One foot in front of the other. That's how it's done. The left foot rises and is suspended in the air for the fraction of a second, the fraction it takes that foot to come down again and the right foot rises and somehow he's still moving forward. Straight ahead because he knows there's nothing behind him. Mud clings to his cheeks, tight and caked hard over his skin. Scrapping it off has proved futile. His hands are caked with mud as well, from when he tried to climb back up through the gully. How long ago was that? He can't remember. Years ago. He thinks it must have been a dream. He can't remember what happened clearly anymore.
 
 

He was holding on to something, to someone. He was scared, blood running into his eyes and mingling with the sweat pouring down over his face. He couldn't hear the others anymore. He had lost sight of Katsuo in the scrambled confusion of breaking free from their camp. A spatter of loose gun shots rang up from his right, followed by the panicked rush of feet over the forest floor. The others, the enemy, he couldn't be sure. They weren't close, he didn't have to worry. He had to flee.

"Taishio. Sagara Taishio. Which way? You've got to tell me. Which way?"

The man slumped over his shoulders said nothing, his head lolling from side to side, eyes closed, skin livid. The boy could feel his captain's blood as it ran down his back, hot and sticky. He bit his lip, battling down the panic he knew would rise if he didn't push on. Forward. He had to keep running forward. There had to be a river close by. If they could only make it to the river...

"Hold on, Taishio. Hold on."

Branches cracked beneath his feet as he ran, the weight of his captain's unconscious body slowing him down, taking the breath from his lungs. He tightened his grip around the man's shoulders, struggling to keep him steady. He could still feel the warmth of his body, of his blood against his skin. He wasn't dead. Not yet. The boy gritted his teeth, pushing aside the thick undergrowth. A second spatter of gun shots rang out from behind him, closer this time. The blood rushed from his face. He tore through the undergrowth blindly, the thick sap from the reeds staining his hands. Drawing in a shaky breath, he looked ahead of him, his blood running cold.

Blue sky yawned above him, stretching far away, bridging the gap between him and an unreachable salvation. A ravine. Too wide to jump. It spread out before him, mocking him with the far ground, the other side. He moaned, fighting down the tears he could feel forming at the corners of his eyes. Looking around him, he could see no clear way to escape. Gun shots rang out from the right, the ravine pulled away at the left, making decent treacherous with his captain's body flung over his shoulders. But he had to try. There was nothing else to do.

Pebbles skittered down into the darkness below him as he placed his foot gingerly on the edge. He couldn't tell how deep the ravine really was. His mind wouldn't work. It seemed endless. A shaky breath over his neck broke his thoughts. The weight of his captain's body stirred against his arms and he could feel a giddying sense of relief begin to wash over him. He struggled to set the captain on his feet, his excitement making his movements clumsy and slow. His words stumbled out at once.

"Sagara Taishio. Yokatta. Am I glad you're all right. I tried to pull you away. I had to. But I couldn't... the ravine... I..."

The words died away on his lips. There was something wrong. His captain looked down at him in silence, lips thin. A conflict raged in his eyes, making the boy uncomfortable. Fear gripped at his heart. He saw his captain's head snap from left to right quickly, taking in the ravine, the forest, the crack of gun shots coming closer. His eyes narrowed, closed briefly as a shudder ran through his body. Before the boy could react his captain's right hand had reached down, fingers outstretched, pushing into the boy's stomach, pushing him back and towards the ravine.

The world blurred for an instant. Ground and sky and his captain's eyes pulled apart and close and into each other as he was pushed back, the determination and fear and sadness and disbelief in his captain's eyes mingling into a muted, paralysing fire. The clear blue sky yawned from above again, spinning for an instant as he lost his footing and fell over the edge. His limbs felt too light, as if there was nothing left of him, as if his soul were still beside the captain. He couldn't see him anymore. Could only hear the sickening crack of the gun fire, the breath as it was torn out of him. He saw his captain's blood. It burst up once, a thick mass of drops that never came down. They hung, suspended, bright, sick red against sapphire blue before his eyes. Eyes widening with shock, a numbing cold settling over him.

He couldn't remember how it had felt to strike the ground, the river, wherever he had fallen. He couldn't recall how he had managed to pull himself onto the shore. Couldn't recall why he had pulled himself out. Tears ran down his cheeks, hot and shameful. A sob welled up in his throat, pounding in his temple. His own blood ran into his eyes, clouding the world in a red haze. His fingers dug into his skin as he tightened his fists, slamming them into the ground. Over and over.
 
 

"Sa... gara... Tai... shio..."

The words have almost no meaning now. He has repeated them over and over, the sound mingling with the slow shuffle his aimless steps. He can't feel the rain washing over him. Drops cling to his hair, snaking down into his mouth. Brown eyes stare forward into nothing, seeing only darkness. The wooden planks of an old bridge creak beneath his feet as it takes him onward. He doesn't hear anything. Head moving slowly from side to side, he stops.

"Do... doko da... ? Where...?"

He looks up. Above him, dark clouds draw near, blanketing the world in darkness. Thin needles of rain come down towards him. They taste of blood. Blood and sweat. He raises one hand, shields his face from the rain. His feet move forward again. He lost one of his shoes as he made his way across the rice fields. He thinks they were rice fields. He had been buried knee deep in a soft, black mud. Some of it still clings to him now, even as the rain washes over him. His body sways to the side, but he manages to keep himself straight. Straight and watching as the world spins around him, rain and darkness and blood. He shuts his eyes, feels the ground give way beneath him, swallowing him up in cold darkness.
 
 

Bangohan had finished earlier than usual that night. Aihara Tajima gathered her family's dinner plates and began stacking them on her tray. It was Fuji's turn to do the dishes that night, and she intended to remind that lazy girl. As she straightened, she tucked a stray bang behind her ear. Her hand froze over her cheek. A crash had come from outside. Aihara took one step backwards, plates clattering on their tray. From behind her, she heard her mother slide open her room's door.

"Haha, I heard something, outside."

The old woman placed a hand over her daughter's shoulder, squeezing gently and guiding her towards her room. "I know, Ai chan. Place your tray by the kitchen door. I'll have Fuji clean them tomorrow. Now go to bed, and don't worry about a thing."

Her daughter seemed as if she would protest, but she did not. Her feet shuffled across the floor as she rushed to her room, door sliding shut behind her. Her mother stood in the darkened room for a moment, a dog howling once from outside, before she slid open the house's door and looked down.

A young boy lay crumpled at the foot of the stairs leading up to her home. His arm lay pinned in an unnatural pose beneath his body, his skin pale and bloodied. One hand rose to cover her mouth even as she stepped outside and leaned over his body. She searched for a pulse, found a weakening heartbeat. She moved aside the bangs that obscured his face, her fingertips brushing against the red bandana tied across his forehead. With a grunt, she gathered him into her arms. His body sagged in her embrace, his head dropping to one side, a scarlet trickle of blood mingling with the red of his bandana. She didn't look at that bandana, but kept her eyes averted from it as she carried him inside.
 
 

The woman leaned back on her hunches and watched as the boy slept. His breast rose and fell slowly in uneasy slumber, his hands balled into fists over the covers she had pulled over him. His wounds had been less severe than she had feared. A few scratches and a slit, not deep, down one arm. She couldn't tell what had caused the wound, and what she feared she kept to herself. She leaned forward and combed back the boy's hair, his forehead now free of the red bandana he had been wearing. That she had untied, folded and placed in the chest of drawers at the corner of the room. She She cast a glance at them, her brows knitting together in unease.

"T-Tai... shio..."

The old woman moved closer to the boy, taking up his hand. His eyelids fluttered, eyes struggling to open. A pair of clear brown eyes looked up at her, disbelief and a million questions mirrored in them. She saw his mouth move, tears welling up at the corners of his eyes, his hand gripping hers tightly.

"No, don't try to say anything. You must rest, my child. It's a miracle that you collapsed at my steps, or you might have died..." As she spoke, her eyes travelled towards the chest of drawers, her gaze falling. But she composed herself quickly and smiled down at the boy. "You must thank the gods you're alive."

The boy leaned back into his bed, eyes muted as he looked up at the ceiling. "Alive?" he whispered. "Are Katsuo, Omoji, Nasao, Taishio... are they alive...?"

"I don't know, my child. But you must rest."

With a grunt, the boy sat up. The woman reached out a hand to push him down gently back into the bed, but he shrugged it away. One hand rose to clutch at his head. It froze there, his eyes widening in disbelief and surprise. His lips moved, trembling as he ran his his hands over his forehead. Before he could turn his eyes towards, she had moved closer to her chest of drawers. With shaking hands she pulled out the wet, bloodied bandana. She held it clasped in her hands tightly, head bowed. She couldn't bring herself to look up at his face. She could feel his hands stretch out towards the bloodied cloth on her lap and she closed her eyes.

"You're Sekihou, aren't you? You're one of them? I... I know all about you. You spread nothing but lies. You told us that the rice prices had gone down... That the Ishin Government had betrayed us all..."

The boy didn't say a word. He merely sat in his bed, head bowed and hands resting limply over the covers. The woman battled down the tears that threatened to form. She gripped the boy's bandana harder, her fingers becoming stained with the blood. She couldn't stop the words from coming somehow. She had to get them out. She could feel the boy's pain, but she had to say these things. She had waited so long to tell somebody.

"My son, my Takeo, believed what you Sekihou told the people. He joined your group... and now he's dead. I received the letter just three days ago. My Takeo is dead. My... Takeo..."

The tears spilled down her cheeks, hot and free. Her hands gripped the bandana tighter, her body shaking with sobs. The boy watched her from his bed in silence, the moment slipping past him even as it unfolded before his eyes. He couldn't even bring himself to cry. It didn't seem real. He could only watch her. Takeo's name was familiar to him. Takeo had been a quiet young man who liked to hum to himself. He had admired the captain, as they all had. Takeo was dead...? Had it only been three days...? The boy sighed, shoulders dropping as the woman sobbed with her head on the floor, the blood from the wet bandana staining her face, staining the world. At length she drew in a shaky breath and drew a hand over her eyes.

"I know I shouldn't blame you, boy... You're young, impressionable. It was Takeo who should have known better. I'm... I'm glad that you're alive boy. Even if you are... Even if you are Sekihou."

Silently, she passed the bandana to him, keeping her eyes averted as she did so. He took it up slowly, held it in his hands, running his thumb finger over it in absentminded circles. With a grunt, the woman stood up. She padded slowly towards the door and slid it open. She stood there in silence for a long while, the silence between them growing heavy. When she spoke it was almost in a whisper.

"I hate the Sekihou, for what they did to my son. But I can't hate you, child. I'll ask my daughters to prepare you something to eat."

The door closed slowly behind her, leaving him in silence. His bandana lay in his lap, a bright blood red gash against the white covers. His blood, and the captains. He gazed down at it in silence, the night crawling past him outside. Then, lifting it, he tied it across his forehead again, the cool wet cloth kissing his skin, shutting out the woman's words. For a while, it brought him peace.
 
 

Aihara poured the ocha for the strange young boy and dared not look at her mother. She sat in her corner quietly, hands folded over her lap, eyes fixed on something her daughter could not see. Aihara poured the green tea and looked only at the young boy eat and drink. He seemed dumb, lethargic. He was probably a war orphan. Her brother Takeo had died in an uprising that had the whole town talking. Perhaps this boy's parents had been killed as well.

"Ne, boy, don't eat so fast, or you'll get a stomach ache. Chew your food. Must be a long time since you've eaten such good tofu, ne?"

The boy drew a hand over his lips, setting down his cup. "Sorry. It has been long. I guess I didn't realize it till now."

The words were spoken coldly, without emotion. The boy's eyes never left the floor. He hadn't looked at Aihara since she had come into the room. She sighed. From where she sat, her mother signalled to her that the boy had eaten enough. Aihara gathered the boy's cup and tofu dish, following her mother into the kitchen. The old woman walked slowly, pensively, but her daughter couldn't tell why.

"Haha, is something the matter...?"

Her mother stopped in the hall, giving her daughter a tired smile. "I think that boy is strong enough to leave, isn't he? He can leave in the morning."

Aihara's eyebrows knitted together. Her mother's voice was all wrong, lifeless. She smiled to herself, as if she couldn't see her daughter. She was usually so kind to strangers, so willing to help. Why did she look so distant now...? Aihara thinned her lips, summoning up the courage to speak back to her mother.

"You can't mean that, Haha. That boy was near death. You told me so. He needs to rest. It wouldn't be right to send him out into the streets again so soon... He..."

Her mother shook her head, her smile wistful and distant. "No, he can leave in the morning."
 
 

A clear blue sky unfurled above them as he took the lunch Aihara held out to him, the birds calling out from the trees after the past night's heavy rain. The girl goaded a silent domo from him and patted his head. He could tell she was uneasy. Her mother stood by the house's porch, hands clasped before her, quiet and still. She didn't wave as the boy turned to walk down the path. He heard Aihara wish him well, then silence. He walked with his head bowed. He didn't want to see the look on Takeo's mother's face. He knew he'd see it again, many times. His hand rose to caress the red bandana strings that fluttered out behind him, and he didn't look back at the people that had saved him.
 
 

"Sanosuke. Ne, Sano!"

The voice comes up through his reverie, jerking him awake. He starts, rubs at his eyes. Above him, a blue sky spins quietly within itself. White laundry beats in the wind, slapping out at the clouds. Sanosuke blinks and sits up. Slowly, the world around him comes into focus, the Kamiya Dojo, the dry, hot dirt beneath him, Kenshin playing with the little girls in the courtyard, their song drifting in the afternoon breeze. For a moment, he tries to grasp at the memories that are soon fading from his mind. Sagara Taishio... that they they shot him... He shakes his head.

"Sanosuke! I've been calling you for half an hour!"

Disoriented, he looks around him. Kaoru is standing behind him, a broom held in her hands. He shoots the broom an uneasy glance. Kaoru. Broom. It can only mean one thing. His lips draw back over his teeth. "You can forget about me sweepin' the yard, jouchan."

Kaoru glares down at him. "I wasn't going to ask you to sweep. I've been asking you to move. That space you've been sleeping in is the only spot I haven't swept yet."

Later, sitting at the Kamiya Dojo's front porch, Sanosuke gazes quietly at Kaoru. Her broom makes a sharp, scraping noise against the dirt floor. As she finishes she draws a hand across her forehead, wiping away the beads of sweat that have formed there. She places the broom against one of the dojo's pillars and sits beside Sanosuke, reaching back to untie her apron.

"You can go back to sleeping now."

He grins. "Very funny, jouchan." Plucking out a blade of grass, he places it between his teeth, sucking idly at the bitter juices. Kaoru stretches beside him, thin white arms contrasting against the brilliant blue sky. He watches her without watching, eyes narrowed as he sucks at his blade of grass, eyesight locked between the dirt yard and the movement of her arms. With a short heave, she stands up. She looks at him quietly for a long while, the afternoon slipping past them in the chirp of the crickets.

"It's strange," she murmurs.

He looks up at her fully, blinking. A smile stretches out across her lips. "Iya, I didn't mean anything. It's just that you're usually never this serious."

He shrugs, gives her a crooked smile she can't read. "Just thinkin'. Say, what day is it? Seems as if it should be Friday."

The backdoor to the dojo slides open and Kaoru's feet pad across the floor. "It's the sixteenth, Sunday. Missed Friday, I'm afraid." With that, she lays a hand over his shoulder and shuts the door behind her. He listens to her footsteps as they die away. A smile forms across his lips. Raising his head, he watches the clouds race by.

"The sixteenth, huh?" he murmurs. "So now it's been eleven years since I lost you. Na, Taishio?"

The skies say nothing. They remain blue and immobile, the sun a blinding shimmer at the centre, obscured as the clouds rush past it. Sanosuke sighs, standing up and digging his hands into his pockets. Something doesn't feel quite right about the day being so beautiful and peaceful. But as he picks his way across the yard, the little entry gate swinging shut behind him, he can't help but smile to himself, if only for the irony.

It had been a beautiful day when his captain had died.
 
 
 

Author's Note

Tuesday, August 18th, 1998. 9.38 AM. Globe's first CD plays over my PC's speakers. And this story is finally up. Looks a bit different from what I envisioned, but ah well, na? As is usual with me, I sat down with my Natalie Merchant and Michael Nyman tapes to write this, bent over the new writing desk that now graces Team Bonet's happy abode. A bit more comfortable than the kitchen table, but the lighting in the room it's in is murderous... I'll be myopic by the end of the year, I swear. Ha ha. I'm practically the only Team Bonet member not wearing glasses, actually... Hmm.
 
 

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© August 14th-16th, 1998 Team Bonet. Rurouni Kenshin is © 1994 Nobuhiro Watsuki and Jump Comics, excepting the Tajima family, which we created. Heh. Domo arigato for taking the time t'read this. Please don't copy or use without asking us first. We're nice guys, we'll say yes.