Hi all, ^_^
Well, here's some more Snow Raven. I hope you enjoy. C&C is
welcome and appreciated. ^_^ I'm trying to respond to everyone. (As
a matter of fact, if you sent me C&C on Snow Raven 3 and I
*didn't* respond, it's because my email imploded and I lost three
days' worth of email, from 12/31/99 to 1/3/00. >_< Gomen.)
Disclaimer: RK belongs to Watsuki-sama, Sony and others who have
been kind enough to give me something *else* to obsess over...
^^;
*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 4
a Rurouni Kenshin Fanfic
by Krista Perry
~*~
Crush the wounded soul
or heal with compassion's balm...
Means to the same end?
- excerpt from the private diary of Yukishiro Tomoe
~*~
Himura is avoiding me.
I do not know whether to feel frustrated... or relieved.
But I suppose I should not be surprised after our unpleasant
exchange nearly two weeks ago.
I wonder if he is thinking about what I said?
Well, whether he is or not, he is clearly frustrated that I
refuse to leave; that I have taken up permanent residence within
his own personal sanctuary.
He... could force me to leave. Of that, I am sure. It is
definitely within his power.
But he does not. And when I briefly told Okami-san the
result of what had happened between us that first night, she only
chuckled and said, "I knew he wouldn't have the heart to throw
you out."
Well... perhaps not. But he is still avoiding me.
Each evening, when my chores are finished, I go to his
room... and he is not there. I suspect he slips out the window
when he hears me coming. As to where he goes, and what he does
all night while I sleep on his futon inside his room, I do not
know.
I do not think he is... killing. For I know he only kills
when he is attacked... or when he is given an assignment... and I
do not think he has been given an assignment since my arrival. I
don't know why I think this, but... there is just a feel about
him. A tenseness. A waiting. And with each day that passes...
the feeling builds.
Aside from this, Okami-san has told me that her laundry has
lately been free of bloodstains.
I wonder if he just wanders the Kyoto streets at night. He
seems like a confused ghost, haunting the inn only during
daylight hours, and fleeing with nightfall. All to avoid my
company.
Whatever he does in his nocturnal absence, he is not
sleeping. Each morning, when I rise to make breakfast, the very
next time I pass by his room, without fail, I find him there
again, sitting against the window bench with his swords in his
lap, his head bowed against his chest as he dozes.
Like now.
I slide the door open with my broom in hand, making no
effort to be quiet, and he lifts his head, immediately alert, and
clearly annoyed at my intrusion.
"I'm going to clean," I tell him plainly. "Please leave the
room for a while."
He grunts, not moving from his perch against the window. "I
never asked you to clean."
"There is a buildup of nearly two weeks' worth of dust in
here," I explain, "because until now, I have not disturbed you in
your strange sleeping habits. I wouldn't disturb you even now,
but Okami-san asked me to take care of it."
Himura sighs heavily, and runs one hand through his red
bangs as he stands with irritated resignation, and I silently
thank Okami-san for the small power that just mentioning her name
gives me. I doubt that I could have budged him otherwise.
Hanging his swords at his side, he then looks over at the
small table where his books are scattered, and reaches down,
apparently looking for some suitable reading material to pass the
time during his unwilling displacement. His hand pauses over a
blank white book...
... and I feel my breath catch in my throat as he picks it
up curiously.
*Oh no! I forgot to put it away last night!*
"That's my diary," I say, hoping that the sudden panic I
feel doesn't reflect in my voice. "I would rather you didn't
read it."
Ano... that was the wrong thing to say, because Himura's
eyes widen further with inquisitiveness as he looks at the book
in his hands...
...right before I come up to him and pluck it from his loose
grip.
We look at each other a moment. My mask is in place... but
his expression, as usual, is easily read, and he seems quite
perplexed and annoyed... especially when I tuck the book in the
front of my obi, away from his curious gaze. "For safe keeping,"
I say, turning away. And then I pretend to occupy myself with
sweeping the floor for a moment, waiting to see how he will
respond.
But he doesn't say a word. He merely walks out the door.
The feeling of his near-palpable vexation follows after him.
Only then do I sigh with relief. And then, looking at the
table, I realize...
Hm... he forgot to take a book with him.
I do not think he will come back for one. He is too
proud... and too angry with me.
I suppose he'll find something else to occupy his time while
he waits for me to clean the room, but still...
Why do I feel so guilty? Because, once again, I have driven
him away from the only place where he might have a bit of peace?
Does he even deserve peace?
But if he doesn't... why do I feel so guilty?
I sweep the floor listlessly for a bit...
Then, without thinking, I rest the broom against the wall,
and look over the books, picking up the one I remember seeing
open most recently, and go out into the hallway.
I don't know which way he went. But, turning, I see
Iidzuka-san, Himura's lanky, droopy-eyed comrade, as he walks out
the front entrance, and I decide to look that way first.
I turn the corner... and see Himura standing in the hall,
straight and rigid, like a statue.
"There you are," I say, as I walk up to him, holding out the
book in my hand...
... and then I see his face.
His eyes are hard and flat. His jaw is set tight. He is
staring at his hands. Instinctively, my eyes follow his, and I
see that, in one hand, he holds... a black envelope.
A black envelope...
My blood turns to ice in my veins as I suddenly
understand...
For some reason I can barely comprehend, I am still holding
out the book. "I... I thought you might want..." I cannot
finish my sentence. The words are catching in my throat. The
sight of that black envelope fills me with such dread that I
cannot breathe.
Himura wordlessly takes the book from my hands. His head is
lowered, his bangs shadow his eyes. The black envelope lies
crushed within his fist.
He knew I was coming. He could have hidden it in his
sleeve.
He allowed me to see it. He wants me to know.
*Why?* I want to ask. *Do you think to frighten me so that
I'll leave you alone? How can I? How can I leave you alone now
that I know... now that I know that...*
"...Someone is going to die tonight," I whisper.
There is a name within that envelope. The name of a walking
dead man... someone who doesn't know that he only has a few more
hours of life left to him. Does he have a family? A wife and
children, perhaps?
A fiancee?
"This is war," Himura says, his voice quiet and lifeless.
"People die in wars. People... kill in wars. But... if it means
a better life for everyone later on..."
"For everyone except the dead," I say. "And those the dead
leave behind."
He looks up at me, then... and his face is a mask as flat
and emotionless as mine.
"I do what needs to be done," he says, his voice hardening
with conviction.
I cannot think of anything to say to that...
"Let me know when you are through cleaning," he says,
tucking the book that I gave him under one arm. "I'll be in the
garden."
And then he turns and walks away.
I stare after him silently.
When he is gone... I return to his room.
And I clean.
~*~
The night comes all too quickly.
Okami-san noticed my tense expression earlier, and asked me
what was wrong. When I told her, her face paled, and she nodded
tightly. "I was wondering when the next one would be. It's been
a while. I was hoping..."
A while... It has only been two weeks since he killed that
man who attacked him in the streets. How long is a while? How
often do these "assignments" come, dressed in black envelopes,
heralding yet another rain of blood on the Kyoto night?
Himura is already gone when I enter his room. The window is
still open slightly, and the cool night air flows around me,
causing my lamp to flicker briefly in the breeze.
I can't sleep.
He is out there, in the dark, right now. Killing someone.
The name in that black envelope.
Probably some high-ranking Shogunate official. Someone who
stands in the way of the Ishin Shishi rebellion.
His eyes are probably wild and feral amber now, all his
humanity buried beneath his fierce conviction that, for some
greater good that he can only imagine, he must kill. Kill, not
with the desperate slaughter of the battlefield... but with
careful, calculated deliberation. Stalking his victims. Calling
them by name. Telling them, as he steps from the shadows, his
burning eyes flat and soulless, that he comes to deliver divine
justice. Tenchu.
I spread out the futon with mindless automation, and slip
under the blanket, shivering.
I can't sleep.
~*~
I hear him return in the early morning hours, when the dark
is at its deepest.
I've been listening for him intently. I do not hear his
footsteps, for when he does not want to be heard, only the grave
is more silent.
Instead, I hear the sound of pouring water. Water sloshing,
dripping...
Without another thought, I am standing, wrapping my shawl
around me because of the night chill, and heading towards the
sound. It is coming from near the kitchen. The wash room.
I slide open the door... and he is standing there on the
dirt floor, his hands plunged up to his wrists in a bucket of
water.
Washing his hands. Washing. He doesn't even acknowledge my
presence at all.
How long has he been at this? How long, before I finally
heard him from his room? For I can see that he has already
emptied two wash buckets, and the water in the bucket before him
is clear, yet still he scrubs at his hands... trying to wash away
blood that only he can see...
"Himura," I whisper. "Do you... intend to go on murdering
people forever?"
He does not answer. I know he hears me.
And, looking at his eyes, heavy with resignation... I think
he knows that he is slowly going mad; that, with each new death,
his soul is decaying within him, bit by bit...
Yet even so, there is a determination within him... a
determination that, before he loses himself completely, he will
do everything he can to bring about this "better life" for
others...
*I do what needs to be done.*
There is no joy in this for him, no pleasure... I can see
that now.
He doesn't look at me. He doesn't speak. He just stares at
his hands... and washes, over and over and over...
All I can do is watch.
And wish, suddenly... that I knew him before...
~*~
To be continued...