing him to stagger toward the council house. The man's chin was a mess with ample bloodstains down his neck and chest. His arms were bound tightly behind him by several loops of rope. He moved stiffly, holding his head carefully like one with a sprained neck.

But for all his stiffness and apparent exhaustion, the prisoner moved like a warrior still. Had the discipline to ignore the taunts from villagers who had gathered on the street. Had the smooth, predatory grace of a trained swordsman that Noriya could recognize and appreciate, even if he didn't possess such martial skills himself.

"Have you ever seen those boys fight?" said Takaharu beside him.

"Hai," he answered softly. Noriya found it difficult to believe that Akira and his friends could have brought this man to his current miserable condition. He rather suspected someone else—someone with red hair and amber eyes, perhaps—had somehow been responsible.

"Those kids barely know which end of the sword to hold onto and which end to point at the opponent," Takaharu was muttering. "Ito insists we can make them into warriors eventually."

"Ito's only had a few sessions with them, so Etsuo-kun tells me."

"Aa," Takaharu affirmed. "But young Akira has it in his head that he's now a bona-fide swordsman. After only a handful of lessons." The old man shook his head. "His family has always been a proud one."

Akira approached the two of them and bowed deeply. He brushed his bangs out of his eyes impatiently as he waited for Takaharu to acknowledge him with a nod. And once the old man did so:

"Takaharu-san, Sato-san," he addressed them with barely contained excitement. "My friends and I have caught one of the bandits. They ambushed us last night on the road, you see. I have no idea why they would openly attack a group of armed men, especially when they've been so careful to hide in the past. I'm afraid most of them got away. But we did manage to catch this one."

If the boy was expecting Takaharu to shower him to praise, he hid his disappointment relatively well. Takaharu stared at the prisoner, sniffed, scratched his chin, and said nothing for a moment.

Akira and his friends looked at each other, hesitant to speak further.

"Bring him in then," the old leader said finally as he turned to go inside. As everyone began to follow, the old man paused before he reached the doorway. His beady eyes narrowed slightly. "Where is young Etsuo-kun, by the way? Is he not part of your team, Akira-kun?"

"Etsuo?" Akira blinked. "We… we got separated."

Takaharu didn't say anything, didn't reveal that Etsuo was sitting inside just beyond the doorway. "You must be exhausted then. A busy night. Capturing a criminal as well as searching for your friend."

Akira had a distinctly guilty look about his face. "Aa," he stammered. "Yes, it's been a long night. We went back to the place we were at before we split up. By the large oak. We checked several times in fact. But we never did find him. Why, has he not come back?"

Noriya stopped moving and stared at the boy, shocked by the audacity of that lie. He knew for a fact that Akira had never looked for Etsuo, since Noriya himself had waited with Etsuo at that very spot by the oak tree for an hour. And there had never been any sign of Akira or the other boys.

Rare anger welled within him, and Noriya frowned as the boy went past him into the council room. Young Etsuo had been nearly frantic with worry over this arrogant little bastard. Had wandered the woods at night while suffering from a bad concussion. And Akira in turn, had been so taken with this prisoner of his that he hadn't thought to look for Etsuo at all.

Noriya stalked into the room after everyone else and saw Etsuo and Akira staring at each other in shock. Akira, surprised that his friend was back in one piece. Etsuo, unable to believe that his friend had caught a prisoner when he himself had been so thoroughly beaten by the bandits.

Noriya sat wordlessly down between Etsuo and Hideo, still fuming. The greengrocer arched an eyebrow in surprise at his rare display of temper.

"What's eating at you?"

"Nothing." Noriya took a deep breath. "At least now we know that Akira-kun and the other boys are safe."

"Hai," agreed Etsuo faintly, sounding a bit dazed. "I'm really glad they're safe, Sato-san. But… but I can't believe they caught a prisoner. I mean, no offense, but Akira's worse than me with a sword. And I'm pretty damned bad."

"You were good enough to save my life last night," said Noriya quietly.

"That was pure luck, Sato-san, and you know it," responded the boy, still frowning as he watched Akira and the others waiting with the prisoner in a corner near the front.

"There'll be other chances, Etsuo-kun," Noriya said gently. "Bravery has many forms."

"Hai," agreed the boy, disbelief and doubt etched plainly on his face.

Noriya sighed, rubbed his eyes tiredly, and straightened his back, stretching a bit to relieve a plethora of annoying little aches and pains that plagued his age-worn and over-used body. He grimaced and wished for the hundredth time that he hadn't been quite so enthusiastic in his actions earlier in the night. After all his years, he still tended to get carried away by excitement. Tended to forget that his old bones didn't quite share the youthful vigor of his mind and couldn't quite take the abuse of over-exertion anymore. It was a damned shame, he thought, that he often still felt like a young man on the inside. That he tended to forget, at times, that he was now a town elder.

He could understand that wistful look on Etsuo-kun's face. Noriya generally preferred a sedate, safe life. But even he longed for heroics every once in a while. It was a natural enough wish for any man.

Hideo was also watching Akira and his friends. But Hideo's wry expression was quite different from Etsuo-kun's.

"Three guesses as to who really gave that prisoner the clip on the chin," the greengrocer smirked softly.

"You think it was him too," said Noriya quietly, careful not to mention the person's name.

"As if these boys could bring this guy down. Feh. My ass." Hideo snorted as he watched the proceedings with amusement.

Takaharu had settled himself at the low table at the front of the room, and the other councilors waited quietly as Akira and another boy dragged the prisoner to a spot at the side of the front of the room. The man fell to his knees when they let go of him, unruly black hair obscuring his face as he knelt, facing diagonally outward from the corner of the room. He lifted his head slowly, taking in his surroundings as he eyed both the council leaders to his right and the rest of the members to his left. The room tensed collectively, for the man's face, though exhausted, still burned with an angry defiance rarely seen in their quiet little town.

"Would you like some water before we begin?" Takaharu asked the stranger.

Silence.

"What is your name, young man?"

More silence.

"You may speak freely here," Takaharu pressed with a feral smile. "We do not punish those whom we have not found guilty…yet."

Finally, a short, humorless laugh from the bandit at that statement. "Sakamoto," he said in a low voice. "Sakamoto Kinya."

"Aa," said Takaharu almost amiably. "Well, Sakamoto-san, the boys who brought you in say that your friends attacked them on the road last night."

Sakamoto shrugged.

"You and your friends have been stealing from our village for quite some time now."

The bandit remained silent.

Takaharu's voice hardened. "You killed two of our village men in that time. Have you nothing to say to that? You steal from us. You murder harmless old fishermen—"

"We did no such thing," the bandit hissed as an audibly angry murmur passed through the room at his lack of respect.

"Would you care to explain?" Takaharu's voice had lost its warm, breezy tones and was now laced with silken venom. Noriya smiled to himself. This was the true, intimidating Takaharu he remembered from his youth, the man whom all the boys in town steered clear of whenever possible.

The prisoner was not at all affected by the change in tone.

"Why should I? What difference will it make? You've already found me guilty, so there's really no point is there."

"For your conscience sake."

"Conscience?" The man seemed amused. He shook his head. "That's gone. I lost that long ago."

"For the sake of truth then," said Takaharu softly.

Sakamoto's eyes narrowed as he stared at the old man. No doubt, he was trying to gauge the village elder, trying to see where his questions were headed, Noriya thought with almost a pang of sympathy. Sakamoto wasn't the first to try to guess at where the old councilman was leading.

"And what have I to gain from revealing this truth?"

"You're in no position to ask questions, Sakamoto-san," the old man said mildly. "Your job is to provide answers."

Sakamoto shrugged after a moment, as if humoring the old man was harmless enough. "The first one died of fright not two seconds after he ran into us. We stepped out from the woods, he saw us, and keeled over dead right then and there. Weak heart, I suppose. I would hardly call that a murder. We didn't even have a chance to threaten him properly."

Noriya frowned. It was conceivably true. They did find old Ushio-san dead in the road with no marks on him. His wagon had been ransacked and robbed, but the man himself had had no obvious injuries. He was simply dead. No evidence as to how it had happened.

"And the other?" Takaharu asked.

"The other was an accident," the man said quietly. "We told him to back away from his wagon. The stubborn fool refused. He charged towards Ka—a friend of mine, brandishing a fucking farming scythe. So my friend drew his sword. He pulled back on his attack, but not enough, apparently. It wasn't his fault that your farmer couldn't fight for shit. My friend over-estimated his opponent and killed him. It wasn't his intention."

"Who cares what his intentions were? Gouta's still dead!" came an angry cry from someone sitting in the back of the room. "My brother's dead because of you and your friends. You murderous pack of wolves! You fucking animals!"

"We're soldiers," answered Sakamoto, his eyes narrowing. "We survived because we killed. You try to hold back when every fiber of your being screams at you to take your opponent or be taken yourself. It's instinct. Not something we can easily turn off."

"Bullshit! Only an animal gives in to instinct!" shouted the villager, standing.

"Wataru-san," Takaharu warned the angry villager.

"You think so? You try it then," Sakamoto countered, ignoring everyone but the angry villager. "You try restraining the very instincts that kept you alive during the biggest fucking nightmare of your entire fucking life! Your brother was a fool to attack warriors, fresh from a goddamned war!"

"Temee!" The room erupted into chaos as the angry Wataru-san suddenly rushed forward towards the prisoner. The prisoner, likewise, got to his feet, lunging forward before being quickly restrained by Ito and some of the other men nearby.

It was a dizzying, lightning quick turn of events. One moment, the proceedings had been entirely civil. Now, angry shouts filled the room, each voice trying to drown the others out.

"Kami-sama," young Etsuo whispered, wincing at the loud noises which were most likely playing hell with his headache. "They've all lost their minds. No one's thinking. Everyone's just reacting."

"People don't think when they're angry, Etsuo," Hideo responded absently, fascinated by the heated scene.

Noriya stared at Sakamoto, the prisoner's words playing over and over in his mind. Did Himura feel such things, he wondered. Was it difficult for the boy to keep from killing last night? Was he happy to leave his opponents alive, or did he feel disturbed and vulnerable for doing so? Perhaps a bit of both? Noriya suddenly felt chilled, thinking such thoughts. Alien thoughts to him. He'd always been a peace loving man. But he'd always possessed an ability for putting himself in the shoes of other people, for understanding them when no one else could or would. That ability sometimes frightened him.

Sakamoto was kneeling again, Ito having tied the prisoner's feet as well now. The bound man was breathing heavily, but had apparently calmed down fairly quickly. He stared at the occupants of the room, his eyes cold, his face expressionless.

Noriya recognized that expression of cold determination. He had seen the same battle-ready look on Himura's face when the hitokiri fought. Only on Himura, it had been a hundred times more frightening.

Old Takaharu sighed and drummed his fingers lightly on the table, a center of calm in a room suddenly filled with tension.

"Kindly keep the excitement down. My poor old bones can't stand much of these outbursts," he said, his statement addressed as much to the angry village man, Wataru, as it was to Sakamoto.

Wataru-san looked down at the floor in obvious embarrassment and shame for having lost control of his emotions. "My apologies, Takaharu-san, everyone. I was out of line," he said as he kneeled back down, quiet and meek.

"Now then, Sakamoto-san," Takaharu continued as everyone finally settled down again. "What happened out on the road last night? Who gave you the wound on your chin?"

A stir from the corner of the room where Akira and his friends sat: "Takaharu-san, my friends and I—" Akira stopped at an annoyed wave of the council elder's hand.

The old councilman ignored the boy and peered intently at the prisoner once again. "I don't for a second believe that these boys—however good their intentions—could have brought you in like this. So once again. What happened? Who gave you that wound?"

Sakamoto clammed up again and stared at the floor sullenly.

"Another bandit? Your leader perhaps?" continued Takaharu. "Wolves? Tree spirits? Battousai? Who?"

Sakamoto tensed involuntarily at Battousai's name.

Takaharu had caught the prisoner off guard finally.

Noriya bit his lip nervously. Had Takaharu seen the reaction? The reaction had been subtle, obvious to Noriya only because he was attuned to it. But was it noticeable to anyone else in the room? Was it noticeable to those who had no reason to suspect Battousai was in town?

"Gods, did you see him flinch?" Hideo whispered softly on his left.

Noriya's heart sank. So, he hadn't been the only one who'd noticed. He studied the face of the prisoner. Sakamato had an expression of something akin to fear etched across his narrow face. Had the man been that terrified by his run-in with Himura? Was that why he failed to make any mention of the hitokiri's name all this time? Was he afraid Himura would hunt him down if he revealed anything?

Noriya frowned. If only Sakamoto knew what the hitokiri was like these days….

He found himself leaning forward, his back tense. This man surely fought with Himura last night. And here, now, he was about to reveal the truth. This was disaster. This was what Noriya had been fearing for the last week, and he sat now, helpless to do anything but watch as this prisoner gave Himura's presence away.

"I…" The prisoner licked a spot of crusted blood from dry lips. He took a deep breath then, and collected himself, a shade of his former defiance returning.

He shrugged. "I tripped and fell."

The other council members at the table reacted predictably with irritation at those disrespectfully flippant words. But Takaharu was watching the prisoner intently, a thoughtful frown etched on the old face.

The old councilman had seen it, thought Noriya despairingly. The prisoner's momentary lapse had not gone unnoticed.

"That's not true," Akira began to protest. "Takaharu-san, we—"

"Be quiet, Akira!" Takaharu's voice snapped like a whip crack, and Akira's face drained of all color.

The council room was very still. No one dared to make a noise.

"You do realize…" old Takaharu spoke into the silence, his voice almost gentle. "You do realize, Sakamoto-san, that your life depends on your answers."

The two men stared at each other as if the rest of the room didn't exist.

Finally, the bravado melted away from Sakamoto as he sighed and closed his eyes. "Of course I realize that."

"Then answer very carefully. With whom did you fight last night?"

Sakamoto smiled tiredly. "I told you. I tripped and fell."

"Where are your friends hiding? Where is your camp?"

"What friends? I'm just a poor wanderer, traveling alone." The words themselves were defiant still, but the strength was gone from Sakamoto's voice. He seemed drained. He spoke like a man who was resigned to die.

"And what of Battousai?" asked Takaharu softly, aiming for the weak point he'd found in the prisoner's defenses.

But Sakamoto didn't react this time and merely answered in a flat voice, "He disappeared after Toba Fushimi. Everyone knows that. And what in hell does that have to do with anything here?"

There were many bewildered faces in the council, Noriya noticed. Takaharu's line of questioning had a tendency to confuse people at the best of times, but his questions on Battousai were beyond their comprehension. The scribe sighed. At least others were not yet suspicious of Himura's presence. There was a chance, then, that the situation could be salvaged, especially if Sakamoto remained silent on the matter.

"Council is adjourned," Takaharu sighed. "I wish to speak to this prisoner in private. And will Ito-san and Sato-san please stay."

The council's puzzlement merely increased with this unusual request, but Takaharu's word had been law here for years, and no one thought to question it. And so everyone got up, stretched themselves, and slowly filed out of the room, heads shaking. Perplexed by the strange interrogation.

Noriya had no doubts that most would be heading for the tea house down the street to discuss the goings on in the session today.

Next to him, Hideo shook his head. "This is why I don't go to council meetings. Too damned strange. Too many damned hotheads around. And what the hell are we going to do about…" his voice dropped low. "…you know who."

"I don't know." Noriya rubbed at the bridge of his nose tiredly. "Look, get Etsuo-kun home first. Then find Fumiko, eh? I need to know she's all right. I'll take care of things here. See if I can get Takaharu-san off this track he's on."

Hideo nodded uncertainly.

"This Sakamoto fellow," Noriya continued, "He doesn't seem to want to mention…my guest's name for some reason. That may be of help."

"Maybe, but I doubt it," said Hideo.

Noriya sighed. "Could you please stay with Fumiko today, Hideo. I'll go home as soon as I can, but it might be a while before I can do that."

"Just be sure to head back before it gets dark," Hideo said dryly as he went over to Etsuo who sat with his eyes closed, apparently oblivious to what had happened in the entire latter part of the interrogation. The greengrocer dragged the boy to his feet and hooked a friendly arm about him, leading him out of the council room.

"Hideo," Noriya called out.

The greengrocer turned around, eyebrows raised questioningly.

Noriya walked over to him and whispered so only his friend could hear. "Don't mention any of this to Himura just yet."

Hideo nodded slowly. And after a moment: "What was it like, by the way," the greengrocer asked, his voice equally soft.

"Eh?"

"What was it like? Seeing him fight?"

Noriya searched for the proper word. What had he felt last night?

"Noriya!" Takaharu called out impatiently for Noriya from the front of the room.

"Feh. Tell me later then." Hideo sighed and led Etsuo out the door.

Noriya watched his friends leave and then approached the old councilor at the table. He sat next to Takaharu at the old man's invitation.

Takaharu had his arm bent, chin resting on his upturned palm. His walking stick lay across the surface, and he rolled it back and forth idly as he thought. Ito and his men had taken the prisoner to the jail, and Noriya and the old councilman were now alone in the room.

"Noriya, my boy… I'm rather alarmed at the moment."

"Alarmed?" asked Noriya.

"Don't tell me you didn't see that reaction. Of all people, I'd expect you to notice."

Noriya took a deep breath. "I saw it."

"I only mentioned Battousai's name on a whim since young Akira had been throwing around wild theories that the hitokiri's been hiding around about town. Kami-sama, I mentioned his name along with tree spirits after all. But the way Sakamoto jumped…. Hell." Takaharu scratched his chin. "This interrogation seemed odd from the moment we began. No, from the moment Akira and the boys brought him in. Nothing fits. And now this… Battousai…. What the hell is going on?"

"You really think Battousai is here? In our town?" Noriya asked, putting as much disbelief into his voice as he could.

"Logically?" Takaharu snorted. "No, of course not. What would he be doing here, of all places? And with a troupe of half-starved bandits attacking hapless farmers and fishermen? Heh. Hardly worth the trouble for a legendary monster."

Noriya said nothing. He didn't trust himself not to give something away. Takaharu, despite his years and his penchant for pretending to be demented, was as sharp as a needle still.

The old councilman was slowly pulling himself to his feet, leaning heavily on the walking stick. "Well, come along, Noriya. Come along and let's you and I have a real chat with this prisoner, shall we? I told Ito to get your writing tools from the office. He should have obtained them by now."

"Hai," said Noriya, and followed the village elder out into the street.

He dreaded the impending interview. But there was nothing to do but obey.

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

Shinta shivered slightly as he sat upon the window sill, but he didn't mind the cold. The cold kept him from falling asleep. And he dared not sleep. The visions would come then. Visions that were difficult enough to keep from his mind when he was fully awake. And now, now when he was so very tired, they crept in at the edges of his awareness, threatening to overwhelm him and take him back to the horrors of the moonlit field two nights ago.

A flash of moonlight against a pointed spear, fresh blood glistening on the flat of the blade, rivulets dripping down the arm of its wielder.

Shinta gasped as the image took him.

He shut his eyes instinctively, but that only made things worse.

Screams all around him as shadowed forms erupted from the tall grass, surrounding their caravan. Shouts from the men at the front and rear of the line, weapons being drawn.

Tatsuya-san running past them toward the front of the line, shouting for everyone to get in as close to the wagons as possible. And then he was saying angrily to one of the other slavers nearby: "Hyosuke's gone too far! He's fucking mad, sending mercenaries after us just because his damn pride was wounded…." And Shinta lost the words after that.

Akane-san's hands clutched at his shoulders painfully as she pulled him towards herself and dragged him toward the nearest wagon. She turned her head at every sound, her eyes wide with fear, shifting from one direction to another. Shinta realized with a start that she couldn't see very well. It was too dark for her. She couldn't see the shadowy forms that approached. And from the look of things, neither could most of the others.

But he could see. Could see and hear with horrifying clarity everything that was happening as fighting broke out at the two ends of the line. Men drew swords and hacked away at each other, sprays of blood backlit by the moon. The slavers' guards were dying in a most gruesome manner. And the invaders were moving up in the line, past the fighters, into the ranks of the defenseless slave women. They did not spare the women.

Akane-san gasped at the first sounds of the slaves dying. "Kami-sama, what are they doing?"

Shinta couldn't breathe. Felt as if his heart would burst in his chest. They were killing everyone. Everyone. And they were headed this way.

A fire had started in one of the rear wagons, setting an eerie glow about the entire area. And now, even Akane-san could see the carnage, could see that the enemy were closing in.

"Akane-san," he said, finding it difficult to speak. His mouth had gone dry. He tugged at Akane-san's sleeve. "They're coming!" he whispered urgently.

Tatsuya-san reappeared then, his sword drawn, blood staining his side. His voice was strained. "Akane! Take your sisters and go! Get out of here!"

"What?" she said. "Where?"

He shoved her roughly away from the wagon towards the high grass.

"Anywhere! Dammit, Akane, we're losing this fight! Run! Run if you want to live!"

"Onee-chan," Sakura-san's voice from nearby. "Onee-chan, hurry!"

They turned to go just as an enemy warrior leaped towards them with a blood-curdling battle cry, his sword raised to strike. Akane screamed and reflexively threw herself over Shinta, trying to protect him.

But the man's blow never came. Was deflected by Tatsuya-san's blade, Shinta saw, as Akane turned around in shocked confusion to see why they were still in one piece.

"Run, dammit!" Tatsuya-san cried out. And there was a desperation to his voice that Shinta had never heard before.

Akane-san backed slowly away from the combatants. Shinta followed.

Tatsuya-san and the invader still had their blades locked. But Tatsuya-san was bleeding, and the invader was uninjured. The stranger pushed at the swords in a sudden burst of strength. Tatsuya-san fell to his knees, crying out and clutching at his bloody side. And in that moment of weakness, the enemy pulled forth a second blade and buried it deep in the slave trader's chest.

"Tatsuya-san!" Akane cried out as she and Shinta froze, horrified. Watched helplessly as the invader brought his first blade up for another swing.

Tatsuya stared at Akane-san, an oddly sad expression on his normally scowling face as he shook his head. His eyes were fixed on her and burned with an emotion Shinta couldn't identify. "Akane…" Tatsuya-san whispered.

And then he was beheaded.

"Tatsuya-san!" Akane screamed, tears welling in her eyes.

Shinta pulled frantically on Akane-san's sleeve and snapped her out of her daze. The invader was having trouble pulling his sword back out of the body. Now was their only chance.

The two of them ran, following Akane-san's two sisters, several slave women, and a few other swordsmen ahead. Akane-san's breaths hitching from uncontrollable sobs as they fled.

Wet blades of grass lashed at Shinta's face as they sped through the field and onto another path. The women were tiring, their movements slowing and further hindered by their kimono.

Akane-san was breathing in gasps, tracks of tears still fresh on her face. He could hear the soft pants of effort from Sakura-san and Kasumi-san nearby. And mercilessly, unrelentingly, he could hear sounds of their pursuers behind, their footfalls quick and undeniably sure.

The invaders were easily gaining on them.

The slave women were soon cornered.

They panicked and scattered apart briefly, only to be cut down one by one.

Shinta looked about desperately. Saw a glint of metal on the ground, a sword from one of the fallen men of their caravan.

Shinta knew very well he would die tonight.

A part of him wanted nothing more than to give into the fear, to collapse, to cry and whimper, and hope that he could somehow hide in a spot where the invaders wouldn't find him. He was small enough, after all. No one would notice him.

But another part of him knew that such a desire was cowardly, and to hide in fear when three women who had been kind to him were about to be brutally cut down…. There really was no choice at all.

He picked up the sword. His arms shook from the weight of it, but he managed to lift it off the ground. He faced the shadowed warriors who advanced upon him. Two of them, more than twice his height.

Shinta willed himself to keep still. Forced himself to stay, to face the enemy like a man. He knew he wouldn't last long at all, but he had to make his stand. He'd promised his okaa-san he'd be a big boy. He'd promised Akane-san that he'd take care of her. And he'd promised himself that he would be strong. Wouldn't be a runt like the village boys had called him.

He took a deep breath and readied himself to charge forward…

But the world slowed to a numbing blur as Akane-san and her sisters grabbed him from behind and pulled him away. The distant clang from his dropped sword echoed in his ears, sounding as if it was under water. Arms surrounded him. Silken black hair, a curtain before his eyes. But it didn't block out his view completely. Didn't block out the screams as Katsumi-san and Sakura-san were peeled away from their small huddling group like petals plucked from a flower. Brutally murdered before his eyes.

The world tilted crazily as Akane-san pushed him down to the ground. Shinta was too horrified to scream. Could only silently thank the gods that Akane-san had been facing the other way, that she didn't have to watch her sisters's deaths.

He clutched at Akane-san's arms, holding on to her tightly. Akane-san was a nice lady. She didn't deserve this. Her sisters didn't deserve this.

And Shinta didn't deserve this. He'd tried so awfully hard to be good.

None of them deserved this!

Akane-san was speaking to him, her desperate words echoing and melding into one another. But the message was clear.

"Please live, Shinta!" She cried as she was grabbed by her hair and roughly pulled away….

"Iya!"

Shinta gasped and opened his eyes. Breathing harsh. Heart pounding. Senses throbbing as he shut his eyes tightly his fists pressed against them in the futile hope of driving the images out.

"Iya," he whispered, shaken, willing himself to calm down, to stop trembling.

It was a memory. It was over. The bodies, the blood. They were all buried. Out of sight. He'd made sure of that himself.

The field was gone. He was in Seijurou-san's cottage now. A strange and unfamiliar place, but a safe one nonetheless. A warm place. And well defended by a man whose sword skills were…were beyond comprehension.

Shinta opened his eyes and looked around. Seijurou-san was outside, he knew. He couldn't see him, but he knew the man was there by the brook, quietly drinking sake.

Shinta was safe here. He knew that.

Still. He would take no chances.

He grabbed the small wooden sword Seijurou-san had presented to him earlier that night and hugged it close. He slipped off the ledge of the window and climbed onto his futon. But he didn't lie down. He couldn't. He simply couldn't lie down.

So he sat instead, back against the wall, and drew his knees up into a relatively comfortable position. Kept the sword in hand and leaned it against his shoulder. Lowered his head then, resting quietly, but not quite falling asleep. He wasn't ready to fall asleep just yet. The nightmares would come, he knew, and he wasn't quite brave enough to face them. He'd managed to keep awake last night by working. By burying Akane-san and the others. But now… now fatigue set in, and he had no other means to stay awake.

The sound of the crickets, the water rushing in the brook, the leaves rustling in the breeze. They were too soothing….

He must have dozed off a bit, because he awoke to the feel of something soft and heavy being draped across his knees and shoulders. He opened sleepy eyes and saw a large, solid and oddly reassuring shadow looming above him.

"Sleep against the wall if you must, boy," Seijurou-san's low voice murmured as his large hands adjusted the blanket that now covered Shinta. "I don't care. But I won't go easy on you tomorrow if you catch a cold. Tomorrow, you begin your training."

He resisted the urge to call out to the man as Seijurou left him for his own futon across the room. Seijurou-san would not approve of such cowardice.

There was no need to be afraid, he tried to convince himself. What were a few bad dreams in comparison to all that had happened to him already? Fear and guilt could be conquered like any other enemy.

He would not be afraid. Never again.

Tomorrow, he would start learning. Tomorrow, he would become stronger. Tomorrow, he truly would become a new person.

He closed his eyes, then, finally ready to sleep.

Tomorrow, Shinta the runt would be no more.

Tomorrow… Kenshin would awaken.

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

He became aware of warm sunlight on his face. The sounds and pleasant smells of a busy kitchen. A woman humming softly. A child's bubbly peals of amusement amid the lower, rougher laughter of someone familiar… Morimoto-san's voice.

He peeled his eyes slowly open, taking in his surroundings as he finally came fully awake. And blinked, startled, at the strange and unfamiliar scene before him.

It was so… happy.

Fumiko-san was cooking a meal. Lunch, most likely, considering it looked like it was nearing noon from the way the sunlight came in. She was humming the same tune she'd played on the flute days ago when they'd first met, only the melody seemed more cheerful this time.

Against the far wall sat Morimoto-san, looking sleepy and content with his back against the wall and his hands folded across his belly. Isamu-chan was circling the greengrocer's outstretched feet watching them like they were the most fascinating things in the world.

Kenshin frowned in puzzlement, wondering what the little boy was so interested in when suddenly, Morimoto-san's foot flicked sideways, and his tatami sandal went flying into the air, striking one of the supply shelves nearby.

Isamu-chan howled in laughter, doubling over with giggles before scampering off to retrieve the fallen shoe and put it carefully back onto Morimoto-san's foot. The child hovered about, watching the greengrocer's feet again, waiting like a cat about to pounce, not noticing that Morimoto's eyes were open a crack and that the greengrocer was smiling at him in wry amusement.

"Isamu-chan, Hideo-san, you two are going to knock something over if you keep that up," scolded Fumiko. But there was laughter in her voice, and her eyes twinkled as she watched her son's antics.

"It's doing it by itself," protested the greengrocer. "I swear!"

Isamu-chan merely giggled again and flicked his small fingers at the greengrocer's shoe, waiting for it to go flying off across the room again.

Kenshin smiled to himself. He was entranced. He lay as he was on the futon, not daring to move, not daring to make a sound. He wanted to watch forever, to drink in their delight and perhaps to save a little part of it for himself. A strange and happy memory to take on the road with him when he became well enough to leave this place. He was afraid that if they knew he was awake, they would stop doing what they were doing. He was afraid they would stop laughing.

It was like a dream, so different from the hellish night before. And he found himself wondering at these people, that they could seem so content and continue on with their lives as if nothing had happened. As if everything was normal.

"Oh, Himura-san, you're awake," said Fumiko-san.

He blinked, suddenly hit by unexpected panic. He didn't know what to do, what to say under such…ordinary circumstances. This wasn't an inn full of warriors. This wasn't shishou's home in the mountains. And as for his own long-lost family's mornings, it was so long ago, he couldn't remember what they used to do.

A rather pathetic "hai" was all he managed as he slowly sat up, ignoring his protesting muscles. He was stiff and sore all over, and the shoulder was a bit worse than it had been yesterday, but at least he hadn't picked up any new injuries yesterday night. That was a blessing.

Morimoto-san got up from his spot and came over, Isamu tagging along behind. Wordlessly, the greengrocer helped Kenshin to dress, thoughtfully standing between him and Fumiko-san so he could have a bit of privacy.

"Did you fall out of a tree?" Isamu-chan asked, his young eyes wide.

"What?" Kenshin was never sure what the child was talking about.

"Your scars. You have big scars. Were you high up? I have a scar. I fell out of a tree."

"Uh, no," he blinked. "No, I didn't fall out of a tree."

"I wanted to see if I could land on my feet. My cat always lands on its feet," Isamu-chan explained.

"Aa," said Kenshin.

"Isamu-chan," Morimoto-san chided. "It's not polite to ask such things."

Morimoto-san seemed amused, however, at Kenshin's discomfiture as he helped Kenshin with the bad arm. The greengrocer bound it tightly on the upper half only, leaving Kenshin's forearm free. It was a new way of binding, one that worked well, Kenshin thought. It kept his shoulder and upper arm immobile and supported, while he was free to move everything from the elbow on down.

"Last night…" Kenshin began.

"We can talk about that later," said Fumiko-san quickly from the kitchen, looking toward her son, indicating she didn't want the little one to hear of such things.

Kenshin nodded in understanding.

"Yes, once Noriya gets back, we can discuss everything in detail. But for now, relax, Himura," said Morimoto-san. "It's daylight out. Nothing's ever happened in the daylight."

"Sato-san's all right then?" asked Kenshin.

"Hai, hai, he's fine. So's Etsuo if you were wondering. I left them both in town. Noriya's got business to attend to. Long story. We'll talk about it later. But for now.…" the greengrocer walked over to a small sack by the doorway and rummaged through. He came back with a packet in hand.

"I got this from Fumiko's sister while I was picking up Isamu this morning. It could be useful, I think," he said, as he tossed the packet to Kenshin.

Kenshin caught it and looked at it curiously.

His eyes widened as he read the label and learned what it was. "This…this is…"

He didn't know what to think. He looked up to find both Fumiko-san and Morimoto-san looking at him expectantly. Waiting for him to say something.

"We'll help you do it, if you'd like," offered Fumiko almost hesitantly.

Kenshin blinked. Completely at a loss.

"You…you want me to dye my hair?"

To be continued.