Hi all, ^_^
Yes, I'm still alive (barely, it seems), and still working on Hearts of
Ice, when my muse isn't busy pulling me in other directions. Like this
one. ^_^;
Much thanks to Alan Harnum for pre-reading for me, even though he's not
familiar with Rurouni Kenshin.
C&C is welcome and appreciated. ^_^
The previous chapter can be found on my Rurouni Kenshin page at:
http://www.akane.org/kenshin
*Warning: MAJOR spoliers for the Revenge story arc in the manga,
and the OAVs (though I tend to use the manga as my primary
source).
The Snow Raven, Chapter 2
a Rurouni Kenshin Fanfic
by Krista Perry
~*~
Old one, winter touched,
recalls Death not quite so cold;
with eyes violet warm.
- excerpt from the private diary of Yukishiro Tomoe
~*~
Sunlight...
Warm against my face, shining red through my eyelids...
Red...
The sudden, dark memory of blood. Of rain. Of falling...
into the depths of lost, amber eyes...
As the fog of sleep lifts from my mind, my heartbeat
quickens in surprise.
I am alive.
The boy... didn't kill me?
I blink against the dawn light filtering through a rice
paper window, and discover that I am in strange surroundings. An
unfamiliar room. A soft futon beneath me, a blanket draped over
me.
And he is sitting there. Leaning against the window bench,
his shoulders hunched, one hand resting lightly on his bent knee.
His head is bowed slightly; his flame hair, lit by the soft
morning glow, hangs over closed eyes. A long, slow breath...
almost a sigh... whispers through his barely parted lips.
Sleeping.
Strange, how it never occurred to me that a hitokiri might
sleep... like any normal person...
And in sleep, he is so... different. The hard set of his
jaw has softened, the cold anger that lined his face in the midst
of battle has smoothed.
Silently, carefully, I sit up, half expecting him to snap
awake at my movement. But he doesn't even stir. And as I look
at him closer... the slump of his shoulders tells of a deep
weariness; an exhaustion within him that surprises me. For I saw
not even a hint of such fatigue last night when...
...when he killed that man. When he made the blood rain
down upon the night.
His sword lies, sheathed, a mere hand's length away.
And he is asleep.
Vulnerable.
My enemy. The one who murdered my beloved.
If I had my tanto in my hand at this moment, I could...
I could...
... do... nothing.
For the sight of him, so peaceful now after the violence of
the previous night, makes my soul tremble with a strange aching
pain... almost like...
Ah... I don't understand...
What am I to do now?
*Get close to him,* the old man had said. *Find his
weakness. Then come and tell us. We will take your vengeance
for you. You do not need to stain your pretty little hands with
the blood of this filthy assassin.*
The words echo in my mind, and I cling to them, struggling
to renew my sense of purpose.
My purpose, that was swept from me so unexpectedly by the
sound of this young man's voice, by the stark, haunted look in
his eyes...
Well. I am close to him now. Opportunity has been flung
into my waiting arms, and yet... now... I find myself reluctant
to embrace it.
Because, rather than killing me, he has brought me here.
I am not even sure where "here" is. His home?
Why did he bring me here? I saw him kill. He must
understand that I know that he is the Ishin Shishi hitokiri. And
in these dangerous times, where a treacherous word to the wrong
ear can cost lives, even if he chose not to kill me, it would
have been smarter, safer for him to just leave me where I fainted
on the blood-drenched street. Surely he knows that.
Why, then...?
I notice that there are books scattered on the floor, and on
a small table next to where he sits, motionless. One book on the
table lies open and upside down, to mark the page.
Ano... Does he like to read?
What does a hitokiri do, when he is not killing?
I slip from beneath the blanket and, as quietly as possible,
fold the blanket and the futon, stacking them neatly in the
corner. I pick up the books from off the floor and put them in a
straight pile next to the table.
He sleeps even now.
I am glad. I don't want to be in this room when he wakes
up. And I want to find out more about where I am without having
to worry about him.
About him interfering, that is...
Sparing him one last, long glance, I slide the screen door
open and step out into a long hall, taking in my surroundings,
wondering what I should do next. Hm... too large to be a house.
An inn, then?
"So, you've emerged at last," says a voice, quiet and tight,
and I turn, startled, to find myself looking down at a small,
thin, gray-haired old woman who is frowning at me severely. She
reaches behind me to slide the door closed, but then pauses as
she notices the folded futon and the young man. Still sleeping
peacefully.
When she turns her gaze on me once again, her eyes are still
stern, yet softened by amazement. "Come, girl," she says softly
as she closes the door. "You and I must talk."
"Yes," I agree.
The old woman's frown fades further. "Follow me," she
whispers, turning to walk down the hall. "We can talk in the
kitchen. I've got important guests to feed, and breakfast to
make." Then she mutters, "I've never seen Himura-san sleep so
soundly before..."
I follow her silently.
Himura. His true name, then. Not Hitokiri Battousai.
He brought me here. He must have carried me.
I wonder... what it felt like. I don't remember...
Akira-san never carried me, never held me in his arms like
that. He never got the chance...
The smell of cooking rice and miso fills the air. The old
woman leads me to the kitchen, where several pots of food are
boiling over small fires.
"There," she says, sliding the kitchen door closed behind
us. "We shouldn't disturb him now. That poor boy gets so little
sleep as it is. Now then, my name is Okami Yui. I'm the
proprietor of this inn."
"I am Yukishiro Tomoe," I respond with a polite bow. "I..."
I have abandoned my family and station, I have no one, and
nothing left to me but my grief, and a desire for vengeance that
has become jumbled and confused since ever I looked into the eyes
of my fianc�'s killer last night...
"I am... alone," I whisper.
She stares at me for a long moment. "Alone," she repeats.
"So alone, that you follow a strange man into the night?"
So he told her. She probably knows everything that
happened. Which means that she is also aware that I know who he
is. "He... saved me from some men..."
"Yes, yes, I know all about that." She peers at me
intently, her eyes piercing. "What I want to know is... having
witnessed the bloodshed for yourself... what do you think of
him?"
I hesitate. "... I don't know."
"Does he frighten you?"
"Yes." *But not for the reason you think.*
"Are you planning to leave now?"
"... No."
Her eyes are hard, her gaze sharp. "Why not? You know who
and what he is. He is the Ishin Shishi hitokiri. Even in the
midst of this war, his business is bloodshed of the most terrible
kind."
"I know."
"And you want to stay with him now, even knowing that?
Why?"
Because I'm going to destroy him. Because I cannot bear to
destroy him. Because I have seen myself in his eyes, and now I
am lost, and I need to find myself again...
"Because... he helped me. And I have nowhere else to go."
She looks at me for a long moment, as if trying to see
beyond my words and into my hidden heart. But I am confident
that she cannot see that far, for not even Akira-san, who loved
me, ever did...
Finally, my answer, or whatever she thinks she sees in my
face, seems to satisfy her, for her cold look melts away
completely and she looks strangely satisfied. "Ah," she says at
last. "I see." And she nods with such knowing look that I almost
believe she understands.
But how could she, when I don't even understand myself?
"Well, then." She gestures for me to sit on a tatami, where
two places have been set. "Would you like some breakfast?"
I blink in surprise. "Thank you..."
~*~
The tea is scalding. I hold the ridged cup in my hands,
letting its heat soak into my cold fingers before I bring it
carefully to my lips.
"Now then." Okami-san reaches up to brush a few loose
strands of iron-gray hair behind one ear. "Just so you know, I
managed to scrub all the blood stains out of your kimono. It's
hanging up to dry now, and should be ready this afternoon."
So that's what happened to it. I reach down to
unconsciously smooth the soft cotton of the clean white yutaka
that I awoke in. "I'm so sorry for the inconvenience..." As the
words leave my mouth, I think how strange it is to apologize for
such a thing. How strange it is to be discussing such a thing
over breakfast. *Terribly sorry that you had to wash a murdered
man's blood from my kimono. And thank you for allowing me to
stay in the killer's room for the night...*
She snorts softly before taking a sip of tea. "No
inconvenience, dear. I've washed enough blood-stained clothing
in my time to know how to handle a single kimono. And I think I
managed to wash most of the blood off your skin, but you'll still
want to take a bath later, just in case."
My eyes widen. "Then you... I thought that he..." I
glance down at myself, and feel a twinge of relief from a fear I
didn't even dare voice to myself.
Okami-san looks at my face, and chuckles suddenly. "Himura-
san, change your clothes? Oh, my, no!" The thought seems to
strike her as amazingly funny, for she wipes tears of laughter
from the creases around her eyes. "Tomoe-san, he may be a
hitokiri, but in... other matters... he is quite the innocent.
Until last night, I wasn't sure he even understood what a girl
was."
I blink, not sure how to respond to such a revelation.
"I must say," she continues airily, "I'm quite relieved,
frankly. He's always so pale and serious, never really speaking
at all unless you address him directly. And last night is the
first time I've ever seen him blush! I don't think I'll ever
forget the look on his face when I caught him trying to sneak in,
carrying you in his arms. His face turned almost the same shade
as his hair, I'd say, and he immediately began stuttering
explanations..." She chuckles softly, with a fondness that
surprises me.
Ano... I cannot imagine the dark warrior of last night
either blushing or stuttering.
Then again... the sleeping boy of this morning...
My skepticism must show plainly in my eyes, for she smiles
at me with a knowing, almost mischievous glint in her eyes.
"Tomoe-san, trust me. I've known him to face some of the most
dangerous men alive without fear... and yet I've never seen him
quite so relieved as when I took the situation under control and
sent him off to get cleaned up. Believe me, my dear, your virtue
is safe around him. I think he would rather have let you sleep
bloodied for a night than dare try cleaning you himself."
"Oh..." I look down briefly to gaze into my tea... not
quite sure how to feel about her assurances. Relieved, yes. But
also...
"Anyway, down to business," she says, her face becoming
serious once again, though it lacks the hardness of suspicion
that it held previously.
"Ano..." I say quickly. "I would consider it a great honor
if you would allow me to earn my keep by helping you with cooking
and cleaning."
She smiles. "I would much appreciate that, dear. But
that's not what I wanted to talk to you about."
I blink. "Then..."
"It's about Himura-san," she says. "And why I am going to
let you stay."
"Ah..." I set down my cup with hands that tremble slightly.
A part of me wants to know... But another part of me is afraid.
If I know more about him, if he becomes even more human in my
eyes, how can I...
And another part of me whispers that it is already too
late...
The old woman drops her gaze and softly taps her chopsticks
against her rice bowl absently. "You have seen his eyes," she
murmurs.
After a moment, I realize that it is a question. "Yes..."
"Oh, Tomoe-san," she says, her quiet voice suddenly thin
with distress. "If only you knew... if only you had seen him
before..."
A small knot of sick dread begins to form in my stomach.
"Before?"
"I've known him for over a year now," Okami-san says
quietly. "Ever since Kogoro-sama brought him to Kyoto to be the
hitokiri for the Ishin Shishi. He was only fourteen."
Her words wash over me like ice water. I was right, then.
Just a child...
"He was quiet then as well, and so serious, but oh, such a
sweet boy. He even helped me around the inn. He was always
washing dishes, cleaning the floorboards, and doing laundry
without even being asked, before that first..." She trails off,
shakes her head and smiles wistfully, though there is a hint of
sadness in the expression. "And his eyes... You could never
tell now, but they were the most gentle lavender color..." She
pauses, rubbing her forehead with thin, wrinkled fingers. "He
might be the hitokiri, and heaven knows how badly we need him.
But just a year ago, he was a child in every way that mattered.
Full of idealism and excitement and... innocence...
compassion..."
That last is said with a grief that pulls at my heart, and
yet...
And yet, I can't believe her. How could the killer that I
saw last night possibly have been what she says? Far more likely
that he was a delinquent boy, angry at everyone and everything,
looking for an excuse to lash out in his pain...
...like another young, angry boy I know...
"I raised three sons," Okami-san says, as if reading my
mind. She is looking at me again, her gaze heavy. "I know what
boys are like. Rowdy and raucous, often selfish and light-
minded... But not Himura-san. Oh, what I would give if those
three big louts of mine had even half his soul..."
And in spite of myself, perhaps because of the insistence in
her voice, I try to imagine him as she describes him. I try to
think of him with eyes not burning cold, or lost and empty... but
warm and full of compassion...
Eyes like... Akira-san's...
The cup begins to slide from my numb fingers. Quickly, I
cup the palm of my left hand underneath the cup to keep it from
falling.
Ah... why won't my hands stop shaking?
"Poor boy," Okami-san whispers. Oh, I want so badly for her
to be silent, finished, to not speak any more about him. But she
denies my unspoken wish. "He wanted so badly to help people..."
"Wanted..." I repeat, noticing the past tense, knowing even
as I do that I am grasping at shadows. "Does... he no
longer..."
All murderers were once innocent, after all. No matter how
pure his past, it changes nothing for me, if now...
"Oh no," she says firmly. "Of course he still wants to
help. But..." She trails off, and though I am anxious to hear
her capitulation, I sit silently and wait for her to continue.
"...but all those deaths," she says wearily. "And he's
still so young... but now, so old..."
"...and... his eyes..."
The way she speaks... her voice full of an undefinable ache.
As if she knows how I felt when I saw him.
Perhaps it is not just me. Perhaps *anyone* who looks into
those eyes will be lost...
And Okami-san is talking again, only her once-sharp gaze is
clouded and distant.
"I'll never forget the day he came home after his first...
assignment. His eyes had lost all their life and warmth; the
violet had faded to an almost translucent gray. I was startled,
and I asked him if he was all right...
"And he said, 'I'm fine. Anyway, it doesn't matter, does
it? I have to fight for the new era. That is all.'
"I think I remember crying for him then..."
She is crying for him now. But her gaze is so distant, I
wonder if she even knows. The slow, leaking tears are lost in
the deep creases around her eyes...
"And after each new assignment, I could see even the
flickering gray of his eyes slowly being swallowed, eaten away by
a terrible flat, cold amber...
"Poor boy," she whispers. "Poor boy..."
No more. I can't bear it. "Why," I ask finally, "are you
telling me this?"
She starts at the sound of my voice, and stares at me
uncomprehendingly for a moment, as if seeing me for the first
time. Then, slowly, she shakes her head, and one withered hand
flutters at her temple, as if brushing away the memories as one
would shoo a moth. When she raises her gaze to meet mine once
more, her old eyes are again sharp and clear. She either doesn't
notice, or simply ignores the tear tracks on her wrinkled skin.
"Because," she answers. "Last night, for the first time
since he became the hitokiri, I saw the barest glimmer of true
life within his eyes once again."
Ah.
Oh dear...
"And *that*," she says, nodding at me sharply, "is why I am
allowing you to stay."
~*~
To be continued.
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