For
two days now, the city had been tense.
Word of fighting to the north had spread in ripples and whispers through
the streets, and people were edgy.
Soldiers had arrived, with lies and condolences already prepared on their
lips. They had said it was a small
matter - resolved now. But why, then,
did men in uniform still linger on the street corners? Why had the number of people carrying swords
doubled overnight?
Aoshi
scowled. He didn’t sleep well when he
could feel something ominous, and he hadn’t been sleeping well for the past few
days. Ever since that night he had
dragged Sagara out of the woods. But it
wasn’t just wariness that pressed him from rest, hours before dawn each night;
there was much to be done in the wake of the Sekihoutai’s annihilation. Aoshi had demanded a full investigation be
conducted before the event could be covered up completely, and he was
constantly being given new shards of information.
He
filed them all carefully away for later analysis.
There
wasn’t much that could have done about what had happened, but involuntarily
Aoshi found his thoughts straying to the man he had rescued from death that
night. Sagara was at the Aoi-ya now,
though moving him through Kyoto had proved to be almost more trouble than it
was worth with so many soldiers about.
In
the end it hadn’t mattered much. Sagara
was safe now. Though he hadn’t awoken
yet, he talked in his sleep, and whimpered softly in protest when he was
touched.
Omasu
was certain he would live – though, she would add with a shake of her head, she
wasn’t sure how – and Aoshi was satisfied with that. He trusted her judgment; she was, after all, experienced in
matters like this. More experienced
than she should have been, but that was not her fault.
He
knew that he alone was to blame for her skill.
It
was late afternoon by the time Aoshi found a spare moment to visit the room
where Sagara had been laid. All day, he
had found his thoughts drifting to the injured man – how he might be
progressing. Aoshi had been shot
himself enough times in the past to know that nothing hurt like a bullet wound
trying to heal, and he wondered if Sagara was in much pain… or if the fever
kept him far away from it.
But
outside his room, Aoshi hesitated. One hand already on the screen, already in
the process of pulling it back, he stopped, glanced down at the floor and his
lower lip caught between his teeth. He
was not looking forward to speaking with this man. He would undoubtedly ask why Aoshi had saved him – what he wanted
in return – and he was annoyed by that prospect, because he didn’t yet have any
answers. All the same, he was compelled
to enter, if only to reassure himself that Sagara was doing well.
Yet
even that didn’t make much sense to him.
He had Omasu’s word that the man would live, and that should have been
enough for him. Aoshi lingered a moment
longer, suspended between logic, telling him to turn and walk away right now,
and something… decidedly not logical, urging him to look inside, just to see.
“He would not be conscious yet.”
Aoshi
raised his eyes. He had heard Hannya
approach, had pressed the knowledge of quiet, unthreatening footsteps and muted
breathing into the back of his mind, all without interrupting his reverie. He half-turned, not lifting his hand from
the screen. The coarse material felt
different today for some reason; warm against his skin, as though alive.
“I thought I should verify that fact for
myself,” he responded crisply.
Hannya
shook his head, only once. “You speak
as though you don’t trust your own soldiers.”
Breathing
a silent sigh, Aoshi withdrew his hand at last, slipped it into the pocket of
the gi. “I trust my intuition.”
“Oh?”
Hannya stepped closer, folded his arms and leaned back against the wall
opposite him. “And what does your
intuition say about him?” He tipped his
head toward the room where Sagara lay.
He
should have been expecting a question like that, should have already had an
answer prepared. But he had nothing,
and he hesitated. “I’m not
certain. I thought if I spoke with him,
I might begin to understand…”
“Understand
what?”
Aoshi
lifted his chin. He didn’t like the
feeling that he was being interrogated, that his motives were in question. “How he can best serve us, of course,” he
said, and abruptly turned, starting down the hallway.
But
a moment later Hannya was at his elbow once more, keeping pace with him. “Is that why you’re so interested in him?”
“Interested…?”
Aoshi echoed. That certainly wasn’t the
word he would have used. He shook his
head a little. “No. It’s not what you’re thinking.”
“My
apologies.”
Aoshi
glanced over his shoulder. It seemed
there had been a thread of sarcasm lingering behind Hannya’s voice, but he was
certain now that he had just imagined it.
“If I hadn’t brought him here, he would be dead. And… I didn’t want him to die.” His eyes thinned a little. “Because he’s been betrayed. He’s just like us now.”
Hannya
glanced sidelong at him. “Is that
right?”
A
shiver of tension like the fluttering of leather wings ran the length of
Aoshi’s spine. “I know what I’m doing.”
“I am aware of that.” Hannya tilted his head slightly to the side,
and for a long moment he was silent.
“Well. Perhaps not just
like us.”
And by the time Aoshi realized that the footfalls at his back were receding now instead of pacing him, Hannya had already vanished. He sighed sharply. Now that he was alone again, the nagging urge to be at Sagara’s side was fiercer than before. Aoshi shook his head silently, and didn’t even glance back as he started once more down the hallway.