[ Watashi ]

[ Tomodachi ]

[ Saint Seiya ]

[ Clamp ]

[ Fanfiction ]

"Here, Sumeragi-sama."

With a vague nod, Shunsuke allowed himself to be led through the intricate maze of streets and houses. As soon as his party had reached the shore of the Kamo-gawa, he had picked up the wrongness poisoning the air.

The night was reeking with fury and anger.

With grief.

The unbalance's center was a house in the potters' district, and he had no need for directions to find it. The place was an open wound in this part of the city, bleeding spiritual energy and disturbing all the small kami residing in the temples in the vicinity. Inwardly sighing, Shunsuke chased one particularly distraught spirit away with a flip of his right hand.

Hush.

Gasps escaped from his companions' lips as the furious wind that had assaulted them died down in an instant, but Shunsuke ignored them. He had quickly learnt to make himself deaf to awe, pleas and entreaties. "Listen, then decide. Always listen for the true music behind the words. Appearances or status mean nothing." It had been her final piece of advice, written down in the letter he had received in Ise. When he had rushed back to Kyoto, it had already been too late, as he had known in his heart it would be.

Sumeragi Tokio, the head of the Sumeragi clan, had vanished in the night like a lowly thief.

Gone, she and the Wolf.

Gone, his mother and father.

For good.

Fury had followed in the wake of that terrible realization. Fury, white and hot that had sent the servants of the Kyoto mansion fleeing in terror. Fury that would have turned Shunsuke against his own kin, hadn't uncle Yuta intervened and made himself a target for the adolescent's wrath. "I'm not your tool, and I'll never be!" he had told his mother's younger brother. "I owe you and the clan nothing! The Sumeragi name means nothing. I won't be bound by your will. Take my mother's place and rule, since that's what you've wanted all along. Use her power and choke with it, but never ask anything from me! You abandoned her, all of you, you condemned her even though you don't understand anything. Well, now deal with the consequences! My talent won't be used for the clan, I refuse to step in my mother's shoes. I refuse to be the heir!"

It was only after Shunsuke had slammed the sliding door of his room shut that he had remembered the light in uncle Yuta's eyes.

Sorrow.

Guilt.

Fear, not for himself but for Shunsuke.

For his sister.

For the clan.

Shunsuke had cursed his talent, he had cursed his understanding of his kinsman's emotions. It hadn't changed anything. It didn't change anything still. True to his word, Shunsuke had closed his door to requests and demands from his family. His attitude was a potential danger for the clan, it could even cause its downfall. He was aware of that, and he didn't give a damn. None of the elders had come from Ise to make him see reason or to force him to come to his senses.

They didn't dare.

Shunsuke was a bright fire who could destroy the Sumeragi and they knew it. He was the Wolf's, Saitou Hajime's son, and even though it rarely showed, his family knew better than to try and put a leash on him. For four years he had played a dangerous game of hide and seek with the elders, refusing to speak to anyone except Hiroko, his mother's servant--refusing anything that came from the clan. For four years, he had tried to find his parents, and failed. They were alive, he knew this at least: the bond between Shunsuke and his mother was that strong, as he had learnt on the night when he had woken up in Ise.

On the night when she had confronted the Sakurazukamori and almost lost herself.

"This way, please."

Turning toward the owner of the quiet, deferent voice, Shunsuke saw that the man was indicating that he should go to his right. "I don't think so," he shook his head and continued on his way, drawn to the heart of the wrongness like a moth to a flame. People around him froze in dismay for a moment, and then resumed their walk, following after him. They couldn't do anything else. The smile that came to Shunsuke's lips as he accelerated the rhythm of his steps had nothing pleasant about it.

Nuisances, all of them.

Everything.

Liar. Shunsuke grinned to himself in the night and shrugged. There was no denying the Shadow's voice, but one could ignore it most of the time. it repeated, and the young man heaved out an inaudible sigh. It was true, he supposed. Even though he would have nothing to do with the clan's business, he regularly leant his powers to help commoners, to heal and cleanse places or people where ordinary priests or Onmyouji couldn't.

"I help people whom I feel need it and deserve it, Shunsuke. It's a selfish thing, at least in part," his mother had told him in that last letter, "it gives me a place in the world and that thought is more comforting than you can guess. It binds me to the land and the people living in it--it binds me to reality, and lights my path. Whatever you choose to do, whether or not you can go along with the elders' demands, never turn against people. Never close your heart completely. That way lie chaos and madness. I know, now that I've seen the Sakurazukamori's bared heart, that you can never truly deny yourself. Sooner or later, the illusion will shatter, and it will break you."

At first, Shunsuke hadn't been able to make sense of the words, but as months and then years had gone by, as he had lain awake during starless nights feeling the Shadow stirring within, he had found an interpretation that preserved his identity.

His sanity.

He was Earth and Wind both like his mother, and the inner balance kept shifting, endlessly. Finding a place in the world, finding a way to be true to himself--to his nature--was to find a safe anchor. And so, Shunsuke had taken to wandering through the poorer quarters of Kyoto, he had taken to strolling along small markets and watching people.

Listening to the true song of their hearts.

And sometimes, like tonight, he offered his help.

At first, his actions had gone unnoticed, but of course very soon the rumor that the Sumeragi walked among the nameless and used his talent to help some had spread like wildfire. Nothing could have stopped it, and Shunsuke hadn't even tried. Not only had it frustrated the elders to no end, but what was more that name had revealed itself to be useful. People respected and feared it, which had allowed him to tread the city freely, unhindered.

Here.

Abruptly, Shunsuke came to a halt, fighting the urge to shiver. Teeth clenched, he stared at the stone basin set before him. Its waters were glinting in the darkness, reflecting the moonlight's eerie glare. With a small nod to himself, he stepped toward it, lifting an arm horizontally to forbid the others to follow him any further. He was needed, all right. Distantly, he hoped that healing this place would soothe his heart the way it always did, and smiled.

A selfish thing, mother. Indeed.

Reaching inside his left sleeve, Shunsuke drew out an ofuda and held it before his eyes between index and middle finger. As he focused on the small paper, an ethereal wind rose around him, taking in his ceremonial robes. An echo of the disturbance plaguing the place, it grew and grew.

Enraged.

Deliberately ignoring the threat, Shunsuke opened his senses to the feelings of the night.

Hatred.

Despair.

Betrayal.

Above all that, terror.

Pain, that struck Shunsuke with a savagery that would have thrown him to the ground and sent him screaming if he hadn't been trained to whistand attacks and shocks even greater than this one. Without training or preparations, he'd have lost his mind in an instant, drowning in the spirit's chaotic emotions. But training, he had. He was the best, by far the most powerful Onmyouji in Kyoto, and it would take much more than a distraught spirit to deter him.

Focusing inward, Shunsuke searched his heart for a word, and gently willed it to grow. Once he was ready, he let its sounds escape his lips, and in the same time he opened his arms wide, allowing the ofuda to fly free. The violent wind tore the paper to pieces, as if taking out its pain on the now lifeless tool, then abruptly it rushed toward the open space between Shunsuke's arms.

And it was no more.

It's all right, the young man told the spirit as he released the air he had kept inside his lungs in a sigh. I won't harm you. I'm here to help. The words themselves were meaningless, but the feelings glided through the night and touched the unreal shadow hovering before Shunsuke. Hesitantly, it took on a human shape.

A woman.

Old.

Weeping.

On impulse, Shunsuke reached out to her. Almost, she managed to recoil and flee, but the spell held her fast. She struggled against the invisible bonds, but her wrath was gone. She was terrified. Very gently, Shunsuke wiped the ghostly tears away.

Blood.

Mud.

So, the spirit was linked to the potters by more than the incidents she had caused. Thoughtfully, Shunsuke watched as the ghost's shape shifted and shimmered in the night. She wouldn't leave easily, she wouldn't let herself be convinced, and yet he didn't want to send her away against her will. There was only one way out of this mess that would be acceptable, so better to be done with it as quickly as possible. With an almost imperceptible sigh, Shunsuke embraced the old woman's ghost.

Pain.

Terror.

Refusal.

Fury.

Shunsuke staggered, struggling to keep his balance as the spirit's incredibly strong emotions tore at his inner wards.

Pain!

Faces, barely glimpsed.

Familiar.

Jealousy.

Pride.

Anger.

Water, everywhere.

Water, choking the life out of her.

Water, cold.

Fear.

Hatred.

Hatred.

Hatred!

From very far away, Shunsuke felt himself sinking to is knees. In a desperate reflex, he grabbed the edge of the water basin with his right hand and managed not to fall headlong to the ground. For a while, he listened to the sounds of his labored breathing, absorbing the shock. So, he thought as he slowly regained control, not exactly what you told me, is it? Leaning on the stone, he pushed himself up and looked up at the night sky.

Murder.

Be free, he willed the ghost. I'll do what needs be done. The old woman's shadow once again reappeared before him, and suddenly the spirit reached out. Too surprised to move, Shunsuke shivered despite himself when ethereal fingers brushed against his cheeks, failing to catch his tears.

Her tears.

It's all right. Shunsuke smiled. Smiling was a necessity, she needed it. Years of harsh discipline and training came into play as the young man willed himself to be calm.

As he stretched himself to lead the lost spirit to the threshold of the world.

As the ghost's shadow dissolved into nothingness, a whisper reached Shunsuke's ears. Her name, that she gave him so he could keep his promise to her. She went away then, and Shunsuke retraced the steps to his body, focusing on the beatings of his heart and shutting out the horrible memory of drowning. His lungs ached, very far away, insisting he had been on the verge of dying, but he knew the truth. It was she who had choked underwater, her mercilessly clear sensations that had washed over him.

"Sumeragi-sama!"

The fearful whispers finished to bring Shunsuke back to himself. As he turned away from the water basin, he got a glimpse of stricken faces staring at him.

Anguish.

"Are you all right, Sumeragi-sama?"

Before they could gather the courage to approach him, he stepped toward them and smiled. The two men at the front recoiled, fear twisting the lines of their faces, but it didn't matter. It was too late now.

Too late for them.

"Ishikura-san was a very talented artist," Shunsuke said in a frighteningly quiet voice. "People were always going to her store, deserting yours. You tried to get her to reveal her secret for selecting materials and shapes, but she refused. She was stubborn, so she fought you back," he added, still stepping toward them, "and you killed her. You held her underwater until she died, here in this basin." Stopping as he came within reach of the potters, he concluded in a whisper, "It's her death that has disturbed your business, gentlemen. It's her angry spirit that has caused incidents and wounded some of your customers."

"Sumeragi-sama," one of them shook his head. "It's not what you think--"

"She's gone, now, she won't trouble you any further," Shunsuke said, ignoring the interruption. "Now," he turned to face the man on the extreme left, "you, Maejima-san, Ishijima-san," he continued, looking straight at another at the back of the group, "and you, Nuami-san, will go turn yourselves in for the murder of an innocent woman, and pay the price for your foul deed." Livid, the three men stared at Shunsuke. His words were a death sentence, and they all knew it.

"You have no proof!" Somebody suddenly shouted.

Shunsuke laughed. "My word will be enough," he told them softly. And it would be, everyone present knew it, just as they knew that he would truly go to the police himself with their names if they didn't obey. The only thing they could do to save their lives was to turn on him, but they couldn't do that.

They didn't dare.

Sumeragi he was, the last in a centuries-old line of Onmyouji whose powers was the stuff of legends and stories told at night to frighten children. Shunsuke could curse them and their families for generations, or so they believed. As it happened, they were right.

"Please, Sumeragi-sama...." One of them started, breaking through the ugly silence that had settled over the place, but another laid a restraining hand on that man's arms. Begging was useless. Shunsuke waited while shock left the hard faces. He waited while shoulders slumped in defeat and while fear came to the men's eyes and filled the air. Eventually, they acknowledged reality and left.

Shunsuke watched their retreating backs, unmoving. He watched until they became one with the night, and then whispered softly, "It's done, Ishikura-san. Now you can rest." Three lives would soon fade because of him.

Three lives.

It might be they wouldn't find their way to the other world. It might be they would wander forever and be lost. Shunsuke didn't give a damn. This was something his mother would never have done. Hers was a much too gentle heart. It was perhaps the one true thing that set him and Tokio apart.

Shunsuke judged, and once his decision was made, there was no appeal possible.

No mercy.

There had been a time when his father had told him he was far too generous and kind for his own good, but years had passed since then.

Shunsuke had grown.

And he had learned.

At last, he turned aside from the dismal place and went back to the Sumeragi mansion.

Dawn had come when he reached home, and he was greeted by a very much worried Hiroko at the main gate. "Shunsuke-sama!" She sighed in relief. "At last! You've been gone for days without even sending word. We thought--"

"Sorry," he replied with a weary shrug and a smile. He knew that her anguish was genuine, but there was little he could do about it. Passing her by, he said, "I'm going to sleep. Don't let anyone disturb me, I'm exhausted."

"A letter came for you," her voice called at his back, "from Yuta-sama."

Stupid.

Futile.

"Burn it," he said softly, not pausing to face her reproachful face. Just as he was about to disappear from her view, he added in an afterthought, "Have money sent to the Maejima, Ishijima and Nuami families in the potters' quarter."

"Money?!"

"Compensation for the dead," Shunsuke told her in a quiet whisper. Then he resumed his walk and left the corridor.

The silence in the Sumeragi mansion was an oppressive one.

He didn't mind.

I took one good look at the thick crowd flooding the quays below, and sighed.

Too many people.

Eventually, the line of passengers before me moved and I followed it, pushed forward by the tide of those waiting behind me. The echo of feet stepping over wood filled the air while I tried to remember the name of my destination. The boat trip had been an uneventful one: the maritime road between Tokyo and Osaka was a well-traveled one, and the weather had behaved itself. Going by train to Nagoya and then continuing on along the old Tokaido might have been quicker, but it would have been a hassle. Besides, I wasn't exactly in a hurry.

When I set foot on solid ground, the stench of the harbor's waters assaulted my nostrils and it was all I could do not to hiss in disgust. Around me, people hurried on their way in a chaos of mismatched colors and voices. Osaka's harbor facilities were huge, much more so than indicated in the notes I had been given. Fighting off the urge to pinch my nose between thumb and forefinger to keep the smell away, I focused on breathing through the mouth and proceeded to find the means to get to Kyoto.

Fortunately, a good proportion of the ship's passengers were also trying to get to the ex-capital city. I merely needed to follow the flow of people to find my way. Very soon, I came in view of some kind of station where endless streams of carts stopped and then departed, taking along their share of bodies up the hills toward Kyoto. Spotting a couple of westerners lost in the crowd, I quickly made my way to them and arranged to get on the same cart as they. They were so relieved to stumble upon someone who could be understood by the "natives" as they called them, that I got the ride for free.

Kyoto was very close to Osaka, and so I reached my destination by the middle of the afternoon.

With a sinking feeling to the pit of my stomach, I looked at the giant work site. I couldn't stall any longer. No matter how much I regretted the fact, it didn't become any less true. Hands closed into tight fists, I went in.

Workers turned to glare at me as I passed them by, not once but every time, even though I was careful not to get in anybody's way. I did my best to ignore them and walked on. I was used to stares and barely veiled expressions of contempt, but here it was more than that. It was the low fire of true anger that I could see lighting people's gazes. As I went deeper into the work site, I came to understand why.

Most of the workers were foreigners.

A majority of them was Korean, but there were some Chinese and Indonesians as well. Gaijin, all of them, who had taken good Japanese people's work from them.

"Stolen" from them.

The proportion of foreigners was wrong. Even an inexperienced person like me could see that. What could have possessed my father to enlist so many non-Japanese workers? It was bound to cause dissention, endless squabbles and problems, delays in the work--but the gods alone knew whether he cared about that. It wasn't my place to question, at least not yet, but I had eyes to see and the dissonant, jarring images of the worker crews stayed with me as I reached the hilltop on which the chief engineers' offices had been set.

"No, we'll have to go around that. The ground there is mostly rocks, and it'd take too much time." I froze, recognizing the voice at once, and smiled despite myself. Funny how memories remained so vivid, even after years of absence, but then Gwenaël O' Sullivan was anything but ordinary. Turning around the barracks's corner, I came in sight of my father talking to another engineer. I stopped in the shadow of the building and waited, but it seemed their discussion was at an end. With a brief nod, the other man turned away and went past me without sparing me a single glance.

Another westerner.

I drew in a deep breath, and then joined my father's side.

"I'm here," I told him quietly.

"Late," he said by way of greeting.

I shrugged, having expected that. "There were an awful lot of people down in Osaka." While studying the site below, I asked him, "What did you need me for?"

He held out a small piece of paper. "Approach the one whose name is written there and befriend him."

Obediently, I took the paper and unfolded it. There was indeed a name there, but not much else. I read it a second time to commit it to memory, and then crushed the paper before handing it back to my father. "And?" I asked as he took it from me.

"We'll see about that once you've achieved your objective."

As always. I just loved being kept in the dark. Heaving out a loud sigh, I said, "All right. I'll do my best, but you should know that my condition isn't exactly an asset in this kind of situation."

"You'll do fine," he laughed as he turned to face me for the first time. "You look perfect," he remarked quietly, his clear blue eyes scanning my whole body like a hawk's. It was a compliment, such as it was.

And it was also a bait I was a bit too old to take.

Snorting, I retorted, "I'd better! It's painful enough as it is."

He grinned at that and I clenched my teeth, refusing to give him ground. "You've grown," he said at last. "It looks like your stay with the Asano wasn't a complete waste of time."

"They were very kind," I smiled at the man who was my father and sketched a polite bow. "Kind, and also very well-mannered."

He laughed again, and a glint of amusement flashed in his eyes.

Rotten bastard.

"I'll get to work on your thing starting tomorrow at first light." I turned my back on him and started walking away. "In the meantime, I think I'll try to have some fun and get drunk tonight--if you don't mind, of course," I added mockingly. As I said those words, I remembered it was a mistake to taunt Gwenaël O' Sullivan this way.

But it would have been worse to meekly leave the place and do as he had ordered without the smallest protestation.

"Enjoy yourself. Oh, and, should you need it, I can recommend a few names among the mise-jorô of Gion. Inexpensive, but extremely knowledgeable in their domain."

I staggered.

Blind to the world around me, I fought to keep my balance and stand still.

Savagely.

More than the words, the sarcasm there had been in my father's voice kept echoing within, its dissonant music growing louder with each heartbeat and feeding the raw fire that threatened my self-control. Anger was rising inside me and worse, fury. With a desperate effort of will, I sent the burning emotions back. I stayed frozen in place for a few seconds, and then I summoned a smile to my lips. "Fucking son of a bitch," I told Gwenaël O' Sullivan amiably.

As I was about to resume my walk, a hand gripped my left shoulder hard. Only then did I realize that I was shaking. "Bran," he whispered in my ear. His hold on my shoulder was a strong, steadying one. "Bran," he repeated, and because of his using my name, I knew that pretense and masks were dropped.

That he'd tell me the truth.

"This time it's not a game. You must be careful." He pressed my shoulder gently, once, and then pushed me forward. Going along with the movement, I stepped away from him with a vague nod and left the place without looking back.

When Gwenaël O' Sullivan called my name, I knew I could trust his words. I knew he'd be sincere and that I could let go of my defenses, if only for the time of a heartbeat. I was allowed to, when my father called my name. It was the one refuge I had, the one stable point in my universe.

The only thing I could trust.

The only gift he had ever given me.

The sake tasted awful.

Shunsuke somehow managed to refrain from grimacing when he set the small cup down on the table. It was true that this particular inn hadn't ever served anything of high quality, but still there should have been limits as to how low you could get. It had been a week since he had last tasted a sake worth the name. Idly, he wondered if all of Gion had been cursed by a vicious mononoke. As he leant back against the wall, his eyes swept over some of the small place's other tables, and he noted with chagrin that the other patrons seemed to be enjoying their drinks. Perhaps he was the one who had been cursed, then. It might even be the restless spirits of the three potters he had sent to their deaths who were trying to enact a petty vengeance upon him. Grinning to himself, Shunsuke again brought the cup of sake to his lips and emptied it before ordering another one.

"Here, Shunsuke-sama."

Surprised, he looked at the serving girl as she poured him as new cup of sake. It was Tamako who was assigned to this portion of the taproom, and she usually was very quiet around him--in public places anyway. Taking in the tension in her stance, Shunsuke asked softly as she straightened, "What's wrong?"

A faint sigh escaped her, and a small smile touched her lips;

A sad, worried smile.

"Tetsuo the hide-tanner has come to spend money tonight, and I know he's going to request me." She gave a fatalistic shrug and an almost imperceptible shake of her head. "Ah well, there's not much that can be done about it." With that, she prepared to leave, and on impulse Shunsuke moved.

Half-standing in a fluid motion, he wrapped an arm around the girl's waist and sat back, bringing her into his lap. Dark brown eyes, very wide, looked up at him in complete astonishment, and he winked, telling her with a mischievous smile, "Now, that won't do, I'm afraid. You've just been requested for the whole night."

She laughed. A soft, melodious song that reminded Shunsuke of the rain's music. Slowly, she bent toward him and laid a gentle kiss on his brow. "And are you prepared to follow up on those brave words, young lord?" she whispered in his ear.

Eyes closed, Shunsuke drank in the sweet honeysuckle perfume of her hair and allowed himself a few seconds of bliss before telling her regretfully, "Not tonight, Tamako. I'm sorry. But," he added, releasing his hold on her, "stay at my table. Both Isumi and Hyuga can't come, and I could use some company."

"Your behavior is an outrageous one," she chided him with mock reproaches in her voice. "But I for one am happy for all your eccentricities."

Carefully, she moved from his lap and went to kneel beside him without even crumpling her kimono, assuming the position of his personal attendant even though there was no such thing in the cheap inn. Reaching out for his cup once again, Shunsuke drank another sip and thought that it tasted just a little bit better this time. With an inward sigh, he acknowledged that the alcohol's bad taste might have more to do with the situation within the Sumeragi mansion than with the drink's quality.

Things were getting really tense. Uncle Yuta had written a letter to Hiroko, to the servant of Shunsuke's mother of all people, to beg her to get him to listen. A waste of time, but it showed how desperate the man had become. Even if things were turning that badly, even if the situation truly warranted the intervention of the clan head, he couldn't do anything. Had he and his family been on the best of terms, still whatever crisis the Sumeragi were currently undergoing couldn't have been resolved.

Shunsuke wasn't the clan head.

There was no clan head.

There wasn't anyone to lead the Sumeragi, anyone except Tokio. Asking her son for help was ludicrous. Even if the emperor himself had requested the Sumeragi's presence, there was no way to honor the clan's obligations toward the imperial family.

Perhaps uncle Yuta and the elders should have considered this tiny little problem before they had deserted his mother.

Besides, what did the emperor know of the land's spiritual balance? It was the only thing that had mattered to Tokio, and Shunsuke saw no reason for that to change. The balance was safe enough, he knew. He walked the streets of Kyoto every night and touched the wards of the old temples.

And he strengthened the centuries-old seals.

Kyoto was at peace, as much as it could be given the situation. The heart and soul of Japan was at rest, and it was all that Shunsuke cared about.

"Trouble," Tamako hissed softly beside him, all of a sudden.

Focusing on the dimly lit taproom, the young man at once felt the cold gust of anger rising in the air and closing around an area on the opposite corner of the place. Yes, anger, mixed with disgust and revulsion. The stench of the negative emotions choking the aura around the room was unmistakable. Unable to help himself, Shunsuke grimaced and held still, his attention wholly set on the shadows of the far corner to try and discern the source of the disturbance.

There.

A stranger was sitting by himself at the table closest to the exit, and four of the other patrons were converging toward him. Shunsuke snorted, wondering how stupid people could get. He had of course noticed the young man--almost still an adolescent--as he had entered the inn. One of the younger workers hired for the Kyoto-Tokyo train line construction, most likely. Shunsuke had dismissed him from his mind almost at once, but others obviously had not.

Would not.

Watching the stranger's very still shape, Shunsuke felt his lips curl up in a smile. This one looked almost Japanese, but it was only an "almost". The sitting figure was too tall, and, even in the inn's semi-darkness, Shunsuke could tell that the lines of the man's face were wrong. A Korean perhaps, or some mixed-blood or other with a death wish. Coming to the more unsavory parts of Gion at night and alone when one was a gaijin was tantamount to suicide. Hadn't the work site's overseers warned the poor fool?

Since the beginning of the gigantic construction, a constant flow of immigrants from the continent had come. They were workers for the most part, cheaper and easier to exploit than members from Kyoto's blacksmith's and builder's guilds. With the years, resentment had grown in the local population, and while Shunsuke didn't approve, he understood. If only the authorities had reacted and dealt with the problem, but, no, they had let the situation rot to the point where things got out of hand at times, and dim-witted idiots like the one sitting at that table paid the price.

When the four men reached him, the gaijin bowed his head, and Shunsuke heaved out a weary sigh.

Sheep.

Not that it would help him.

At the other end of the inn, the young worker pushed himself away from his table and stood up in a single, smooth motion, avoiding a punch that would have sent him sprawling on the floor if he had allowed it to connect. The man who had struck out lost his balance and fell over the table with a vile curse. In the same time, the gaijin pivoted to face the other three. He tried to say something, but Shunsuke could have told him that attempting to reason with them was the wrong thing to do. It was doomed to fail, and it would enrage the men that much more.

Fury was leaking all over the place, enfolding all the people present with delicate tendrils of pale fire.

The gaijin avoided another blow in a lithe, almost feline movement, apparently not hampered by his size in the least. As he swung around to keep facing his opponents, he scanned the whole taproom, and his gaze met Shunsuke's.

Grey eyes that looked like potters' clay.

Grey, like the troubled waters of lake Biwa during a winter storm.

There was nothing even remotely resembling surrender or meekness in those eyes. There was scorn and contempt, fear and weariness also.

But above all, there was anger, tightly bound and icy cold.

In a flash, Shunsuke understood what had tipped the spiritual balance of the inn's aura, and acted as a trigger, releasing the men's dark flood of emotions. It was the gaijin's own feelings, his own unbalance that had disturbed the place's relatively peaceful flow of life. And the young man was no Korean worker, Shunsuke realized his mistake now, just as he knew how and why he had so easily forgotten the gaijin's alienness: because he was a westerner half-blood, the bastard son of one of the rich westerners who haunted the fairer parts of Gion and of one of the city's thousands of courtesans, to be sure.

Less than ten steps away, the stranger evaded yet another attack but went down when a hard flask of sake struck his left temple with raw violence.

Blood.

Shunsuke felt it in the air at once, and tensed.

"Poor fool," Tamako murmured beside him.

When the gaijin gathered himself from the floor, Shunsuke distinctly saw his left hand going for something at his belt.

A bokken.

If he drew it, he'd get himself killed. The only thing to do was to bear with the beating and get away once it was over. Retaliating was to invite disaster and forfeit his life. Something that might have been panic flashed in the grey eyes, but nothing else betrayed the gaijin's growing fear. His lips were drawn in a taut line, and Shunsuke knew with as much certainty as if he had heard the other's thoughts that he'd die before allowing himself to be beaten down without defending himself--that he'd die before calling out for help. He knew that doing so was useless, he had that much sense left in him at least.

"Ah shit," Shunsuke sighed as he stood up.

Damn the ruthless whoreson!

I released air through my lips in a soft, inaudible hiss as I set my cup of sake on the table. Cheap sake that tasted like rotten seaweed, but it had alcohol in it and it was all that I required. I had already emptied a flask and a half, but I could still hear my father's mocking words echoing in my mind. There were times like this one when I hated him with all I had. There were times when I wished my brain would just shut down so I would forget who he was and that I still needed him. One day I'd turn the tables on him, we both knew it, but that moment was still years away from now. Besides, I had given him my consent when he had explained.

When he had sat with me before the hearth of our old family's house in Ireland--Erin.

When he had told me the story of the O' Sullivan clan.

When he had detailed the reasons for its downfall.

When my eyes had caught the glint of silver in the night, I had followed each of his movements with rapt attention.

When he had asked whether I understood what it all meant, I had said yes. I had lied, but he had known that. How could a child have grasped the horrors of times long past?

When he had asked whether I would accept, again I had said yes. I had been a child, ignorant and foolish--his child.

His heir.

I had remembered the dismayed stares of his sisters as they had laid eyes on the bastard child he had fathered on a nameless woman of a distant, alien land. I had laughed, then, I had laughed at fools who didn't even have the brains to realize that they were the nameless ones, and that the shame hadn't been cast on them but on my mother's name.

On the Asano name.

I had remembered the rejection that had come from all sides, and I had turned toward the hearth of ancient stones.

I had stared into the fire.

I had watched the shadows of my father's tale dance in the flames, and I had believed him.

Aware of the price, but unable to understand its meaning, I had nodded at Gwenaël O' Sullivan and plunged my left hand into the glowing embers. My father's blood ran in my veins, I could do nothing but to acknowledge it.

Cursed blood.

It was only fair.

I smiled at my reflection in the cup of sake, and again I brought it to my lips. I knew the reason for Gwenaël O' Sullivan's harshness with me. I knew it was a kindness, but it didn't hurt any less. It was all for the best.

I would rise, and rise again.

I would pay the price--pay the debt that would never be honored.

Could never be honored.

I would rise, it was what I wanted.

What I had chosen to do.

What I must do.

All of a sudden, I felt presences close to me and I took my eyes from the flask of sake. Looking up, I saw four men coming toward me with fury distorting their faces. Ah. I hadn't expected this to happen so quickly. I had kept myself to the shadows of the inn's taproom, and I had been as quiet as I could. As I watched them come, I wondered if I hadn't misjudged the situation in Kyoto. The work site was bound to have caused instability and unrest because of all its foreign workers, but still, to have people react at the mere presence of a gaijin with violence.... Well, maybe they weren't coming for that, but--

"Out!"

Slowly, I bowed my head and stared at the low table.

"We want no gaijin here!"

No, of course not, but that was not all. And it didn't fit with my plans of quietly getting drunk tonight. When I had left the work site, I had gone straight to Gion, to the inn where the lower-ranking employees of the British government's shadow intelligence department were supposed to stay. There, I had found details concerning the target I was supposed to approach, and one interesting little detail mentioned in the report stated that he liked enjoying himself with the mise-jorô of Gion, spending his nights drinking at a few selected inns which had clean and quiet rooms in the immediate vicinity.

A shallow, uninteresting fop, most likely.

Not that it mattered to me. Coming to this specific place to drink myself into a stupor had seemed like a good idea. It was one of his favorite inns, and spending time here would have meant killing two birds with the same stone, affording me with a perfect opportunity to familiarize myself with the place beforehand. The four brutes standing in front of me were in the process of ruining a perfectly sound plan.

Ah well, so much for discretion.

When the first blow came, I was ready for it. Judging the movement's speed in the blink of an eye, I pushed away from the table and stood up in the same movement, confronting the men. There was no way I could get out of this mess unscathed, except maybe if I fled, but that wouldn't do. Allowing four strangers to beat me senseless for no other reason than that I was too tall and my face looked weird just wasn't an option. So I did the only thing I could do when they struck at me: I put the teachings of Kamiya-Kasshinryû to good use.

"Kamiya-Kasshinryû makes use of every means at your disposal to defend yourself and protect people."

As I avoided a fist that had been aimed at my jaw, I pivoted and gave the taproom a very quick glance, trying to see if there was another way out. The inn's patrons were watching the brawl with a vague, distant interest. In the far corner of the place, one of the customers was enjoying the evening with one of the house's whores. The woman had stopped pouring him sake, and she was looking at me with a mixture of pity and revulsion. Something, deep within me, recoiled at that sight, and I fought the reflex to snarl at her. All of a sudden, her companion completely turned toward me. Then our eyes met.

Amber-gold.

I froze for the time of a heartbeat. The man's gaze was amber, not the dull brown that was the Japanese norm, and his eyes were set on me. Contrary to the others, he was staring at me directly--contrary to the others, he acknowledged my existence without spilling disgust all over the room. The moment passed, and the stranger's eyes grew distant.

Dismissing me.

I had no time to experience resentment toward the man. I dodged another attack, and abruptly, from the corner of an eye, I glimpsed a flask of sake being hurled at me. Cursing my stupidity for having allowed myself to be distracted, I whirled aside, but couldn't prevent the object from hitting my temple. The shock was so violent that it shattered into pieces, and everything went dark.

No, damnit!

Ignoring the searing pain in my head, I flailed about wildly and the fingers of my left hand encountered an ankle. On instinct, I pulled at it with all my strength while I willed my eyes to see. I vaguely heard a muffled curse as I rolled aside to come back to my feet. I could feel blood, warm and viscous, running from the would on my left temple, partially obscuring my vision.

It wasn't good.

I was losing control, it was only a matter of minutes before they got me down on the floor for good. Then they could start having fun and take out their frustrations on me. But if ever they--

No.

I stepped back, reaching for my bokken. I could hear my heart beating like a madman's drum, frantic.

No.

"Ah, shit." With the weary sigh came the creak of a chair being pushed back, and all of a sudden the amber-eyed man stood up. He came toward us in quick, assured strides, and said quietly as he reached my table, "If you can't stop this here and now, we'll take it outside and stop disturbing this place."

Everything froze. The man's words hadn't contained a question, they hadn't even been a request. He had just given the four men and myself a command, and incredibly enough my attackers seemed to have been affected by it.

The newcomer was young, in his late teens like me most likely. He wore plain, simple dark blue hakama and an equally dark kimono tucked underneath. We were roughly of the same height, which was extremely surprising. Even though his eye-color was off, he was pure Japanese. How the words of someone so young could carry enough authority to stop four drunkards in the mood for a brawl was beyond me. True, there was an unmistakable, instinctive class in the way he held himself and the way he moved, but that wasn't enough to explain the small miracle he had just wrought before my eyes.

"Begging your pardon, young lord, but this is none of your business--" one of the men began.

"Then, out it is," the stranger cut him off in the same eerily quiet voice. With that, he stepped toward me, grabbed the edge of my left sleeve and pulled me along with him.

Right toward the inn's exit door.

"What do you think you're doing?" I asked him, bewildered.

"Saving your worthless hide and restoring that which you broke," he spat between clenched teeth without sparing me a single glance.

As we reached the dark, narrow alleyway that led to the inn, he let go of me and faced the men coming through the door. "Fists only," he whispered. "If you ever make a move toward that bokken at your side, I'll help them tear you to pieces and dump you into the Kamo-gawa."

That said, he flung himself toward our attackers.

Insane, I thought as I followed suit.

The fight didn't last long. Despite their bulk and their muscles, hardened by years of constant hard work, none of the four men had undergone combat or martial arts training. They were no match for Kamiya-Kasshinryû and whatever technique my companion was using. Just as I thought it was over, one of the two standing before, me, panting as if he was at the end of his strength, abruptly lunged to the right.

Right toward the man fighting by my side.

As if he had felt the attack coming, the amber-eyed stranger turned to face the threat. When I saw the light in his gaze, I knew he didn't intend to dodge it, and swore.

Damn madman!

It didn't matter to me if he was beaten to a pulp.

He was nothing to me.

Shit!

I flung myself forward and shoved the fool aside before the attack could reach him. It struck me instead, full in the shoulderblades, and I went down for the second time in the evening with the air drawn out of my lungs.

Feet.

Legs.

Someone was standing before me, a shield between me and the four men.

"Enough now. That fool is no more responsible for the situation in the city than I am. You and he have done enough damage here. I'll mend the unbalance your actions caused, and in return you'll leave this place at once."

I vaguely heard the shuffle of feet as the men obeyed and went down the small alley without a word. There was a heavy sigh, coming from right above me, and then all of a sudden silence claimed the night.

An eerie, absolute absence of sound.

As if all life had fled Gion.

As if the world had shifted away from us, and left us alone ashore.

A soft humming chant slowly filled the air.

I shivered, abruptly aware of how cold the silver of my bracelets and the ring was.

A sudden gust of wind flapped the hakama of the man standing next to me, and I blinked. I could once again hear the echoes of voices coming from the inn. The night's feeling had gone back to normal. "It's done." I didn't listen to the quiet voice. The feet before my eyes pivoted and the stranger bent down, holding out his hand to me. Wordlessly I took it, accepting his help, and he lifted me up. I wobbled dangerously for a few seconds, and then found a semblance of balance. "I didn't think you'd move to defend me from that blow."

The young man's amber eyes were watching me with puzzled speculation. I gave him a helpless shrug, unable to explain my irrational behavior. I expected him to leave and go back to the woman waiting for him inside the inn, but he didn't move. He stood still in front of me, his eyes searching my face as if that could give him some clues as to the reason behind my actions.

"You looked at me," I finally told him, "and you saw me." He nodded at that, as if that made perfect sense, and a faint smile touched his lips. It vanished quickly, and his gaze focused on me once more.

"You're wounded." Before I could tell him it was nothing worthy of note, he reached out to me. Too late, I understood his intent.

"Don't touch me!"

As the snarl faded into silence between us, I realized that I had gripped his wrist and yanked it away from me. From very far away, I could feel myself trembling. It had been instinct, I had moved before I could stifle the mad impulse. There hadn't been anything dangerous or threatening in the stranger's movement, but there had been no repressing the reflex. A bad weakness, that. Drawing in a deep, steadying breath, I released him and said softly, "I'm all right. There's no need to worry." I made to go away then, but he moved to bar my way.

"Oh, but I think there is." He gave me a steady stare, never averting his eyes even though I glared at him angrily. "You are wounded," he went on in the same infuriatingly calm voice, "and you need to take care of that. You're coming with me."

The shock of the battle was quickly receding to the back of my mind, leaving me with a mercilessly clear vision of how ridiculous the current situation was. "Look," I told him, not bothering to hide the exasperation from my voice, "I have no idea why you helped me, but I saved your ass there, so we're even. I'm telling you I'm okay, and that's it. I can fend for myself."

He snorted. "I doubt that."

I blinked, taken aback, and finally decided I was bored with this nonsense. "Even if that were true, I don't see why you should care." That said, I stepped past him, intent on getting back to a place where I could both treat the stupid wound and resume getting drunk.

"You don't?!" A hand shot out and closed around my right arm in an iron grip, stopping me and forcing me to turn around. "It's your leaking out the negative emotions you keep bottled up inside all around the inn that broke the place's balance and disturbed the aura in the whole area. Man, you're a wildfire that will raise chaos in all of Gion if I let you be. Never mind your getting yourself killed, I care nothing for that. But in the state you're in, you'll cause a rupture in all the seals in the vicinity and cause innocent people to get hurt. If I hadn't happened to be here tonight, you'd have to deal with a full blown riot right now! I'm shielding this place as we speak so you can't cause anymore damage, and you're coming with me so I can make sure the city is safe from the poison spilling form your spirit, willing or not!"

I shivered, unable to master the reaction. Not because of the raw, naked anger in the tone of his voice or because of the awful strength of his grip on my arm.

The eyes he had locked on me were green.

A pure, deep emerald.

Gone was the warm amber-gold of his gaze. Green had completely eclipsed the other color.

Green, beautiful.

Cold.

Like I was cold.

As cold as the silver binding my left wrist.

From very far away, I felt myself nodding, and when he pulled at me, I followed him.

Numb.

End of chapter 2.

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