From: Naga Hi, this is part 1, I'm so slow...-_-;; . Probably going to change the titles, I'm lousy with names. Huge thanks for Drpanda for answering my incessant requests for inputs . And Jade One for telling me how to format this thing ( don't blame her if this one didn't go out right ^^;) Again, comments are very welcome ^__^. I'm still new, so I'm not sure about my style, if this is too dragging or slow...^^;; Tell me what you think. ================== Disclaimer : This fanfic is based on Ruruoni Kenshin by Nobuhiro Watsuki. I'm not getting paid for this (I wish !) and no copyright infringement was intended. And please don't sue because I'm just a poor student. Now that that's taken care of... =================== ** is emphasis {} is thoughts This story is set in Bakumatsu 1865, a few months after Tomoe died. So it's a story of Himura Kenshin's time when he is still Hitokiri Battousai ^_^. =================== The Darkest Shadows, The Brightest Lights Chapter 1 : Vision from the Past --1865, August in Kyoto - Kanto Festival The annual Lantern festival was in full swing. The streets were strung with glowing paper lanterns, lighting the night brightly. People thronged the streets, couples strolled through stands selling snacks and toys. Children ran shrieking with wild abandon, crowding around stands offering games, pulling their parents to join the gatherings around street performers doing their wonders. A thick crowd was lined along the streets - the main attraction was parading its way down the main roads of inner Kyoto. Festival participants balanced bamboo poles hung with tiers of lantern of different shapes and heights, sweating with exertion but grinning at all the enthusiastic clappings and gasps from the spectators. The lantern arrangements were a wonder of balance and creativity, the light they cast almost turning the night into day. Festive music drifted to the streets from the larger restaurants here and there. Those with more money were inside enjoying the fine food and finer entertainment. It was hard to believe that Kyoto was in the middle of civil war. The specter of death that lately hang constantly around the capital city of Japan was banished for today, the uncertainties and worries for the future set aside in this night of celebration. The people of Kyoto had had enough of death, and the night was still young. If the shadow of the reaper still lurked just beyond the circles of illumination, if the inevitable would still return tomorrow to claim their dues - then it only made the celebrations today all the livelier, the laughter louder and more boisterous. For today, the people of Kyoto celebrated their living. *** The small ramen eatery was packed full with people, the rougher and poorer sort. Two overworked waiters dashed in a near run along small spaces left between the all-male patrons. The air was noisy with shouts for more sake, more food, and faster service. The curtains at the entrance was swept up again as another customer came in, a slight young man with a high, reddish ponytail. He hesitated at the entrance, perhaps reconsidering his choice of eating place. The youth’s left cheek was covered by a white dressing, the rest of his finely delicate features too pale and too thin - as if he was just recovering from an illness. There was weariness in the way he stood and the worn, stark black tunic he wore added to his haggard appearance. The set of daisho at his waist attracted a few looks, but not many. In these increasingly turbulent time, even young men barely into their adulthood were given swords to carry. "Irasshaimase," the nearest harried waiter greeted the newcomer. "Douzo, would you take a seat please, we’ll be with you shortly." With that, he scurried back to attend to a more than slightly drunk crowd near the kitchen. Looking around again, the young samurai sighed and wound his way through the tight passage between tables and bodies to find an empty seat. He found one near a corner, the other seats occupied by three older men. He politely excused himself and sat in the remaining place. The three men continued their heated conversation, ignoring him. That suited him just fine. He snagged a waiter that passed close-by, ordered a beef ramen and green tea, and settled himself against the wall. "Of course the ‘Silver Springs’ is the best in all of Kyoto," one of the men was exclaiming enthusiastically, "Who could possibly rival the ‘Crimson Blossom’ Yumi Komagata ? Ooh, I would have paid my whole year salary to be accompanied by her for just one night !" His companions laughed coarsely at his fervent words. "Yes, but would she want to service an oaf like you ?" one of them mocked the speaker with a grin, "She’s very picky, that one. If she doesn’t like you, then she won’t even bat an eye-lid at you, no matter how much you pay her." His other companion chortled gleefully, "Heh, heh, so true. And how much can you pay anyway ? There were so many men after her, officials, samurais, rich merchants’ sons, she has so many to pick from. Why would she pick you loser ?" The first speaker went red in the face, aided by the not inconsiderable sake he had downed, "So what if I’m not rich ? Not some damn stuck-up samurai ? I heard she got secret lovers that she bedded without pay. If she likes them enough, she’ll even pay for their expenses..." The young samurai tuned down the various loud conversations in the room into a muted roar. Hugging his katana against his right shoulder, he let his weary body relaxed slightly against the wall. The sleepless nights and rigorous activities were taking a heavy toll on him, and he wanted nothing more than to curl up in a safe place and get some sleep. But that was the catch, a "safe place". There were precious few of those left, and after being surprised in two places guaranteed by his fellow Ishin Shishi as safe, he was starting to doubt that there were any secure hiding places left. His knuckles tightened momentarily on the hilt of his katana as he thought of the traitor that had spilled so many of their secrets to the government. So many of his fellow revolutionaries died during the surprise attacks launched by the Shinsengumi. He had barely been able to protect Katsura-sama and the others, and escorted them to safety during twice of those attacks. The first time he had escaped unharmed, his skill carving a way out for his leaders. But the second time, he was not so lucky. Unconsciously, he rubbed against his bandaged right side. Burning pain punished his meddling, forcing him to surreptitiously bit down against the pain. The second time they had been ambushed, it had been the First Troop of the Shinsengumi, and he had come face-to-face with the famous Captain of the First Troop - the smiling, soft-spoken Okita Souji. The young captain had deliberately sought him out and engaged him in a single duel to free his men to attack the rest of the Ishin Shishi. Okita Souji had been as good as his reputation, perhaps even better. Normally, he would have been able to at least fight him to a draw, but his first duty was to protect his leaders. He had sacrificed his left side, taking a deep three-inch sword wound to break away from the duel and back to the side of Ishin Shishi members. They were lucky the sky had chosen to dump a heavy rainstorm on them right then. Visibility was reduced to practically nothing and he managed to guard his charges until they could loose themselves among the woods. Not everyone had made it. Strange that he had lived with the traitor for so long without suspecting a thing. Strange to realize how naive he was then, despite everything he had seen and done. Because of him they had lost so many good people, the movement forced to take a step back to rebuilt their forces. Because of him, he had lost... ...her... A wave of weariness swept over him, dousing the simmering anger. The bone-deep fatigue that he could not seem to shake off ever since that winter. { Was it really only eight months ago ? When I was truly happy, for the first time in so long... I wanted nothing more... } He looked up with haunted eyes at the opposite wall of the small eatery. { Why did I come back here ? } he thought tiredly. { Out of all the restaurants in Kyoto, why here ? } As if to answer his unspoken question, an image came to his mind - a slender, delicate figure sitting quietly beside a table opposite him, her long raven hair falling down to cover her face. He did not need her to raise her head to know her face. He stared at her blankly, { a mirage, is that all I want ? Just to see her ghost for a while. } He closed his eyes, and when he opened them again, the table opposite was occupied by a group of rough dock-workers, laughing and drinking sake. He lowered his eyes to the floor. { It’s alright; even a mirage... is alright. } His train of thought was interrupted by a hurried, "Douzo," as the bowl of ramen and tea he had ordered was placed in front of him. "Arigatou," he murmured but the waiter had already bustled off. He sipped his hot soup slowly. It burned a trail of warmth down his throat, warming his cold limbs. The air was balmy, but he still felt a bit chilled. It was probably foolhardy for him to volunteer for this current mission in his condition. But it was a very dangerous mission, almost suicidal even. With his skills, he might be able to accomplish it and return alive. Others might not have that chance. When the mission had came up, he had volunteered without hesitation, understanding the importance - no, the desperation behind it. The ambushes and loss of safe houses from vital information leakage had hit them badly, and the Ishin Shishi needed this mission to succeed. Or the Shinsengumi would simply continue to tear them to death piece by piece. Besides, if anyone was to die so others could live, who better than the killer who had the blood of hundreds on his hands. It would be fitting. It would even be justice. A sudden bang in front of him jolted him from his thoughts, his body reflexively tensing. He forced himself to relax when he saw it was one of his table-mates who had bang the table to make his point. It was the half-drunken one, his face now flushed with more than just sake. "That’s my point ! Who the hell do they think they are ? Setting fires all over Kyoto, what if the fire spread to other areas ?! Damn those Ishin Shishi, it’s not their city that’s going to get burned to the ground ! " Apparently, somewhere along the way, the conversation had turned into more serious things. *The burnings*. His hands tightened around the bowl he was holding, but outwardly he remained impassive. The drunken man’s more sober companions tried to shush him, nervously glancing around the room. Heads had started to turn, attracted by the loud noise. "Not so loud, Fuji," one of them hissed, "They’re just burning the gaijins’ houses. It’s none of our business." The man called Fuji did not heed the advice, raising his voice even louder and slurring slightly, "It’s always us ordinary people who got it worst. How many times did the Ishin Shishi clash with the Shinsengumi ? These days, you can’t even walk on the street without being afraid that you’ll run into a fight and get killed ! By both sides ! Things weren’t so bad before those roshis moved in here, they’re troublemakers, all of them !" From a table near the entrance, a big burly man who had had quite a lot to drink himself shouted angrily, "What did you say ?! It’s spineless cowards like you that made the gaijins step all over us. I say let those dogs burn, good riddance !" The man’s friends muttered their assent, glowering darkly at the three men. A tense quiet was falling over the small restaurant, the other patrons wary of a possible fight. "Ah, hah, hah," the older of Fuji’s friend laughed nervously and tried to appease the big man, "Please, don’t mind my friend, he just had a bit too much to drink. He didn’t mean anything by it." "Humph," the burly man snorted, "You’re lucky I’m feeling generous today. A free piece of advice for you, you go on talking like that, you’re not going to live very long." "Ah, yes, yes. Thank you for your warning." The older man heaved a sigh of relief as the other man ignored him, going back to his own conversation. He slapped Fuji over the head none too gently, "You idiot ! Are you trying to get us killed ? You never know who’s government people and who’s Ishin Shishi, best to just keep your mouth shut." He shot a quick glance at the young man sharing their table, but the latter ignored them, quietly sipping his tea. The scare seemed to have sobered the other man somewhat. "Sorry," he muttered softly, his voice still tainted with a hint of bitterness. The third man coughed and tried to switch the topic of conversation. "Say, have you two heard of Shinsengumi’s big fight against Ishin Shishi two days ago ?" His sober friend snorted, "Yes, about fifteen times. Heh, everybody’s been talking about that. But I heard they bite the dirt again, like last time. Didn’t manage to collar the big ones." "But I heard that Captain Okita Souji got into a duel with Hitokiri Battousai. And I heard he nailed that demon good." That bit of news seemed to cheer up Fuji, "Really ?" he boggled at his friend, "Now that’s one piece of good news. And not a moment too soon, I tell you. Should have killed him since the beginning, then we wouldn’t have had to bury so many people." None of them noticed the pain that flickered briefly in the samurai’s eyes, before disappearing once again behind the expressionless mask. "Eh, I’m not so sure," the second speaker snorted. "How many times did the rumors said somebody has finally killed the Battousai ? And every time he re-appeared again happily chopping people up. I wouldn’t be convinced until I saw his head displayed in the public square. It’s not so easy to kill a shadow assassin like him." "But Captain Okita Souji could do it," the third man argued. "And if not him, there is still Captain Saitoh of Shinsengumi Third Troop." "Hmm," the other man rubbed his chin thoughtfully, "Yes, if anyone could, Captain Saitoh Hajime could kill Hitokiri Battousai." He grinned, "I would have love to see that match." "Hah," Fuji slapped him hard across the back, "you’d probably end up a smear on the dirt in no time at all." The other man sputtered in outrage but the samurai was no longer listening. He finished the ramen that he barely tasted and got up from his table. Leaving a few coins on the table, he replaced his daisho against his waist and traced his way back outside. At least, that was his intention. The same man that had shouted down his table-mates earlier started up from his table in an unsteady lurch, maybe intending to harass the waiter or to relieve himself. Unfortunately, he was nowhere near sober enough to stand on his own. He ended up lurching straight towards the youth heading for the exit. In no mood for such foolishness, the samurai simply stepped aside and let the drunkard fell on the floor. But the man’s flailing arms snagged the nearby table and he landed on top of the neighboring table. Crashes and shouted curses filled the air as the man pulled the table down along with him, and the ramen bowls and sake bottles on top of him. His friends sprang to their feet while the previous hosts on the fallen table snarled obscenities and wiped ramen soup from their hands and clothes. The samurai calmly picked a free path and continued towards the exit. "WAIT, kisama !!" the enraged bellow from the floor stopped him. Turning around, he saw the fallen man struggling to get on his feet. He was drenched all over with soup, sake, and tea. Strings of noodles and the odd few seaweed tangled with his hair. It was a ludicrous sight, and some of the patrons started sniggering. The man’s face grew impossibly redder, and his eyes spat fire at his target, the slight youth in front of him. "SHUT UP!!" he thundered angrily at the crowd, then turned towards the samurai. "What the HELL you think you’re doing ?" The object of his ire merely looked at him blandly and replied calmly, "I didn’t do anything." But the man was not going to be reasonable. He was drunk, he was humiliated, and he had a ready target in front of him who looked like an easy victim. His gaze drifted to the set of daisho on the other’s waist and sneered contemptuously, "You’re a samurai ? What did you do to get those ? Kiss some ass ? Go back home to your mama, boy." With that he hooted with laughter, his drinking companions immediately joining him. The samurai’s eyes narrowed and he assessed the rowdy crowd coldly. Only the man in front of him had a katana. The others carried short knives, but none of them looked sober enough to use them properly. From their earlier words, they seemed to have no love for the government, but their attitude disgust him. Drunkards and bullies, he hoped that they were only a local gang and not actually part of Ishin Shishi, but that was by no means certain. He was planning to attract some attention, but not from his own side, and not the attention of petty thugs like these. He had a mission to accomplish. With that, the cold emptiness enveloped him again, the anger and disgust dissipating like smoke. Without a word, he turned around to walk out of the exit. Seeing the youth turning his back on him, the drunk man sneered and spit on the floor. "Don’t walk away when I’m talking to you. " With that, he lunged towards the young man, fully intending to lift him by the scruff of his neck. The next thing he knew, he was lying on his back on the pavement outside the small eatery, his rump smarting from the rough landing. Blinking some of the stupor out of his eyes, he saw the young samurai standing in front of him, one hand resting loosely on the hilt of his katana, his dark eyes looking down on him with cold disdain. It was that cold disdain that made him snap. His vision turned red and he forgot to question just how a small youth had managed to threw him on his ass without him even realizing it. "WHAT ARE YOU MORONS WAITING FOR ?! GET HIM !!" With a rather discordant roar, the rest of the gang piled out of the door and flung themselves at the samurai. The young man nimbly leapt away from the clumsy attacks. At the last moment, his right feet shot out and tripped the lead attacker. The man immediately fell face-first to the ground, and tripped two more of his friends on the way down. "SOORREAARHH !!" the remaining screamed and charged towards the samurai with their short blades unsheathed. On seeing the naked blades, a hard glint came into the young man’s eyes. Instead of withdrawing, he suddenly surged forward to practically within inches of touching the two men. Before they could withdraw the now hopelessly extended blades, the red-headed samurai had brought his wakizashi up in one smooth arc, still sheathed. It cracked against the nearer man’s jaw with sickening force, the deceptively elegant move strong enough to break the man’s jaw. He went limp and began to fall to the ground. The other man used the precious second to leap back out of reach. Gleefully noting his opponent’s apparent mistake, he swung his blade towards the youth’s wide-open left side. A swift blur was the only warning he had before the sheathed blade of the katana followed the circular path of the wakizashi and crashed into the side of his neck. He was out before he landed on top of his friend, both of them crashing to the ground almost in the same instant. Less than five seconds had passed. By this time, the other three gang members had finished picking themselves up from the ground. But the fall, and the sight of their friends being beaten so easily, had knocked some sense into them. They stood there nervously clutching their weapons, none of them eager to go first. Meanwhile, a sizeable crowd had gathered around the altercation on the street, people drawn in from other parts of the crowded street. The samurai calmly replaced his daisho against his belt, his right hand hovering over the hilt of the katana, right foot forward and body slightly crouched. Even to those without formal sword-training, the formal stance for battou-jutsu was easily recognizable. The gang members’ faces were acquiring a distinct greenish cast, and they looked as if they desperately wished they were anywhere else but there. That fact did not escape the samurai’s sharp gaze. "I don’t want to kill you," he said in a cold voice, the sudden words making his opponents jumped. "Leave, and I won’t pursue this. Continue this foolishness, and next time, it will not be the saya that hit you." His opponents looked at each other nervously, but before they could say anything, their leader shoved his way forward with an angry roar, "What kind of good-for-nothing cowards are you people ? Afraid of just one brat barely out of the cradle ?! Idiots !!" He planted his foot firmly a few feet before the samurai and crouched down in the identical stance of a battou-jutsu, his left hand gripping the sheath of his katana tightly. The samurai observed him with cold eyes. The leader at least seemed to have some proper sword-training, and the adrenaline seemed to have sobered him up. "Come on, samurai," he grated angrily, twisting the last word into a curse. "KURRAAEEE...!!" With that shout, he grounded his left feet firmly on the ground and leapt forward, pulling his katana out of the sheath with twice the speed of a normal sword slash. But to his opponent, it was simply too slow. The samurai uttered no battle cries. His eyes blazed with a sudden cold light and faster than his audience could see, he sprang forward on his right feet. His katana transcribed a perfect smooth curve ending precisely before the hilt of his opponent’s weapon, barely half out of its sheath. A loud ring of metal against metal jarred the air. The force of the blow, aided by the incredible speed of the draw wrenched the katana out of its owner’s hand. It slammed into the wooden support structure at the eatery’s awning where it continued to tremble from the residual force. For a moment, an eerie quiet fell across the crowded street. Then, as if a bubble had burst, the cheering and clapping started. But the two main participants simply stood silently regarding each other. The older man’s face was a study of mixed emotions - stunned disbelief, anger, and reluctant fear mixed with something akin to awe. When the rest of his gang members approached him, he wordlessly turned around and left the clearing, ignoring his katana that was still stuck to the awning. After shouldering their two unconscious members, with many wary glances at the samurai, the rest of the gang took off after their leader, their previous bravado and belligerence gone without a trace. The young samurai re-sheathed his katana, and staring at all the audience, gave a small shake of his head, tiredness warring with disbelief at the surreal situation. He saw the owner of the restaurant, a portly middle-aged man, standing near the door. He counted out some coins and press them against the man’s hands. Meeting the owner’s startled gaze, he quietly said, "I’m sorry for the trouble. I hope this is enough to cover any damages." With that, he turned around to leave the place. "Wait," the owner suddenly called out. He turned his head to see the owner of the eatery coming towards him, smiling widely, "I remember you, you often came here a few months back, didn’t you ?" He laughed loudly, slapping the young man hard across the back, making him stagger a little, "Yes, and the last time there were a bunch of good-for-nothings asking for a fight, too. Harassing that pretty young lady, wasn’t it ?" He chattered on, not seeing the samurai’s face turning pale. "Did you see her ? She left just after you did, in a hurry too ! I thought for sure that she was going to go and thank you for your help. So, did you see her ?" The samurai raised his head weakly to meet the boisterous owner’s grinning face, and softly replied, "No." The man frowned, "Ah, too bad I suppose," then he brightened again, dismissing the answer, "You’re welcome to come to my place anytime, young man. It was rare nowadays to see such good young people. Too many people simply don’t care about what’s right, and what with the Shinsengumi and Ishin Shishi clashing all the time, us ordinary people need all the help we can get." "Thank you," the young man murmured, his eyes lowered. "I’m sorry , but I need to go now." The owner blinked, "Ah, yes, yes. Go quickly before you were caught for disturbing public peace. Although we could all testify that you’re only helping to preserve public peace. Ah, hah, hah." The samurai hurriedly left the circle of people surrounding him and disappeared into a side alley. Without anything else to watch, the crowd began to disperse, some still talking about the fight they had just seen. But one person did not went back to the revelries. He left the area with quickening footsteps, as if on a pressing business. *** The night was silent once again, the celebration having come to an end hours ago. Even the most foolhardy of drinkers had already seek their beds, or the nearest convenient resting place. The only sound was the occasional banging of the nightwatch, marking the time. A silent shadow flitted through the rooftops of Kyoto, a male figure covered from face to toes in black. He reached his destination and crouched down on the tile roof of a small inn. Slowly, he lifted a few of the tiles, careful not to make the smallest noise. With barely more than a whisper of rustling fabric, he dropped down the hole he had made into the dark corridor in the building’s upper floor. The intruder went on silent feet to the room at the end of the corridor and stopped in front of the sliding door. Reaching inside his waistband, he came up with a thin reed tube. Carefully, he pierced the tube through the paper covering of the door, pressed his mouth against the tube, and blew softly. On the opposite side, a silent puff of white smoke came up from the tube mouth, quickly dispersing into the air. After waiting for a few moments, he slowly slid the door noiselessly aside, and step warily into the room. He could see a lump nestled under the blanket on the futon in the corner. Quietly, he slid a dagger out of the sheath in his waist, and moved closer to the futon. The faintest rustling behind him was the sole indication that something was terribly amiss. But before he could turn around, a cold steel edge was pressed against his throat. "It is a bit too late for a friendly visit, isn’t it ?" a soft voice murmured behind it. A slight pressure on the blade pressed the other to move further into the room. The door slid shut with a whisper. The intruder was beginning to sweat. "Who sent you ?" No answer. "Very well, I can guess the answer anyway. Tell Captain Okita Souji of the Shinsengumi First Troop," the blade pressed harder against the throat, "meet me tomorrow same time as now, at the clearing near White Fox Shrine west outside Kyoto. We’ll continue our ‘unfinished business’ there." Swallowing against the cold steel, the newly-drafted messenger quietly asked, "And who should I say the message came from ?" The small room was silent for a moment - then, "Hitokiri Battousai." With that, the cold pressure against its neck was lifted. The black-clad man turned around and scrutinized the red-haired samurai standing behind him in his black tunic, his unsheathed katana on his right hand. A large cross scar could be seen on the young man’s left cheek. Wordlessly, he passed the samurai and disappeared down the dark corridor. Himura Battousai slowly sheathed his katana, his eyes glinting colder than the steel blade in his hand. "So it begins ... Okita Souji. " END *** Aah, are people still here ? I hope I’m not wasting too much space here...^_^;; Anyhow - Notes : 1. This is kind of an introduction chapter, explaining the recent past and the current circumstances, and setting the stage for the next chapter. 2. "Katsura-sama" is Katsura Kogoro, Kenshin’s superior as shown in the manga. 3. ‘roshi’ is masterless samurai, a lot of those during Bakumatsu. I got the impression that many of them join either sides, Ishin Shishi and Bakufu (including Shinsengumi). Am I right ? Serizawa Kamo-san ? ^^;; ==== Naga ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Looking for a new hobby? Want to make a new friend? http://www.onelist.com Come join one of nearly 160,000 e-mail communities at ONElist!