Rurouni Kenshin

The Silent Sword

by Moguera

 

I am so sorry to have kept you all waiting for so long, but here it is, chapter 4 of my story.

Disclaimer: See Prologue

 

Chapter 4: Faces of the Past: Soujiro is Discovered

 

            His hand reached for the handle of the carriage’s door.  Even as he opened it, he heard the concerned mutterings of the man within.

            “You sure worry a lot.  The future of this country isn’t something you should be worried about; especially since you’re going to die.”  His clamped itself over the old man’s mouth.  A smile spread across the killer’s face.

            “I have a message from Mr. Shishio.  Smart guy; trying to send Himura the Battousai as an assassin was genius.  But it’s a futile effort because I’m going to take over this country regardless.  And that’s all he had to say.”  Soujiro drew his dagger as he finished his message, holding it poised to strike.  With no second thought, he drove the knife straight into the old man’s skull.

 

            Soujiro snapped awake.  Morning light was just beginning to filter in through the windows of his room.  The young man wiped the cold sweat from his brow.  Was this what it was like to be an ex-manslayer?  Would he be forever tormented in his dreams by all the men he had killed, by all the lives he had taken?  Soujiro sighed.  It was a poor beginning to another long day.

            He had been there for nearly a week.  Soujiro’s training was proving even more difficult than he realized.  He went out every day with his new Sensei and returned at night exhausted and battered.  Though he had no idea what Takezo did during the day, Soujiro was fairly sure that his friend was mostly doing chores.  One time, Soujiro had noticed him preparing wood for repairing a wall.  Apparently, Takezo had training as a carpenter as well.

            Sensei is a potter and Takezo is a carpenter, observed Soujiro, In this time of peace where swords are rarely ever needed, they have found new uses for the skilled hands granted by the mastery of a sword.

            That made Soujiro himself wonder what he would do when he finished learning the Hiten Mitsurugi Style.  What would he do with the knowledge that he had gained?  Would he simply sit around like Seijuro Hiko and wait for an apprentice to come to him?  Or would Soujiro do something different with his life and try to make a difference the lives of those around him.  Either way, it didn’t matter.  All that mattered now was finishing his training under Master Hiko.

 

            Misao was in the kitchen preparing dinner for some the guests at the Aoiya when Okon finally got back with the day’s groceries.  Dusk was just beginning to fall over Kyoto.  While the Aoiya was really the base for the Kyoto Oniwaban Group, it was also a full restaurant as well.  It made perfect cover for the group of talented spies.  As she unloaded them into the pantry, Okon made an unusual comment to Misao.

            “Takezo’s back,” she remarked offhandedly.

            “Really?” responded Misao, raising an eyebrow.  Not long after the whole Shishio incident, the presence of Seijuro Hiko’s second apprentice had become known to the members of the Oniwaban group.  They had never told Kenshin, or anyone else for that matter, of Takezo’s existence.  They simply accepted it as a fact of life.  Then, about a month ago, Takezo had vanished.  Nobody really noticed.  But as the weeks went by, the Oniwaban began to notice his absence in full; particularly by Okon, who spent a bit more time than the rest looking into the affairs of Seijuro Hiko.  But they knew better than to bother Seijuro Hiko about the whereabouts of his apprentice.  Now he was back again, as mysteriously as he had gone.

            “Apparently he’s been back for about a week now,” said Okon, “I talked to some people who saw him walking in the first morning.  He had company.”

            “Now that’s interesting,” commented Misao, turning away from her cooking, “What kind of company?”

            “A strange young man, about the same age, with dark hair and blue eyes,” replied Okon, “He sounds pretty cute if you ask me.”

            “Anything else?” asked Misao.

            “Everybody who saw them told me that this young man had the most wonderful smile,” answered Okon without hesitation.  This made Misao’s eyes narrow.

            “Is that so?”  When Okon nodded, Misao dropped what she was doing.  “Get Lord Aoshi,” she ordered simply, “Tell him to meet me at Seijuro Hiko’s residence.”

            “W-Why?” asked Okon, surprised by Misao’s change in attitude.

            “It sounds like the Tenken’s back,” was her only reply as she left the kitchen.  Okon followed her calling plaintively.

            “You mean Soujiro Seta, the strongest of Shishio’s ten swords?”

            Misao turned around.  “Exactly.  He might be back for revenge on Kenshin by killing his teacher.”

            “Mr. Hiko can take care of himself I’m sure,” said Okon, “There shouldn’t be anything to worry about.”

            “That’s all fine and dandy for you to say,” Misao shot back, “But you didn’t see him fight.  I saw Soujiro break Himura’s sword in two with the greatest of ease.  Even Seijuro Hiko might not be able to measure up against that.”  She glared at Okon before turning to run up the stairs to get into her ninja outfit and get her weapons.  “Tell Lord Aoshi to meet me up there and tell him to hurry.”

 

            Soujiro lay on his back, resting his head on top of his folded hands as he usually did at the end of the day.  He normally chose a spot a fair distance from the rest of Hiko’s house as he liked this time to himself, to think.  Soujiro had been doing a lot of thinking ever since he had become Seijuro Hiko’s apprentice.  Ever since that first day, Soujiro had been spending time in this very spot, pondering just what he was going to do with his life when he finished his training.

            The day had been hard as usual and his body ached all over.  His hands, though freshly treated and dressed, still burned a little due to the nasty blisters he was receiving.  It reminded Soujiro of his days under Shishio.  No, this was harder than Shishio’s training.  Hiko pushed him harder, longer, further.  Each day, he pushed Soujiro’s abilities past their limits, never letting him hold back.  Soujiro had to use his full strength just to survive this training.

            Soujiro sighed and decided that he needed to better acclimate himself to his new way of life before he could even have the energy to think about his truth.  Slowly, he let his eyes close.  His breathing slowed and evened out.  Soujiro fell into a sort of trance that was halfway between the world of the awake and the asleep.  He could stay like that for hours before deciding to actually go to sleep.  It helped him clear his mind.  And he found that his dreams were less troublesome if he did this for a little while before falling asleep.

 

            Misao Makimachi’s attire wasn’t particularly ordinary.  Nor was it particularly modest.  The less than complete coverage offered by her ninja garb was more than enough to draw the eyes of more than a few young men.  However, it was one slightly older gentleman who seemed the most interested in the destination of the young ninja.

            Ishiro carefully tracked Misao’s progress through the crowds.  Her body language told him a great deal.  She walked with the determined stride of someone with a specific destination in mind.  Her eyes told him the seriousness of her situation.  She was dressed and armed for battle, something that piqued his interest.

            Ishiro’s instincts told him not to follow her too closely.  The ninja was inexperienced, which meant that while she was focused on the task ahead of her, she gave no though to the idea that someone might be behind her.  Foolish, he thought.  But nonetheless, he had to be careful, there was no way of knowing whether or not any of her compatriots were lurking nearby.

 

            Ishiro wasn’t the only one interested in the destination of Misao Makimachi.  The spy had hidden himself well, disguising himself as a salesman selling various odds and ends.  When Misao walked past, he took interest in her bold gait, the nature of her expression telling him everything he needed to know.  He too set upon her path.

 

            Aoshi Shinomori was amidst his daily meditation when Okon told him the news.  Not bothering to hurry, Aoshi put on his tan trench coat and set out after Misao.  As he left the streets around Aoiya he quickened his pace.  While Aoshi was certain that the Tenken could take care of himself, he needed to stop Misao before she did something she would regret later.

 

            Being half asleep didn’t mean that Soujiro was anywhere near off guard.  Despite that, he was still unaware as an unnoticed presence drew closer and closer.  If there was one thing ninjas excelled at, it was how to hide their presence, even from the most alert swordsman.  It was a skill that Soujiro himself had mastered, back when he had worked for Mr. Shishio.  However, with the seal on his emotions finally broken after his battle with Mr. Himura, Soujiro was no longer capable of using that skill, especially when dealing with higher quality swordsman.  Fortunately for him, those kinds of warriors had been in short supply ever since the Meiji era began.

            Even though he knew how to perform such a feat, Soujiro was unable to detect someone else who was using a similar method.  It wasn’t until he heard a soft whistling noise that Soujiro realized he had been taken unawares.  Fortunately, he got enough warning to react to the threat.

            Soujiro’s eyes snapped open and he rolled away from the spot where he lay as fast as his body would allow.  A rapid tempo of thudding noises reached his ears as, in a single smooth motion; he went straight from laying down to standing.  Looking at where he had been only a second ago, the young swordsman spotted several kunai protruding from the ground.  More than a few had been directed at vital points like his throat.  Whoever was attacking him wasn’t pulling any punches.

            Looking up farther, Soujiro also spotted the source of said throwing knives.  A young woman, perhaps a couple of years younger than him, dressed like a ninja.  She had long, black hair tied in a braid that ran down to her waist and emerald eyes.  Something about her looked vaguely familiar.  In fact, Soujiro was certain that he knew her from somewhere.

            “So you’re finally back Tenken,” hissed the woman through clenched teeth.  From somewhere in her sash, she pulled out another set of razor-sharp throwing knives.

            Where on Earth does she find room to keep them all? he wondered curiously, It’s not like she has all that much room to hide them.

            Soujiro didn’t have time to ponder the question any further as she launched this next set of kunai his way.  Normally, the young man would have had little difficulty dodging such an attack.  However, he was weary from his training earlier that day.  As a result, he was much slower to react than he should have been.  As he dove out of the way, one of the kunai managed to slice through his kimono and the cotton shirt beneath, grazing the skin of his left arm.

            Soujiro came back to his feet, using his right hand to check the wound he had received.  It was bleeding a little, but nothing compared to the things his family used to do to him.  Smiling with relief, Soujiro turned to once again regard his feminine adversary.  Seeing the way she fought, his mind finally clicked and went back to that fateful day in Shingetsu village.

            “It’s you,” he said suddenly and then paused, “Uh…who are you again?”  Soujiro put on as pleasant a smile as he could manage onto his face, hoping to dissuade the girl from any further violence.

            But Misao Makimachi was a long way from being dissuaded by anything.  The only things she could think of at the moment were the memories of slashed and hung bodies of innocent villagers.  Knowing that the man in front of her wasn’t directly responsible didn’t help her temperament as she also knew that, at the time; he had most likely condoned such horrific actions.  She remembered the way he had sliced through Kenshin’s sword with his own during their duel.  She remembered a great many things about Soujiro Seta and none of them good.  Finally, she remembered Kenshin telling her that Soujiro had been the true assassin of Lord Okubo.

            “Is there any way that we could um…talk about this?” inquired Soujiro nervously, gulping.  The glare Misao shot him told the young man that she didn’t believe that such recourse was possible.

            Well, thought Soujiro in resignation, I tried.  He shrugged mentally and returned to his senses just in time to avoid yet another batch of kunai.  Does she ever run out of those things?

            As if in answer to his unspoken question, Misao reached behind her back with her right hand and pulled out a kodachi.  Soujiro gulped nervously.  If this woman was anything like Aoshi Shinomori, he was going to be in a great deal of trouble.  As tired as he was, just about anything was going to be an uphill battle.

            “That’s enough Misao,” said a firm and cold voice.  Looking over the young woman’s shoulder, Soujiro spotted a familiar face.

            “Oh, hello Mr. Shinomori,” he said as pleasantly as he could, given the circumstances.  He also silently prayed that Aoshi hadn’t come with the same purpose in mind that this young woman had.

            “Lord Aoshi,” said Misao softly, not turning away from Soujiro.

            “Put your weapon away Misao,” he said in a tone that could almost be described as gentle, “There is no need.”

            “But Lord Aoshi,” protested Misao, “This is Soujiro the Tenken…” she was about to go into a list of his crimes and a description of the threat he posed when Aoshi interrupted her.

            “I am well aware of that fact Misao,” he said, his tone unchanging.  Soujiro could not read the enigmatic man’s expression at all.  As he walked past Misao, Soujiro took a small amount of relief in the fact that he wasn’t carrying his double kodachi weapon, a set of two kodachi in a single sheath cunningly disguised to give the appearance of a single long sword.  Despite this, Soujiro didn’t drop his guard, knowing that that coat Shinomori wore could be concealing any number of deadly weapons.

            However, Aoshi did not make any threatening moves as he approached Soujiro at a cautious pace.  Soujiro could tell that Aoshi was gauging him in the same way that Soujiro had been gauging Aoshi.  The leader of the Oniwaban Group stopped directly in front of Soujiro.  Then, in a move that surprised both Misao and Soujiro, gave a small bow in greeting.  Though surprised, Soujiro nonetheless returned Aoshi’s bow.

            “Greetings Soujiro Seta,” said Aoshi calmly.

            “It is a pleasure to see you as well Mr. Shinomori,” replied Soujiro, “I am not sure what the circumstances are, but if anything I have done truly did warrant your friend’s attack, I apologize for it.”

            “Do not,” answered Aoshi, as the man glanced back at Misao, Soujiro was surprised to hear his tone become slightly sharp, “Misao’s skills may have improved, but she has yet to learn not to be so impulsive.  If anything, we should be the ones apologizing.”

            “Thank you Mr. Shinomori,” said Soujiro, “I take it that word of my presence in Kyoto has spread then.”

            “Not so much as you fear,” replied Aoshi, interpreting correctly the implications of Soujiro’s comment, “One of our members has taken a special interest in the affairs of Seijuro Hiko and became aware of your presence in Kyoto after hearing of you and Hiko’s current apprentice coming into town.”

            “I am now Master Hiko’s current apprentice,” announced Soujiro cheerfully, letting out an easy smile now that he was certain that he was no longer in danger.

            It was quite obviously a bombshell for Misao, who very nearly fell over in surprise at his announcement.  “Y-y-you…” she stammered, “Seijuro Hiko’s apprentice!”

            “That is correct,” answered Soujiro, smiling even more widely.

            “But why would you become apprentice to the same man who taught Himura?” Misao wanted to know.

            “Well,” said Soujiro, “Takezo, Master Hiko’s last apprentice, was sent out to look for a new apprentice so that Master Hiko could find someone to take his mantel as Master.  You see, of the two pupils Master Hiko has successfully instructed, neither of them decided to take on the title of Seijuro Hiko XIV.  So, he had Takezo look for a new apprentice who would finish the training and take the title.”

            “So, you’re not here for revenge against Hiko?” questioned Misao, looking slightly dazed.

            “Of course not,” Soujiro said immediately, “Why would I want revenge against a man who has done me no wrong?  There would be no point.”

            “He is the one who taught Kenshin,” Misao pointed out.

            “A teacher is not responsible for the actions of his students once his students have left him,” countered Soujiro, “And besides, I harbor no grudge against Mr. Himura for that matter.  In fact, I owe Mr. Himura a great deal.  Whether or not you believe it, Mr. Himura did me a great favor by defeating me on his way to fight with Mr. Shishio.  He taught me that the things in our lives that we hold as our truths, must be discovered through our own experiences and not just through what other people tell us.”

            Misao looked as if a feather could knock her over.  “You’re grateful to Himura,” she repeated, “Even though he defeated Shishio?”

            “If there was one thing that Mr. Shishio taught me, it was that revenge serves us no purpose.  So we must always look forward in life and make the most of what we have.”  Soujiro chuckled at the look on Misao’s face.  “Mr. Shishio was the perfect example of this.  When the government betrayed him and tried to silence him by burning him, he didn’t seek revenge.  Instead, Mr. Shishio used the injuries given to him by the government as his knew strength and fueled his dream to create a greater and stronger Japan.”

            “How can you agree with that when you saw all the bloodshed Shishio’s plan would have caused?” demanded Misao, thinking that she had finally found a weakness in Soujiro’s reasoning.

            “I never said that I agreed with his methods though, at the time, I did,” replied Soujiro, “But it wasn’t the way Mr. Shishio went about realizing his dream that enthralled any of us, except for maybe Usui and a few others.”

            “Huh,” Misao once again looked baffled.

            “To Shishio, the means were not nearly as important as the ends,” Aoshi explained for her, speaking up for the first time in a while, “His goal was so important to him that he was willing to go to any lengths to accomplish it.”  Aoshi turned his face away from Misao as she looked at him.  “I, for one, know exactly the kind of reasoning that Shishio was using, having fallen victim to the same trap myself.”

            “Lord Aoshi,” said Misao softly, “What to you mean?”

            Aoshi sighed.  “After the events at the Kanryu estate, I lost myself in my one goal, to be recognized as the strongest.  For the longest time, I threw away everything that I was solely for the sake of my rematch with the Battousai.  What a fool I was.”

            “Now now,” said Soujiro in a cheerful tone, “There is no need to get bogged down in the events of the past now is there.  Mr. Himura taught me through his actions that if we linger forever on the past, then we can do no good with our futures.  So in the end, we must move on and try to make the best of the time we still have instead of dwelling endlessly on that which we’ve already used.”

            “I’m not so sure of it,” grumbled Misao, “I still don’t think we can trust you.”

            “Well,” said Soujiro cheerfully, “No one ever said that you had to.”  He clapped his hands in sudden inspiration.  “I know,” he exclaimed, “We only finished dinner a short while ago.  So why don’t you join Master Hiko, Takezo, and I for evening tea.  It would be a nice treat as we so rarely get any company out here.”

            To his surprise, and even more so to the surprise of Misao, Aoshi gave him the smallest of smiles.  “I believe that we shall accept your invitation,” answered Aoshi.

            “Wonderful,” said Soujiro, “Follow me then.”  He led them towards the house of Seijuro Hiko.

 

            The unfortunate man did not get a chance to scream as the sword neatly separated his head from his shoulders at the neck.  Ishiro stood over the body of the now deceased spy, scowling at the decapitated corpse.

            “I don’t know whose call you answer mongrel dog,” growled Ishiro, “But you will not be barking anymore.”

            Ishiro flicked his wrist to clear blood from the blade of his sword before sheathing it.  After completing his grim business, he looked up to see Soujiro and the two members of the Oniwaban group heading towards the house in the center of the clearing.  So this is where our rat is hiding, mused Ishiro.  Looking at the three, he quickly deduced that the young, boyish one had to be Soujiro.  The girl was, of course, none other than Misao Makimachi, the one who had led him here.  The third had to be…

            As he watched, the tallest of the three, the man he presumed to be Aoshi Shinomori, turned in Ishiro’s direction, eyes narrowing.  Ishiro bit back a snarl and ducked lower for cover.  Aoshi scanned the area for a bit before following the other two into the house.

            With a smirk, Ishiro departed for the city.  He wasn’t foolish enough to try anything with one of the most dangerous men in all of Japan standing right next to his intended target.  No, Ishiro would wait until the right moment presented itself before making his move.

 

            Evening tea was a success, despite the fact that Seijuro Hiko never touched a single drop of the stuff, choosing instead to continue downing sake at an alarming rate.  If there was one thing Soujiro could marvel at, it was the way the man could hold his liquor.  He lost count a long time ago of how many cups of sake Hiko could drink at one sitting.  Soujiro, like the others, stuck to tea.  A few years back, when he was in Mr. Shishio’s service, a much younger Soujiro had tried sake for the first time.  Not only did he not like the taste of the stuff, but sake gave Soujiro a headache he would never forget.

            With a taste and aftereffect like that, thought Soujiro wryly, It’s almost no wonder why my stepfather was so unpleasant all the time.  That man hadn’t even bothered to use a cup, instead drinking it straight from the jug, slopping a good half of it across his face as he did so.

            Of all the objects his stepfamily hit him with, Soujiro hated sake jugs the most.  The ceramic jars were quick to shatter against his skull, slicing into his skin with the resulting shrapnel.  The alcohol leftover from the sake that had been in those jugs only served to make the wounds sting and hurt even more.  Add to that the fact that empty sake containers were bad news in the first place, meaning that someone in his family had recently emptied them, meaning they were most likely drunk, which was when his family had been at their most violent state, meant that Soujiro had a very strong dislike for the stuff.

            They conversed about various things for a while before Aoshi finally decided that it was time for him and Misao to take their leave.  As they made their way down the path into the city proper, Misao turned to look up at the man who was her father, teacher, leader and the man who held her heart.  “Do you trust him?” she asked softly.

            In answer, Aoshi did something completely unexpected.  He stopped.  Misao stopped with him.  Ever so gently, he cupped Misao’s chin in his right hand.  Misao could feel calloused skin that resulted from years of swordsmanship.  Aoshi then tilted her head up to look into his piercing ice-blue eyes.  “Do you trust me?” he asked.

            Without hesitation, Misao nodded.  Aoshi leaned down and kissed her lips ever so lightly.  Misao felt her face go red and her senses begin the blur as the dreams she had held for so long finally came true.  Aoshi lifted his head away and let go of her chin.  “There is your answer,” he said.  Without any further comment, he continued along his way.  Misao stood behind, completely dumbstruck for a moment.

            Misao had to think about what Aoshi had said.  It made sense.  If she was willing to trust Aoshi Shinomori, a man so wrapped up in his goal of defeating Kenshin that he was willing to kill one of his own and even join with his organization’s enemy in order to fulfill that goal; then trusting a person like Soujiro, who was little more than a confused child just trying to find some kind of direction in life and live it his own way would be a simple matter.

            After finally regaining her senses, Misao broke into a run after her love.  They were halfway along the path when Aoshi stopped abruptly.  Misao nearly ran into his back.  “Lord Aoshi?” she asked.

            Aoshi suddenly stepped off the path, into the trees, and vanished into the shadows.  Misao followed his example.  Over the year since the incident with Shishio, Aoshi had resigned the fact that he couldn’t dissuade Misao from becoming a member of the Oniwaban Group.  And so, for the sake of her own protection, he had done his best to prepare her for that sort of life.  The young woman proved to be an adept pupil.  Considering the speed with which her training progressed, Aoshi almost regretted the fact that he had left her with Okina so many years ago.  Had things been different, she could have been one of his most talented agents, with skills that rivaled his own.

            They made their doubled back towards Hiko’s home through the forest.  They stopped in the trees around the clearing where his house stood.  There, Aoshi began making a sweep of the area.  Misao followed suit.

            Finally, Aoshi found what he was looking for.   Carefully, he placed the tips of his fingers against the trunk of the nearby tree and tapped them against it in a specific sequence, a code that only members of the Oniwaban Group knew.  Hearing the message, Misao came running.  She stopped short when she found Aoshi.

            Laying on the ground at his feet was the beheaded carcass of a man.  Misao put her hand to her mouth to stifle a gasp of horror and disgust.  She couldn’t let Aoshi see her weakness; otherwise he might stop training her.

            Shinomori seemed to ignore Misao for the time being.  Instead, he got a good look at the body of the dead man.  He walked over and found the head, just a few feet away from the rest of the corpse.  “I thought so,” he said, getting a good look at the face, “He was one of Saitou’s agents.”

            “But who killed him?” Misao wanted to know.

            “That is the question,” agreed Aoshi, “Someone else has apparently noticed that the Tenken is in Kyoto.”

            “And whoever it was isn’t working for the police,” added Misao, “That much is for sure.”

 

            Hajime Saitou knew better than to keep his hopes up.  His spy was long past due to report.  Saitou always tried to be flexible when getting reports from his agents.  After all it was difficult and took time to break from cover to give him the information they had gathered.  Knowing that experienced spies were often even rarer than skilled swordsmen, Saitou didn’t want the men and women he did have on the job taking foolish risks just so they could report to him on time.

            But this was long past the very generous time frame Saitou had supplied to this particular spy.  That could have meant only one thing; the man was dead.  This had been the same man who had brought Saitou information about the other swordsman in Kyoto who could use Shukuchi and the fact that the wolf’s former apprentice, Kojiro was now working for Matahachi.  He was also the man who had been the primary agent in Saitou’s search for Soujiro Seta.

            Saitou had no choice but to pull one of his other agents off his current assignment and continue the job.  He sighed as he used his chopsticks to lift another mouthful of soba into his mouth.  As he slurped up the noodles, he got an idea.  Instead of actively searching for Soujiro, Saitou would instead assign the new agent to keeping an eye exclusively on Matahachi and company.  Saitou figured that if he watched Matahachi long enough, Soujiro would eventually come into view as Matahachi’s plans for revenge reached fruition.  Saitou also planned to have his person look into the past and present of this particular man, something that would give Saitou a clearer notion of what he was dealing with.

            Satisfied with his new strategy, Saitou drained the last of the broth from his bowl and set a few sen on the table to pay for his meal.  It was too late to contact the ideal agent tonight, but in the morning, Saitou intended contact her immediately.  It is time to put my new protégé to good use, he thought.

 

            “Have you found him?” Matahachi wanted to know.  He was getting tired of waiting for Ishiro to find Soujiro.

            Ishiro considered for a moment, telling Matahachi that he had found Soujiro and telling the man where the Tenken was.  Ishiro opened his mouth.  “No,” he said.  He had other plans for the young man.  Ishiro didn’t want to set Matahachi’s plan for revenge into motion just yet.

            “Then why are you here?!” Matahachi screamed, “Go out and do not come back until you find Soujiro!”

            “As you wish,” replied Matahachi.  He picked up his sword and strode from the room, leaving his employer fuming.

 

            “I hope this agreement works out for the both of us,” said one of the men.  Dressed neatly in a western business suit, the man put his hand on top of the packet of money that lay on the floor in front of him.  The man across from him, dressed in a more traditional kimono, smiled in agreement.

            “I agree, sir,” he said, “You’ll be a rich man if you make sure that word of this business never gets to the ears of in the cabinet.  As the liaison between the police office and the department, you are in the ideal position to make sure that anything the police do find out, doesn’t reach the ears of the politicians.”

            “Of course,” agreed the government official.  He was a minor secretary to the Department of Internal Affairs, the person who was in charge of the information that came in via the police.  Not satisfied with the amount he was getting, he agreed to an offer from a man with an interesting proposition.  The man was part of an opium ring.  It was doubtful that said ring was going to be able to operate without being noticed by the police forever.  That was where the secretary came in.  The police couldn’t break up the ring without the go ahead from the Department.  But all their information went through a bottleneck in the form of the secretary.  With the right amount of bribe money, they convinced him to keep the police from acting by making sure that the information they gave never reached the ears of their higher ups.  The police were unlikely to get suspicious, instead chalking it up as yet another of the many downsides to running a bureaucracy.

            The representative from the opium ring clapped his hands together.  “Now, that’s enough talk about business,” he said, “I’ve arranged for some entertainment for us.  I hope you like her.”

            The door off to one side slid open, admitting a young woman.  She was simply stunning.  Her skin was a delicate cream color.  Dark brown hair fell in a cascade across her shoulders, reaching all the way down to the small of her back.  The young woman’s eyes were a beautiful sapphire blue color.  She wore a crimson kimono decorated with images of cherry blossoms.  What was truly surprising was that it all appeared to be natural and she needed no makeup to enhance her beauty.

            Both the opium runner and the politician’s mouths dropped when they saw the young lady.  She couldn’t have been more than seventeen or maybe eighteen years old.  “I’m here to entertain you gentlemen,” she announced congenially.  Then, her eyes narrowed and took on a cold, ruthless edge.  “But I doubt that you’ll find being arrested very entertaining.”

            Before the stunned men could react, her left hand reached into the voluminous right sleeve of her kimono.  The distinctive grating sound of a sword being drawn was heard.  A few seconds later, a wakizashi emerged.  The light from the lanterns in the room glimmered off its finely honed edge.

            With an evil scowl, the woman leveled the wakizashi at the two men.  “By the authority vested in me by the Department of Internal affairs,” she said, her voice almost becoming a growl, “You are hereby under arrest.”

            After recovering from his surprise, the drug runner smiled.  “You think that you can take me so easily,” he said.  He rapped his hand sharply against the floor of the room three times.  The door opposite to the one from which the young woman entered slid open.  A group of five sword wielding men entered.  And unlike the woman, they were carrying full length katanas.

            Her expression didn’t change as she stepped up against the wall.  The five swordsmen charged her.  The first one to reach the woman used a two-handed side slash from left to right.  The young lady sidestepped in the same direction as the attack.  The man holding the katana yelped in surprise as the tip imbedded itself in the wall behind the woman, who took advantage of the opening by reversing her grip on the wakizashi and bringing it up to slice open the man’s throat.  As he fell, another bodyguard attacked from behind, this one attempting a slash straight down from overhead.  She sidestepped the attack easily.  The second attacker also imbedded the blade of his sword in the wall as the woman smoothly returned her short sword to its original orientation and opened the second man’s throat with a backhanded slash.

            The third, fourth, and fifth bodyguards came at her all at once.  They coordinated their movements carefully, the two on the outside attacking with side slashes while the third used a downward slash in an attempt to trap her.  They were taken by surprise when the woman pushed away from the wall and into the center of their formation.  Moving quickly, she was between them before they had time to react.  Her first action was to shove her wakizashi into the middle man’s chest.  She threw her weight into the thrust, pushing her way out from between the other two.  She then kicked against the man she had impaled and used the force to free her wakizashi from his body.  She quickly turned to face her two remaining opponents who, still holding their coordination, had turned to attack her with their horizontal attacks.  However, the man to her right was attacking just a little faster than the man on the left.  The girl caught the leading blade with her short sword, right above the guard, and forced it upward into the path of the second blade so that they blocked one another.  She then forced both of them up while she herself dropped down beneath them.  Quickly withdrawing her sword from its blocking position, she attacked the man on her left with a back handed slash, which opened up his torso as she spun between them, bringing the blade around and up slightly to open a similar wound on the second man.  As she spun out from between them and straightened back up, they both fell dead.

            The woman turned to regard the two men she who remained in the room.  Neither had moved as they were both paralyzed with fear.  Her eyes showing no sign of mercy or compassion, she flicked her wrist so that the blood went flying from the blade of her sword, to spatter in the face of the drug runner.

            “Resisting arrest only adds to your list of crimes,” she said simply.  Pulling a whistle from within her kimono, she blew it.  Seconds later, five police swordsmen arrived in the room.  After a few moments, the two men were lead away in handcuffs.

            The captain of the police turned and bowed to her.  “You have performed admirably Ms. Ebisu, we appreciate your work tonight.”

            “I can’t stand corruption,” said the woman as she pulled the sheath for her wakizashi from the sleeve of her kimono and slid the blade inside.  She then tucked it into her obi.  “Therefore, the pleasure was all mine.”

            “We continue to expect good work from you Ms. Ebisu,” continued the captain, “But you should probably consider cleaning yourself up first.”

            At that moment, the woman looked down at herself for the first time.  Sure enough, her kimono was soaked with blood; and though she couldn’t see it, she was certain that her face was in a similar condition.  She could even feel her hair matted by the amount of blood that hand soaked in there.  “I agree wholeheartedly, sir,” she said after a moment.

The officer tipped his hat.  “Well, goodnight then Ms. Ebisu.”

            She nodded in return, “Farewell, sir.”  After he left, she took a rather roundabout route to the inn where she was staying.  Ms. Ebisu entered the inn’s courtyard from the back and went straight for the well.  Once she drew up a bucket, the young woman rinsed her hands and face to wash off the blood.  There was little she could do for her kimono until she could afford to give it a more thorough washing.  Having finished that, the woman quietly entered the inn through the back door.  It was late at night, so most of the other guests were probably asleep.  She made it to her room without incident.  Once she was there, she changed into a clean set of clothes and lay down her sword.  The woman then went out the way she had come in, exited the courtyard and went around to come in from the front.

            As she suspected, the old woman who owned the inn was waiting for her on the veranda.  “Welcome back,” she said, “You have a message, Ms. Ebisu,” she said, handing a note to the young woman before going back into the inn.

            The young swordswoman unfolded the note that the innkeeper gave her.

My Dear Akemi;

            It read.  She smiled; only one person addressed her in such a manner.

            I am pleased to hear that you intend to visit Kyoto within the week.  When you arrive, please do come to visit me if you have the time.  I am always eager to hear what my favorite niece has been up to since I last saw her.  Remember, you can always find me at the old restaurant not far from the police station at around lunch time.

 

Your affectionate uncle;

Goro Fujita

 

            Akemi Ebisu smiled.  So the old wolf has another job for me, does he, she thought eagerly, This should be interesting.

 

            I must have been insane to agree to this, Soujiro complained silently, Surely anything Mr. Shishio could come up with couldn’t be more torturous than this.

            The training on the cliffs had resumed.  However, Soujiro lay on the ground, completely drained of strength and barely able to twitch.  His right hand feebly clasped the sword that Hiko had given him so that Soujiro didn’t have to keep borrowing Takezo’s blade.  As usual, Hiko sat on a natural stone bench nearer to the edge of the cliff, having somehow managed to pull a sake jug and cup from nowhere, and was silently sipping away while watching his new apprentice’s progress as he tried to get to his feet.

            “Are you done sleeping?” he asked, raising an eyebrow, “If you don’t mind, I would actually like to start training today, but if my idiot apprentice is too lazy to stand after a simple warm up, maybe I should call it a day.”

            Soujiro winced inwardly.  Being called lazy, even in such a casual manner, brought back some bad memories.  Back when he was a child, Soujiro had quickly learned to associate being called lazy with a swift beating.  That memory unconsciously lent strength to the young man’s muscles as he began to lift himself from the ground.  Being lazy meant he would have to be punished.  Heck, he would probably be punished anyway, which meant that he had to put on his best expression for defense against such problems.  However, being on his feet and ready to continue, while putting forth his best face might help to lessen that punishment somewhat.  For the briefest instant, Soujiro was not a nineteen-year-old swordsman training with Seijuro Hiko XIII on the cliffs of a waterfall outside Kyoto.  Soujiro was a small child, preparing himself physically and mentally for the beating he was about to received for being perceived as lazing about on the job.

            Seijuro Hiko looked on expressionlessly as Soujiro got to his feet, the most radiant smile the older man had ever seen on his face.  Yet, at the same time, the boy looked cringing, almost as if he were expecting some sort of physical punishment for being exhausted.  Seijuro Hiko shook his head in amusement.  They were so much alike, Kenshin and this boy.  They both came from troubled backgrounds, probably even more so for Soujiro.  They were both sword wielding prodigies.  And they both went through more personality changes than a schizophrenic on a sugar high and drunk off a tavern’s worth of sake.

            He waited a moment.  When Soujiro made no other movement, Hiko sighed.  “A swordsman who cannot take the initiative and lead the strike against his opponent will have his power cut in half.  If you forever wait for your foe to attack first, you will never be able to fight to your full potential.”

            Soujiro’s eyes slowly opened and the smile disappeared.  They were replaced with a look of slight confusion.  Soujiro let out a few “Uhs” and “Huhs” before Hiko’s words finally took hold in his mind.  Then, the smile returned and he giggled slightly.  “Sorry Master Hiko.  It’s just that your remarks brought back some strong memories for me.”

            The next thing he knew was Seijuro Hiko bearing down on him like a white-clad, sword wielding cannon ball.  Soujiro barely managed to lift his sword in time to deflect the powerful attack, which was followed almost immediately after by another…and another…and another.  The force of the blows was so great, that the impacts were nearly enough to tear Soujiro’s sword from his hands.

            A slash came in low, aiming for Soujiro’s ankles.  Reacting naturally, Soujiro launched himself into the air to avoid the attack.  Of course, that was exactly what Seijuro Hiko had been waiting for.

            “Ryu-Shou-Sen!”  The flat of the blade slammed itself into Soujiro’s chin, making his teeth clack together very painfully.  The attack also knocked him off balance so that he fell onto his back, banging his head against the hard ground.

            “Ugh,” groaned Soujiro as he once again tried to get back on his feet.

            “The last thing you should be doing in a fight is reminiscing about past times.  Your mind should be focused completely on the battle you are fighting.  If you cannot accomplish something as basic as that, then you shouldn’t be using a sword at all.”  Hiko seated himself on the bench once again and began to sip some more sake.

            “You remind me of my first blockhe-I mean apprentice,” he said calmly as he waited for Soujiro to once again get to his feet, “Why I still remember the first time Kenshin wet his bed.”  Seijuro tipped his head up slightly to down another cup of sake.  As he did so, he saw the glimmer of a swiftly descending sword.

            “Hiten Mitsurugi style; Ryu-Tsui-Sen!”  Soujiro’s sword cleaved through an empty sake cup before imbedding itself in the stone bench that Hiko had been sitting on.

            The look of frustration on Soujiro’s face couldn’t have been more amusing.  Hiko smirked superiorly.  “I’m not as easily distracted as you are,” he said haughtily, “And though I was reminiscing about past experiences, that didn’t mean that I wasn’t able to keep my mind on the present.  And in battle, that’s what really counts.  Oh, and you owe me for that cup by the way.”

            As he pulled his blade free from the rock, Soujiro smiled.  “I suppose,” he agreed.

            “Now,” said Hiko, putting up his sword once more, “Let’s go.”

            With the clash of steel on steel, they came together.

 

            Saitou raised another mouthful of soba to his lips and blew on it a little before biting down on it.

            “Swallowing down soba like it’s going out of style, uncle?” came an amused voice from behind him.

            “And why not, my dear?” he replied nonchalantly.  He put a friendly smile on his face as his “niece” sat herself down in front of him.  “Prompt as ever, Akemi.”

            “Have you come to expect anything less?” she asked, folding her hands under her chin and propping them up by her elbows on the table.  The waitress came over to take her order.

            Upon hearing the young woman’s order, Saitou chuckled.  “And you criticize me for sticking to soba.  The way you gobble down mochi, it’s amazing that there’s any left in Japan.”

            “You have your preference uncle and I have mine,” she commented.

            As they waited for Akemi’s meal to be delivered, they discussed all manner of things.  Anyone who would have been observing them would have only guessed that they were only a couple of relatives spending time catching up with each other.  Akemi’s mochi was delivered.  She ate it with a relish.  Saitou finished up his bowl of soba at about the same time.

            “Will you be so kind as to accompany me back to my place of work?” he asked congenially.

            “Of course I would,” was the equally cheerful reply.

            The streets of Kyoto were crowded during midday as the sun beat down from directly overhead.  They were full of men and women shopping and heading in and out of various dining establishments, much like the one that Saitou and Akemi had just left.

            In the crowd, where their conversation would just be another addition to the endless buzz of voices, Saitou and Akemi could converse in relative safety.

            “I take it that you have a new assignment for me,” she said.  Her tone had changed from conversational to businesslike nearly instantly.

            “And an important one at that,” added Saitou, “Why else would I ask you to come see me personally?”

            “Either it’s important, or it’s in Kyoto,” guessed Akemi.

            “Both,” answered Saitou.

            “Interesting,” was all that Akemi could say, “So, what is the nature of this all important assignment.  You’re lucky I was only in Osaka, or I might have had a hard time reaching you.”

            “As you have probably heard,” began Saitou, “I have been searching for the young man named Soujiro Seta, also known as the Tenken.  He was…”

            “The right hand man of Makoto Shishio, whom plotted nearly succeeded at the downfall of the Meiji government,” finished Akemi impatiently, “I know all this Saitou.  Get to the point.”

            “The point is that the government isn’t the only enemy Soujiro has made over these eleven years since he joined Shishio,” said Saitou without missing a beat, “He has made a somewhat formidable adversary in the cousin of his stepfamily; a man named Matahachi, who also happens to be a member of the police swordsmen.”

            “I take it that he’s as arrogant as the rest of them,” she commented dryly.

            “Seeing as he’s from Satsuma, yes,” agreed Saitou, “But especially so where his estranged cousin is concerned.  When the issue of young Soujiro comes up, Matahachi seems to lose all connection with reason.”

            “And what has this got to do with anything?” inquired Akemi.

            “Matahachi is proving a bother in my search for the Tenken,” said Saitou, “However, as his plot for revenge develops, I do not doubt that he will draw Soujiro into the open.  Family matters always seem to override caution where fugitives are concerned.  In any case, this supplies us with both the opportunity to get Soujiro and remove Matahachi from the equation as well.

            “And how do you figure that?” Akemi wanted to know.

            “From what my agent observed before he was dealt with,” said Saitou, “Matahachi apparently has more funds at his disposal than a normal man of his station within the government should have.  However, I was still too busy looking for the location of Soujiro to investigate this further.  Now that I think about it, Matahachi can only be getting his funding through less than legitimate means.

            “This is where I want you to come in.  It’s up to you to get on the inside and find out how Matahachi is making his money and where it’s coming from.  Once we have the information, we will simply wait for Soujiro to be lured out and then deal with them all in one fell swoop.”

            Akemi nodded.  “Do you want me to deal with them?” she asked.

            “No,” replied Saitou quickly, “Since I will be on hand, there’s no sense in risking your cover.  You simply worry about getting me the information I need and I will take care of the rest.”

            “Yes sir,” responded Akemi.

            They had arrived at the police station.  Saitou once again put on the pleasant façade of Gorou Fujita.  “Please do visit me again if you’re in the area, my dear Akemi.”

            “I would love to uncle Gorou,” she replied, playing along.

            They parted ways.  Akemi’s cheerful face faded to a look of cold calculation as she figured out the best way to get to Matahachi Seta.

 

            Soujiro winced as Takezo applied the ointment to his hands.  He finally gave a sigh of relief as his mute friend finished bandaging the battered extremities.  Soujiro gave his friend a reassuring smile as he spoke.  “I think I’m getting better.  At least today’s blisters are smaller.”  Takezo returned the smile and put the bandages and medicine away.

            Soujiro’s eyes narrowed slightly as he detected a bold presence approaching the house.  Opening the door, his eyes widened in surprise.  “Ms. Makimachi!” he exclaimed, “What a surprise.  I didn’t expect to see you here this evening.”

            Misao had dressed in a far more casual outfit; though it still gave one more than an ample view of her shapely legs.  It appeared that modesty in that respect was not Misao’s strong point.

            Misao’s face had taken on a sheepish, almost apologetic look to it as she met Soujiro’s gaze.  “I wanted to say that I’m sorry for what happened last night.  I-I let my memories of what happened to Eiji’s parents get the better of me.”

            “Eiji?” said Soujiro, baffled.

            “His brother was an officer of the police.  Both his brother and his parents were killed by Senkaku,” she clarified for him, looking down sadly as she spoke.

            “Oh that’s right,” said Soujiro in recognition, “Those were the people Mr. Senkaku killed right before Mr. Shishio came to the village for his visit to the baths.”

            Misao nodded, “That’s him.”

            Soujiro’s face fell as he remembered those days.  Back when he had been the Tenken, memories of the people he had killed held no meaning for him.  Soujiro had no love for killing, but neither did he hate it.  To him, killing had just been something that had to be done once in a while.  It really hadn’t mattered whether or not he had to kill someone, just so long as he was serving Mr. Shishio and holding true to the idea of survival of the fittest.

            All of a sudden, Soujiro’s face brightened immensely.  “I’m forgetting my manners,” he said cheerfully, giving Misao his most brilliant smile, “We are just about ready to eat dinner.  Would you like to join us?”

            Misao considered it for a moment.  Considering how far the place was from the Aoiya, by the time she got back to the restaurant, dinner would already be over.  Her stomach rumbled, adding its two sen to her inner discussion.  Finally, Misao returned Soujiro’s smile.  “I’d love to,” she answered.

 

            Soujiro lay on the ground, half asleep.  Like every day before, it had been a long day of training under Master Hiko.  Despite Takezo’s treatment, his hands were still sore from the long hours of practice and sparring with Hiko.

            To his surprise, Misao stayed after dinner and sat down next to him on the grass.  A little bit later, she lay down as well, staring up into the darkening sky.  “What’s it like?” she asked.

            “Huh?”  Soujiro wasn’t sure what she was talking about.  He turned his head so that he could look at her in the edge of his vision.

            “Hiko’s training,” said Misao, not turning to look at him, “What’s it like?”

            “It’s very hard and long,” replied Soujiro, “Master Hiko does not hesitate to push me to my limits every single day.  I have been training with him for more than a week now and I still haven’t been able to land a single blow on him.”

            “I was there when he fought Fuji of the Destruction Army,” commented Misao, “There’s no one like him, is there?”

            “No one that I can think of,” agreed Soujiro, “Even Mr. Shishio wouldn’t have been able to defeat Mr. Hiko, had they fought.”

            “That’s high praise,” said Misao, “Coming from someone like you, who knows exactly how strong Shishio was.”  She finally turned her head to look at him.  “But I don’t understand,” she added, “Why do you still insist on calling him Mr. Shishio, even though you know that what he stood for was wrong and that he was an evil man.”

            “First,” replied Soujiro, “Mr. Shishio wasn’t entirely wrong.”  Misao raised an eyebrow at this, so he continued.  “What Mr. Shishio really wanted to do was build a stronger Japan.  I’ll admit that sowing chaos and turning the country into a hell on Earth wasn’t the way to go about it, but I do think his fundamental idea was correct.”  Misao nodded at this.

            Soujiro continued.  “And second, Mr. Shishio will always hold a special place in my heart.”  His eyes glazed over as his thoughts returned to that time long ago.  “Back when we met for the first time, he was the first person ever to see something of worthwhile in me.  He was the first person to see as someone more than some illegitimate bastard who was only good for a life of servitude.  More than that, he was the man who raised me from a weak child into the person that I was up until Mr. Himura fought me.  And while I can’t say that that’s exactly a good thing anymore, it was more than my own family ever did for me.  So, in a way, Mr. Shishio was the father I never had.”  Tears began to trickle down Soujiro’s cheeks at the painful memories that he had dug up.  He flinched reflexively when he felt that first touch, but Misao’s gentle fingers erased his fears as they brushed away those tears.

            “I’m sorry,” she said quietly, “I didn’t mean to make you remember painful things.”

            “It’s alright,” replied Soujiro, “In the end, they are only memories, phantoms of a time long past that will never be able to hurt me again.  I can find some peace in that fact.”

            Misao nodded and smiled.

            It was late at night before Misao finally departed to return to the Aoiya.  Soujiro remained where he was, thinking about the events of that evening.  Soujiro realized that he had made his second real friend in Kyoto.

 

            Ishiro smiled as he watched Misao travel down the path towards the Aoiya.  The girl was obviously so distracted that she didn’t notice the man who carefully watched her every move.  Ishiro’s smile widened.  He had begun to formulate this plan after the first time Aoshi and Misao had met with Soujiro.  It would take time and patience, but he would wait for Soujiro and this girl to become close friends.  Then, when the time was just right, Ishiro would catch them both off guard and take the girl prisoner right before the Tenken’s eyes.  Misao Makimachi would then become the perfect bait to draw Soujiro into the trap Matahachi set.

 

            The opium runner looked up as the door to his cell slid open.  He gulped nervously as the same young woman who had apprehended him only two nights ago stepped in.  She smiled almost indulgently at him.  “How would you like the possibility of your sentence being cut short?” she asked, getting right to the point.

            The man nodded.  In the presence of someone so dangerous, it was a good idea to simply agree with her so that she didn’t execute him on the spot.

            “Good,” said Akemi, smiling coldly, “I want some information.  In exchange for this information, I’ll see if I can shave some time off your prison sentence.  If the information is good enough, I might be able to secure your pardon immediately.”

            The man nodded again.

            “I want you tell me if your organization has ever had dealings with a man named Matahachi Seta?” she asked.

 

            Hiko stayed up later than he normally did.  Most of what he was doing was thinking.  As he sipped from a cup of sake, Hiko considered his newest apprentice.  Under normal circumstances, the man would have turned down anyone Soujiro’s age.  Soujiro Seta would have been far too old to have begun studies in such an advanced school of swordsmanship as the Hiten Mitsurugi style.  However, Hiko wasn’t getting any younger.  Both of the men he had already trained fully in his style had declined to accept the position as master and the title of Seijuro Hiko XIV.  That meant that they also had no intent on passing his style on to later generations.  For a man like Seijuro Hiko, that was unacceptable.  So, he had to put all his hope into Takezo’s choice, which, thus far, seemed to be a good one.

            Soujiro would have been completely unable to learn the Hiten Mitsurugi style had he not already been considerably skilled in swordsmanship.  Thus, Soujiro was already past the longest stage of training for any stage of swordsmanship.  Teaching the young man the specific techniques of the style hadn’t been very difficult either.  Soujiro was already quite proficient with some of the more basic techniques, such as the He seemed to be capable of duplicating any technique Hiko showed him after seeing it only once.  Also, there was Soujiro’s already considerable mastery of the Battoujutsu.  All that really remained was the fully solidify Soujiro’s ability to read and react to the emotional state of his opponents.  Once that was complete, the other techniques of the Hiten Mitsurugi style were mere technicalities.

            Reflecting on this information, Seijuro Hiko could see how Soujiro had earned his title, the Tenken.  Most people who had met, or fought with Soujiro thought that it applied to his advanced abilities with regard to swordsmanship.  However, Hiko could see that the nickname that Makoto Shishio had given his best fighter came not from his skill with the sword, but rather his aptitude for it.  Like Kenshin and Takezo, Soujiro was nothing short of a prodigy.  However, unlike the other two, Soujiro’s innate ability was almost beyond measure.  Not only did Soujiro have raw talent, he knew how to use it too.  He could learn advanced techniques in a tenth of the time that it would require a normal student to learn such a technique.  And yet, he had the dedication to the craft that only the best students of swordsmanship possessed.  As a result, Soujiro’s training much more advanced than most people his age.

            The one exception to this was in the area of Soujiro’s physical ability.  While he could grasp all the technicalities and tricks of swordsmanship with the greatest of ease, his body was no different than any other person’s.  That meant that his strength and endurance could only be increased through intense physical training that pushed his abilities to the limit time after time.  And no matter whom the student was, that process, was always a slow one.  That was one of the only reasons Soujiro was still training with Hiko.  The successor to the Hiten Mitsurugi style would one day have to have the same or greater strength than his master.  And the only way Hiko could ensure that was to put Soujiro on the right path and train him as long and as hard as he could.  However, Soujiro didn’t have as far to go as he thought.

            The real delay lay in the final technique of the Hiten Mitsurugi style.  Seijuro Hiko had very seriously considered disqualifying Soujiro on the single fact that he had not only seen the Amakakeru-Ryu-No-Hirameki, but had been on the receiving end of it as well.  He had decided to accept Soujiro as his student anyway because it might turn out to be advantageous to Hiko that Soujiro had actually seen the final attack for himself.  What that meant, was that Soujiro also knew whether or not he was ready to use the Amakakeru-Ryu-No-Hirameki himself.  The fact that both Hiko and Soujiro knew that Soujiro was spiritually unprepared to use the final attack was the real cause of delay.  Otherwise, the training might have only lasted a month.

            “I’m only going in circles pondering this,” mused Hiko aloud.  He downed one last cup of sake before deciding to retire for the night.

 

            Weeks passed.  Misao Makimachi had become a frequent visitor to Seijuro Hiko’s household.  It was clear that she and Soujiro were becoming close friends.  Despite their strengthening friendship, Soujiro knew better than to ever think of Misao romantically.  Her heart would always belong to Aoshi Shinomori.  Not that it troubled Soujiro, who didn’t think that he was ready for romance anyway.

            One person who was keenly aware and very closely observing the growing relationship between Soujiro and Misao was none other than Ishiro, always watching from the shadows.  He still refused to tell Matahachi that he had found Soujiro.  Knowing the way that fool was about his cousin, Ishiro wouldn’t have been surprised had Matahachi led a small army of his underworld cohorts into a doomed battle against not only Soujiro Seta, but two other unknown fighters, one of whom apparently used the same style that made Battousai the Manslayer so feared during the days of the Revolution.  It was crystal clear to Ishiro that such a move would have been utter suicide.

            Unfortunately for him, Matahachi’s patience was fast on the wane.  Not only that, as thick as the police swordsman’s head was, he wasn’t so stupid that he wasn’t beginning to figure out that Ishiro was hiding something from him.  It was only a matter of time before he figured out that Ishiro really did know the location of Soujiro and demanded it from him.

            Fortunately, the time was swiftly coming when the situation would be ripe and ready for Ishiro to exploit.  He was certain that he could set things into motion almost immediately, given the current state of affairs between Soujiro and Misao.  However, he was still waiting for Matahachi to consolidate his resources and get everything ready for the coming battle.

            With that thought in mind, Ishiro realized that the time had come for him to report to his employer once again.

 

            It was around one-o’clock that Ishiro arrived at the manor.  Ishiro understood the situation the instant he laid eyes on Matahachi’s face.  The man was livid.  His face was a shade of red that heated metal took on.  The moment Ishiro entered the room; Matahachi leveled an accusing finger at the man.  “You know!” he nearly screamed.  It was not a question.

            Ishiro decided to play innocent.  “Know what?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

            Matahachi easily saw through the deception.  “Don’t play games with me!” he hissed, “Tell me where Soujiro is hiding!  NOW!”  The last word was nearly a roar.

            Ishiro kept his expression neutral and businesslike.  “Not until you promise something,” he said calmly.

            “And what would that be?” demanded Matahachi, “Soujiro, the bastard responsible for the deaths of my family, has been uncovered.  I paid you good money to find him and tell me immediately.  Now tell me!  WHERE IS SOUJIRO SETA?!”

            “Not until you calm down,” replied Ishiro calmly.

            “You insubordinate…” Matahachi ranted.

            “Since you are quite obviously not ready to hear what I have to say, then I shall withhold my information until I see fit and no sooner.”  Ishiro turned around and began to take his leave.

            “Wait,” the anger left Matahachi’s voice, making him sound almost plaintive, “Forgive me, but the mere mention of my cousin invokes strong emotions within me and will continue to do so until he is dead.”

            “I see,” replied Ishiro, “Very well then.  Wait until you hear everything I have to tell you before you say anything.  And wait until you hear my proposition before you act.”

            “Begin,” said Matahachi.

            Ishiro took a deep breath.  “Soujiro Seta has been staying with a potter on the outskirts of Kyoto for some weeks now.  However, this is no ordinary potter.  From what I have seen, the man he is staying with is actually a swordsman who apparently uses the same style as Battousai the Manslayer.  It also appears that he has taken Soujiro as his student in this style.

            “A few weeks ago, Soujiro was approached by none other than Aoshi Shinomori and Misao Makimachi of the Oniwaban Group.  They have apparently resolved their differences and Soujiro and Ms. Makimachi have become good friends over the past few weeks, maybe even more than friends.”

            “What does that have to do with our plan?” asked Matahachi.

            “You don’t understand?” responded Ishiro, “In making a friend with this Makimachi woman, Soujiro has furnished us with the perfect bait for a trap with which to destroy him.  All we have to do is capture Ms. Makimachi and Soujiro and any allies he brings will come right to the battlefield of our choosing at the time we decide.”  He smirked evilly.  “With Ms. Makimachi in our custody, we will be in complete control of the situation.”

            “I see,” commented Ishiro, grinning from ear to ear, “This I like.”

            “All you need to do is make sure that everything is ready and I will see to it that Soujiro receives our…invitation.”  Ishiro rubbed his thumb across the pommel of his sword as he anticipated the fight ahead.

            “Very well,” said Matahachi, “My men have been in place for over a month now, so see to it that Soujiro gets the message.”

            “Without delay,” replied Ishiro.  He left immediately.

            Behind him, Matahachi rubbed his hands together eagerly.  “Soon cousin,” he whispered, “Soon your head will be mine.”

 

            Luck was with Ishiro.  Dusk had just fallen when he arrived at Soujiro’s hiding place.  Not only that, Misao was with Soujiro.  As usual, they were lying side by side on the grass outside the house, conversing quietly.  Ishiro settled in to wait.

            It was another two hours before Misao finally got up to leave.  Ishiro waited for her to get out of Soujiro’s line of sight before taking up the chase.  About halfway to the city proper, Ishiro made his move.

            Misao’s only warning was the rapid pounding that almost sounded like a gattling gun going off nearby.  She didn’t see the man approaching her from her right flank.  Nor did she see the hilt of the sword which slammed into the side of her head, sending her plunging into darkness.

 

            Soujiro himself was about to retire for the night.  He had gotten to his feet and was about to head into the house when a whistling noise caught his attention.  He looked down just in time to see a kunai, with a small sheet of paper wrapped around the handle imbed itself in the ground between his feet.

            “That’s one of Ms. Misao’s” he whispered to himself as he bent down to pick the weapon up.  As he did so, he looked around for any sign of the person who had thrown it.  Unwrapping and reading the note, Soujiro hissed in anger.  However, he was angrier at himself for not expecting his cousin to use this kind of dirty trick.  The note read…

 

Tomorrow evening at 10:00; be there or Ms. Makimachi will not survive the night.

Courtesy of Matahachi Seta.

 

            There followed a set of directions that would guide Soujiro to the location of the battle.  “Fine,” he growled, “If this is the way Matahachi wants it, then he will get his wish.”  Soujiro let go of the sheet of paper.  It drifted in the breeze for a moment until a streak of light bisected the piece of paper.  Soujiro stood in the gathering gloom, sword drawn and fire in his eyes.

 

Author’s Notes:  Transitional chapters are such a pain.  But next chapter we get to dive back into the action.  Hurrah!

This chapter also sees the introduction of my latest OC, Akemi Ebisu.  Her character is one that I have been planning for a while now.  It’s partially compensation towards the other major female characters in the Rurouni Kenshin storyline.  Initially, characters like Karou and Misao are passed off as strong people.  But despite the writer’s best efforts, these strong female characters still seem to have a tendency to slip into that classic damsel in distress role.  My goal with Akemi is to have a female character who can not only hold her own in a general sense, but someone who could go toe to toe with Kenshin or Soujiro.  Not to mention that I’m working on her attitude to give her some strong personality similarities to Saitou (she is his protégé after all).

 

Finally, there have been some people (okay, just one person so far) who have taken offense to some of the strong language used in this story.  Let me remind all my readers that this isn’t based on the squeaky clean version of Rurouni Kenshin that aired on Cartoon Network.  The unedited version has some pretty foul language itself.  So please bear that in mind when you are reading this story.  If such language turns you off, then perhaps you should try reading a different story.