ARUGH.

I simply couldn't take it any longer! I had to write something. I had to! I'm so sick of seeing this thing gathering cyber dust...so I'm writing the 13th chapter (crowd cheers?) However, keep in mind that I’m still without my own computer.

Btw..I’m sick of hearing people tell me this is boring. I’ve made it clear plenty of times: Long story slow pacing. Come on, it’s not that hard to figure out. There won’t be blood spewing and guts falling out until LATER P

cough Also, this chapter is un-betaed u.u

OoOo

Chapter thirteen - Bishamonten

OoOo

Thrills ran up and down Ryou's back.

They nestled between his shoulder blades and vibrated down his arms. An electric sizzle rushed up his nostrils, infusing his tired body with strength. His ears, acute to each noise, were humming with the voice echoing through the forest in hypnotizing rumbles. His shivering had nothing to do with the cold, gray dawn. Glittering black eyes beheld his Okashira, large frame half illuminated by the fire before him. His spine was rigid, shoulders drooped, hand tapping out a rhythmic pattern to the sutras he chanted into the chilly air. Ryou could feel every hair on his body rise as he looked upon the statue of Bishamonten. Yet even the god’s gave the man strength, he was honored to worship such a deity. Bishamonten, punisher of evil-doers and overseer of all warriors. He relished in the tight burn of fire on his face, dark with years of sunlight and toil, handsome despite his ugly life. The flame spit and writhed as it threw a ghastly shine on the stone, making its fearsome being glow angry red. In one hand Bishamonten held a Pagoda – the House of Treasures – and in the other a frightening spear.

Aka kuma. What a wise name for a wise Shinobi clan. I hope Noboru doesn’t end its proud history. He had to contain a flinch as his Okashira stopped chanting and faced him. The man was awed by the resemblance the two shared – one a god of the Divine world, the other a god of the Mortal world. Mortal god or not, Ryou knew Noboru was just that…mortal. He had the presence of someone divine; however, he made mistakes like any human would. Ryou both revered and resented the man. To hide his growing tension, Ryou bowed low, his forehead touching the crude tatami beneath him. “I have done as you have ordered, Okashira. I have dealt with Sanosuke Sagara as you wished.” Within the safety of cover the man frowned greatly, feeling anger replace the rush of strength. I could have killed him, you pompous grub. Why keep such a man alive, to act as a warning to his friends? A head would have served that purpose better. Once more his face blanked as he rose and awaited his Okashira’s response.

To further his irritation, the older man simply nodded at him. His eyes were closed and his brows were gathered in concentration. His large mouth parted to release a sigh. Then, after a moment: “Praying to Bishamonten puts me in a good mood. I’m glad you didn’t botch that tonight, Ryou. Did your ropes fare well?” Two short fingers rose to stroke his chin as if considering something else. Ryou waited with still breath, waiting for a subtle, but no less painful barb that always seemed to catch him when his Okashira spoke. A moment, and nothing. Ryou disguised his pride and nodded curtly, “Yes, Okashira, the ropes worked well against Sagara. I had my doubts at first, but apparently stories are just that concerning the man.” Instantly he caught the mistake and tensed. Noboru was a firm believer in seeing things for himself, almost to an obsessive extent. Never would one brush a warrior off because of rumors in the man’s presence.

To his greatest surprise the older man laughed.

Ryou didn’t know whether to be petrified or relieved; to be safe he added a few chuckles of his own. The laughter soon died and Noboru clapped both hands to his knees. “I expected no less from you, to say such a thing. As a spy you rely too much on your ears, and as an inventor on your hands. You must learn to use all parts of your body equally, like your brother Osamu.” The end of his mouth twitched upwards as he saw color rush to Ryou’s ears. But the spy hid it well with a bow and a weak thank-you. So like a chameleon you are, changing your colors to suit your environment as any good spy would. But be careful around me, hawks enjoy devouring lizards like you. Now there was no doubt in Noboru’s mind concerning Ryou’s relationship with his brother. It was common knowledge among the clan that Ryou envied him, but Noboru could see a full bloom of jealousy boiling underneath it.

Feigning boredom, the Okashira flapped his hand and shifted on the rough tatami. There was a question moving across Ryou’s face by the way his upper eyelid began to flutter, his fingers tapping softly on his leg. The older man knew the only reason he had stayed with him to worship for hours was because of this. “About what you said earlier, Sire, when I brought you news about my squadron. If I may ask, what did you mean by keeping close quarters with your fellows?” The older man laughed again, a slow and unhurried rumble through his wide chest. “Don’t over think it. I simply meant that since we have no doubt angered that Himura man, we should be thankful we keep a closer eye on our companions.” He almost felt like cheering as he saw the faintest grin appear on Ryou’s lips. Once more the spy bowed for him, this time to excuse himself. Heart soaring in his chest, Noboru grunted and watched as the man’s figure disappeared into the gray dawn. Only when he was out of sight did he turn his back, eyes closing and his body relaxing. While his lips chanted sutras his mind chanted in arrogant celebration.

Such a fool you are, Ryou. Such a fool.

OoOo

Kenshin had never seen Megumi this frantic.

That morning Sano stumbled inside, the left side of his face dripping blood. Kenshin had stayed up all night, the uneasy feeling in his gut telling him something was wrong. Just hours before that, Sano had left and was expected back no later than evening; yet the evening went by without a sign of him. Despite reassurances from Kaoru, the feeling didn’t wane, so he had waited all night by the front door. And now, while he was trying to curb the flow of blood, something else replaced that uneasiness, a freezing grip of fear. It had begun the moment Sano collapsed in his arms and he began to shout for Megumi.

She was beside him coating a sour smelling gel onto where the worst bleeding was. Kenshin had forced himself not to look away at the sight of his friend, paler than snow with ghastly blue shadows beneath his cheeks. Thick clumps of hair grasped the side of his face, eyelashes stuck together from dried blood. He had seen that look many times before and it had not fazed him..but seeing it on Sano’s face made his experience as a wretched assassin wash away. Alert lavender eyes slowly moved back to the man’s injury, faltering before rushing back to his own hands. Sanosuke was missing an ear, nothing left but a large hole on the side of his head flanked by a large gash. His dried blood created a macabre painting on his face and shoulders, blotched occasionally with funeral black. Kenshin had little time to observe everything before Megumi insisted for another towel, soaked in cold water to aid the medicine.

Yet no matter how much gel she rubbed on, or how many towels Kenshin pressed to his head, Sano just kept bleeding. When one towel was dyed red and replaced with a fresh one, the blood would just keep gushing from his ear. Megumi had taken his pulse several times and each time his heartbeat had increased. Behind him Shiro and Kuro washed the dirtied towels then dipped them in a bowl of cold water. Not far from them Kaoru, Kenji and Yahiko tore old kimono into strips, Okon and Omasu providing the cloth. Kenshin looked to Megumi again, her brow lowered and lips pursed into a tiny line, hands shaking as they did their work. There was very little that could make Megumi this panicked, and once more Kenshin felt a bloom of fright start in his gut and twine throughout his body. Sweat dripped from his pointed nose to land on Sano’s ghostly cheek, sliding down and mingling with the death-red blood there. Momentarily transfixed, Kenshin watched its slow path from the tip of his eye down the curve of his cheek, disappearing inside the part of Sano’s lips. Barely, just barely, those lips moved to form unheard syllables. “Aka Kuma,” the man mouthed, eyelashes twitching feebly beneath their crust of blood.

No one had noticed but him.

Later, Kenshin’s mind pleaded, All of it can wait until later. Save him first. He clenched his jaw together with such force that the enamel to his teeth groaned and his bones ached. Twisted locks of wine-red hair fell over one shoulder as Kenshin slouched down, pressing sharp fingertips to the cold flesh of Sanosuke’s throat. His heartbeat was faster than ever, and the blood dribbling a morbid path down his face kept flowing and flowing. Specks of it littered whatever it touched, stuck in Megumi’s ebony hair and dried in thick crusts on her fingers and kimono. Her skin was colorless and her eyes held a lackluster swirl despite the panic there. Kenshin noted with another knot in his gut that her lower lip was pinched tightly between her teeth, neat bubbles of red gathering at the edges. The voice which he spoke with seemed far away and much older than it should have been. “Megumi. Please. We need help from another doctor. We can’t handle this on our own.” A rough palm brushed the smooth, upturned flesh of her narrow hand which he squeezed.

Action stopped, all faces turned towards the pair. A flutter of light whisked over her narrow face before disappearing in the shadow upon her brow. Stray pieces of blue-black hair fell away from beneath her cap to settle lifelessly on her right shoulder, tips brushing her slowly rising chest. Kenshin felt her fingers curl beneath his palm and clench at the fabric of her kimono. Yet when she lifted her head and nodded there was no hesitance brushing the lines of her face, panic and confusion wiped away. “Kenji…go get another doctor. Hurry, and don’t take no for an answer. Kaoru, I want you to get some cold sake, and Omasu, we need more towels and thicker material for bandages.” A confusing jumble of footsteps and voices followed her words and Kenshin felt his mouth curve in a tired, yet no less potent grin. Megumi was a prideful woman and requesting help from another doctor was like admitting defeat. Years ago she wouldn’t have asked for assistance even if one of them was in such a condition. They all had changed.

Megumi pulled her hand away, tucked up her hair, and calmly went back to work.

OoOo

“Amazing.”

Misao let a wide, unabashed grin split her lips like a sliced peach. It created neat curves on her pale cheeks which matched the raised angle of her eyebrows. One hand gripped loosely at the doorframe beside her, right hip tilted to lean casually against the wood. Afternoon light played at the edges of her tangled up-do and sifted through the fibers of her green kimono. Bright yellow bleached to white as it slanted on the wooden floor, scuffed and littered with broken glass. With the edge of one toe she flicked the twisted carcass of a dead insect before wrinkling her nose. “Amazing that anyone could live in this place for more than a week without jumping out that fancy window.” Green eyes swooped down the shining glass before settling once more on the figure slumped over the table before her. He hadn’t bothered to change out of his light tan suit which had now wrinkled from its perfect, straight-edge creases. Messy locks of hair concealed one half of his face, a few locks curving away at stiff angles as if he hadn’t washed in days.

Misao had just come back from a trip to the bath house which she had spent all morning in. The hot water and fragrant soaps had worked wonders on her aching joints, cleansing worries from her mind. After that she had gone to her room and successfully wrote a letter to her family which she planned on mailing…after she got this bit of entertainment. What, exactly, was so humorous about this she hadn’t pieced together but somehow that didn’t really matter. She derived an odd feeling of satisfaction at seeing the man so vulnerable compared to his usually bighting self. Bighting, nasty, sarcastic, rude…Misao forced herself to stop before her descriptions got too insulting. Upon looking at him this way there wasn’t much she could insult anyway. He slept much like a child would, with his head on his arms and legs spread loosely, a faint snoring noise issuing from his parted lips. The woman had to jab herself in the side to choke the giggle forming in her mouth. “I wonder if he drools like a child too. Doubtful, and it’s not like I’m going closer to find out anyway.” She waved her hand in front of her face to ease the smell of alcohol.

Slowly her hand lowered once more to her side. In a thoughtful manner, fingertips brushed the damp edges of the rag tucked beneath her pink obi. Once more she looked around the premise and once more her lip curled at the dirt she found. Cobwebs snagged onto corners, discarded articles of clothing were thrown carelessly underfoot, and a thick layer of dust blanketed what little furnishings he had. Misao sucked in her cheek and gnawed on it while her foot tapped on the unkempt floor. There seemed to be an itch on the backs of her hands and in her mind, urging whatever womanly instincts she had to clean. It was either instincts or boredom which provoked the Okashira to clean the room despite its sleeping tenant. Jerking the rag from beneath her obi, Misao carefully proceeded into the room with one hand covering the lower half of her face. With effort she forced down the stench and reminded herself that she had indeed smelled worse. What could possibly smell worse than death? “Okashira or not, though…I don’t want to wake the jerk up.”

Yet, she had confidence in her skills of keeping quiet, even while tackling such a mess. Once or twice an old board creaked and she would pause, looking over her shoulder at the man. When he made no sign of waking she would sigh and continue on. Dirt was soon blotched on the pale skin of her face, settling in smears upon the material of her kimono and lowly rag. She was surprised that it had lasted through the cleaning of his Western dresser, and even more amazed when it had remained to clean the final coatings of dust on the floor. Misao had been careful to avoid anything near his person, however, so the stained table cluttered with empty wine bottles and glasses had to wait. But Misao doubted she’d ever step foot into his room again, and if she did, she would certainly not be cleaning it. Her elbows ached, and accompanied by a steady pounding between her eyes didn’t soothe her in the least. She found herself questioning herself many times but she wouldn’t stop until the job was done.

Finally, after what seemed to be hours, the room was cleaned. And as a bonus the widow hadn’t awaked yet which left a sweeter taste in her mouth. One last time she observed the surroundings in case she had missed something…and she had. Bending down, her hand curled over a wrinkled ball of paper which she turned over in her fingers. Curiosity urged her fingertips to pluck away the edges of the paper to unfurl it with as much silence as she could manage. Two corners were smoothed back to reveal what seemed to be a pair of arms and a decorative fan, but before she managed to work on the others, there was a hollow creak of wood and she hastily jammed the paper between the folds of her kimono. The least of her concerns was how one sleeve sagged away to reveal the curve of her collarbone, for she was more absorbed in the movement beside her. Misao cursed herself into oblivion as the widow lifted his head and looked around before his gaze settled on her. The whites of his eyes were skimmed with wiry, red veins, vivid against his ashy complexion and dark hair.

However tired his smile was, it did nothing to hide his faint joy. “Thank you,” he mumbled, barely making a sound as he left the room.

Misao stood agape at the door.

OoOo

That familiar sting of pain bloomed in her chest.

Noriko’s scarred face, however, remained still and placid. Daisuke was making those small noises of worry in his throat as he always did when cleaning her scar. It had become an almost habitual process by now, always starting early in the evening, with its soft twilight angles and lazily cooing birds, no sooner or later. Always, she would sit as a doll would and always, his hands were gentle compared to the medicine. It would eventually cause her sore flesh to throb, but she knew that the pain would dull. That was one of the things that came with being a Shinobi and she had accepted that fact long ago. It had been bred into their clan that pain was temporary and it was necessary to bleed for their Okashira. They were not like the Aka Kuma who loathed gaining so much as a scratch in order to attain their goals.

At last Daisuke withdrew his hands and began to gather his tools. She recited what he would say before he even said it. It was what he always said after treating her. “It’s coming along very nicely. This Western medicine is simply remarkable, don’t you think?” Her head tilted forward only so and a hesitant curve lingered on her small mouth. Like a butterfly unsure of where to settle, it fluttered before disappearing altogether, only a trace of it in her dark brown eyes. But Daisuke knew it was there, even when not visible, and that was all that mattered. Their matching rings clicked together as he cupped her hand in his. The concerned lilt in his voice was gone to be replaced by the voice he used only when they were alone. Just like the ring on their fingers, there was more than one thing they had to hide from public eyes.

“I hope that girl didn’t upset you last night. It was rude of her to gape at you when you arrived.” As if it didn’t matter one way or the other, Noriko shrugged a little and adjusted an invisible crease in her kimono. “She’s young, Daisuke. Don’t hold it against her. I do admit though that Arata was unusually indifferent..do you know why?” Her heart wavered slightly as Daisuke laughed and scratched the back of his head as he always did when not knowing something. In an abashed way he rubbed the pad of his thumb along the back of her knuckles and shook his head. “No, actually. Just when I think I understand the man he does something like that and throws me off. He’s a downright laugh when drunk but I’m afraid he’s stiff as a board otherwise.” He detected the subtle raise of her eyebrow which showed her skepticism better than anything else. Daisuke hadn’t known any other woman who could use her face like his wife did.

She watched him as he rose and patted the slight bulge of his stomach. The soft pink of dusk filtering through their shoji created pleasant shadows along the angles of his wide face, coiling below the frown on his mouth. His mood had suddenly become serious, yet, like any attentive wife Noriko only nodded and waited patiently for him to speak. Her small brown eyes were lowered to her lap which her hands were resting upon. Daisuke looked down at her with a mixture of sadness and affection which settled somewhere between an uncomfortable place in his heart. The woman before him was so much stronger than he had ever been. And what she had to show for her courage was a hideous scar. “You know that I’ll be leaving in a week, naturally. And unlike my last departure, I’m not sure when I’ll return. Our Okashira hasn’t informed me of that, and, I don’t suppose he will.” A slight tilt of her head was the only answer he received.

Daisuke swallowed and nervously smoothed back his dark hair. His tongue felt dry and thick, making it hard to form the words he so urgently needed to speak. If he didn’t do it now he wasn’t sure if he would be able to do it again. He wiped his sweaty palms on his rough hakama before continuing with difficulty. “You know that means that he doesn’t…expect me back. But you also know that there is nothing I wouldn’t do for you and my family.” Simultaneously their eyes flickered momentarily to the tiny infant nested warmly in his blankets. Daisuke padded slowly to his son and knelt, large hand fitting perfectly over the small crown of the baby’s head. He stroked the soft, soft flesh and smiled as his son cooed and stretched a tiny arm. Noriko remained in her place despite how much she wanted to reach out and take her son’s hand.

Instead it curled about the metal crucifix at her throat. “I’ll pray for you nonetheless, Daisuke.”

OoOo