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Author's note: This chapter grew considerably from the draft, and got me into some complicated issues all the same. It's become my premier on slash fiction (second half of the chapter).I owe huge thanks to Cyanida who helped and encouraged me, guiding me virtually through the labyrinth.
Title: Shadows of the past
Chapter 3: Forging alliances
NC-17 for violence and sexual content
Disclaimer: This is a work of non-commercial fiction, based on "Samurai 7" by Gonzo. I don't receive any financial or other recompensation.
Forging alliances
We’re closer my friend,
so don’t turn around….
(Littlehorse: George Mallory)
Shichroji hardly ever took the cowards way out, but he was glad to let Yukina deal with the glib merchant Kyuzo had brought with him. He despised Ayamaro deeply and there were other, more important, things to attend to.
As always with him Kyuzo had chosen to remain in some distance from the others. He hardly spoken and the short report of what he had been doing had consisted of exactly one and a half sentence, grudgingly delivered before retreating. There had been a time, when Shichiroji would have demanded a more detailed report and made his point crystal clear, and, as he recalled with a painful stab, shared a good joke on it with Akinari afterwards. Gone as these days might be, he still couldn’t help noticing the slight limp of the stubborn blonde warrior. Shaking his head he assembled a bowl of hot water and one of cold water, along with clean cloth, disinfecting salve and other things needed for treating wounds. His warrior life had provided him with a working knowledge of field surgery and some of his more reckless comrades had seen to it, that it exceeded the normal by far. Especially one brave leader, who had never shied away from whatever danger came his way. He smiled as he shortly looked in Kanbei’s direction and found that their eyes met. Shichiroji nodded shortly. He didn’t need to say anything, Kanbei understood that Shichiroji would take care of their most problematic ally, leaving Kanbei time to see to the greater matters of the campaign.
He found Kyuzo sitting on the ground near one of the smaller doors that led out to the rock garden. The blonde samurai was looking up, as Shichiroji approached him, without saying a word. His eyes conveyed the message Go away! very clearly. “I saw that you were injured,” Shichiroji said, setting down the tablet. “Let me take care of your wounds.”
The garnet eyes became annoyed, the fine eyebrows rose. “Won’t you ever get tired of being the errant-girl?”
Shichiroji grinned. Kyuzo had deigned to speak a full sentence to him. He did not react to the insult, for he saw clearly that Kyuzo tried to drive him away. “An pillar is not demeaned by being used to hold up a roof,” he replied using one of his father’s favourite quotes. He even managed to do this with a smiling face, with the years going by, he had learned to turn the pain inwards. “And now, let me look after your wounds.”
Grudgingly Kyuzo exposed his left leg. A long bloody cut ran down, uncared for. Shichiroji sighed, great warriors must believe themselves immortal or they would be less careless. As he began cleaning the wound, Kyuzo kept silent, unmoving. If he felt any pain, he did not show it. “Just remember, you are treating the wounds of the man who will kill your – ‘spouse’,”
“Brag after you hit ground again,” Shichiroji replied with one of the pilot’s sentiments, even as he had to exercise some control on himself. He wrung out the bloodied cloth, and send one of the maid’s for more hot water. “I can only promise that I will pray at your grave, Kyuzo.” Shichroji replied, examining the wound closer, as it was now cleaned. “That will need to be stitched or it’ll never heal.”
Kyuzo wordlessly eased himself down, lying in a position, that made it easy for Shichiroji to access the wound “You trust Shimada Kanbei.” It wasn’t a question, it was a statement. The maid returned with a kettle full of hot water, avoiding to take note of any of the samurai’s conversations.
“Indefinitely,” Shichiroji said with some force. Letting go of that matter he inspected his tools, if he had anything he would need. “Yukina surely has some Neru – tea in the kitchens. I can get you some before we begin.” It would make things easier on Kyuzo,
But the blonde Samurai wouldn’t have any of it. “No,” he said, leaning back against the wooden barrier. He sat completely unmoving while Shichroji began to stitch together the gaping wound. “You’re doing it again,” he observed to Shichiroji’s astonishment after a while.
“Doing what? Taking care of wounds? Now, that’s nothing new to me. I saw pretty much of this during the war,” Shichroji replied
Kyuzo wordlessly shook his head. “I didn’t meant that,” he answered, “You try to smooth the edges of our alliances. As you did before.”
Shichroji did not look up, he was concentrated on the task before him. But if speaking distracted Kyuzo from the pain he had to experience, he wouldn’t deprive him of that. “I’m not sure what you are speaking of,” he said, while moving one of the lamps nearer to enhance the light on the wound. “If we don’t care about our allies, about whom shall we then care?” Somehow he seemed to be doomed to be restricted to philosophical quotes for answers today.
Kyuzo drew a sharp breath, yet he spoke calmly when saying: “You just happen to choose the most complicated, most problematic ally?”
A slight irritation crept up inside Shichiroji. Kyuzo tried to tease him or pry something out of him, or so it seemed. Yet, he had navigated more complicated conversations. “Do you see yourself as problematic? I can’t concur with you.”
A sharp noise, almost a barked laugh was his immediate reply. “I nearly forgot – you were the one who kept the the pale captain in line for General Shimada Kanbei.” He closed his eyes, obviously concentrating on the pain. Shichiroji didn’t reply at all, but focused on that ugly wound. He had just learned an important fact about Kyuzo: not only had they been fighting on the same side but among the same troops. The pale Captain was a nickname, hardly known outside their regimen and it hardly been a friendly one. Yet, Shichiroji could not recall the blonde Samurai, he was sure he had never met him before. After he was finished with the wound he gently saw the bandage it. “Don’t move for some hours and rest the leg for another two days and you should be fine,” he said in the end. “I’ll see that you get something to eat before you sleep.”
The blonde warrior rose to a sitting position, garnet eyes sparkling with a strange amusement. “You are good at it, you know,” he said.
“I told you, I’ve often taken care of wounds,” Shichroji replied. He did not leave the room, but send the maidservant to take the tablet back to the kitchens.
“Not this,” Kyuzo’s eyes pointed to his bandaged leg. “But alliances, you are an alliance-builder, it comes naturally for you.”
Shichiroji was a little astonished. Somehow he saw that Kyuzo wanted to talk, perhaps he did only talk because he did not want to be alone, yet he had tried everything to alienate Shichiroji. Shichiroji was sure, that Kyuzo’s rudeness was also part of this attempt, as was using Akinari’s least favorite nickname. He sat down opposite of Kyuzo. “How do you know of this?” he asked, knowing he might get himself into a complicated conversation. “The name of the Pale Captain has only once been used in the open, in…”
“..a particular nasty argument.” Kyuzo finished the sentence. “I still marvel how you managed to balance those two sides. Everyone believed General Kanbei’s idea was madness.”
“It wasn’t,” Shichiroji said a little louder than necessary. He smiled as he remembered. It had been a brilliant plan, yet the details had been madness….
“Eagle, two Cloud-owls are closing in on you,” Shichiroji had hardly any time to deliver this warning, flying through the shrouds of debris took all skill he could muster. Kanbei had left only junk of the four raiden. Right now his blade was a whirlwind reflecting the heavy fire that came in on the fighter. Shichiroji drove the machine into a tight spin, avoiding a swarm of rockets coming their direction. The only on that came close, was sliced cleanly in two halves by Kanbei. “Get me to their flagship.”
Shichiroji nodded an affirmative, and drew the fighter to maximum speed. It was the fifth battle of their combined forces and the it began to pay off. Their enemy still had trouble to adapt to the new tactic that cost him more capital ships then he had ever lost before, while they themselves rarely had any of their few greatships in these battles. Only fighters, Sparrowhawks and Firebats, and Samurai. Shichiroji manoeuvred his fighters, a sturdy Firebat, through a heavy fire zone, vaping a mecha-samurai with his canons. Several others are blocking their path, but relying on the sturdy build of the Firebat and their speed he brings them through. This is Shichiroji’s battlefield: the wide skies, full of fire, explosions and blinding light, enemies moving at lighting speed, fire smashing whole formations within moments, debris and junkyards, graves of the fallen, yet deadly traps for anyone who comes close. And when he’s piloting his fighter through these fighters, there isn’t a real separation between him, his fighter and the burning skies outside. They melt into something unique, something he can’t describe or even name. But it still is the place where he belongs.
He drew a very tight spiral around the enemy flagship, to give Kanbei the best jumping position possible. Down there, the wide metal ground of the enemy ship, flagship to Warlord Kagawa Omezo, stretched in the light of the eastern sun. This was Kanbei’s battleground: shaking, insecure and a thousand times as deadly. Shichiroji sees the tight spin to the left and knows, that Kanbei has jumped down. He hovers over the place for a moment longer, seeing that even before landing Kanbei cut two mecha-samurai in pieces.
The usual routine, developed in the last four battles, for fighters was to circle the ship attacked by ‘their’ samurai to be at hand when needed and to stand ready to get him off that ship again before it exploded. Shichroji had experienced few troubles up till now, he knew Kanbei well and thus was able to know when to move in or out. While he began his first circle, fighting his way through some mecha-samurai he became aware of the running communications again. Both channels – OP-chan used by all fighters and COM-chan only used by the commanders – were active on his fighter. “….heavy carbon scoring on the outside, seems inoperable.” “…group of mecha’s incoming! Get out of there,” “Steady,” Akinari’s voice cut in. “Condor, you get Mockingbird out of combat zone, the rest is with me.” A shriek and a curse ended in crackling static. Shichiroji knew that the group of mecha’s was the same one, that he was approaching on his circle. “Eagle, this is Katana, we have them between us.”
A cloud of explosions and debris shook Shichiroji’s fighter as he made his way through the battle formation of mecha’s. Even as he was fighting, half his attention was focused on the flagship, which was also marked by the first heavy explosions. As soon as he had passed the cloud, he forced the Firebat around and in a nice long roll-out descended down onto the ship again. Not a moment too early, the port thrusters of the ship were catching fire, it was short of breaking apart. He saw Kanbei, near the starboard gunturrets, or what was left of them. Passing a cloud of overheated gas, he made his pass by as slow and deep as possible.
He had no need to worry, agile as a cat Kanbei was up on the wing again and Shichiroji brought them away from the dying ship. “Bloodraven, negative on RAKER, repeat: negative on RAKER, break off!” Akinari’s shout was twice as loud and startled Shichiroji. Below them a drama ensued. A lone fighter, one of the Sparrowhawks, was chasing after a fleeing Raker that was obviously trying to reach their ground fortress of Jimada.
“He’s already in reach of their guns,” Kanbei had seen through the situation before everyone else. “Send one group against the Raker, then bring us down on the fortress.”
With any other Samurai Shichiroji would have assumed he was following a reckless and glory seeking impulse, but he was sure that Kanbei had some new plan, something brilliant. He sped them up, moving in on the scene down there. “Eagle, this is Katana, send green group to take care of the Raker, everyone else is with us.” He relayed the orders, while bringing them down on the fortress.
He heard the sharp affirmative, and knew that Akinari believed them mad, even as he obeyed. Shichiroji had no time to think about this, he had to concentrate on Kanbei’s orders. What lay ahead of them was the most singularly complicated and brilliant plan, without a moment’s hesitation Shichiroji brought them down on Jimada fortress.
***
No sooner had they hit ground than a whole fist of enemies was storming up the bastion. Shichiroji jumped out of his fighter, the battle lance at hand. Kanbei had jumped off earlier on, and was fighting across the courtyard. Always capable to cover a wide area of ground, fighting in an aggressive, almost wild style. Wielding his blade in the right and a blazing torch in his left hand, he was a whirlwind of power as he leapt and whirled and spun, always in swift motion, always in attack, always hacking, stabbing and slashing, piling the corpses of fallen men and machines on the stairs of the core fortress. Shichiroji used his lance like a lever to throw his first attackers off the bastion again before the real battle began for him. It was like a mad, endless dance to an air of shattered metal, pained screams and murderous crashes. A track of scrap metal, blood and mutilated corpses was drawn across the courtyard. Some time during the fight Shichiroji had found himself shoulder to shoulder with Akinari, who was wielding his strange, crescent moon shaped, sword. They had a hard time to reach Kanbei who had already forced his way into the innermost courtyard of Jimada fortress. Eventually they stood right on the palace stairs, the guard swarming down on them. First they came by three at once, then in groups of six, nine and twelve, by the time their Master, Warlord Kagawa Omezo himself joins the fighting the stairs are a bloody field, covered by so many corpses that his last companions stumble over them. Shichiroji gestured Akinari to stand down, as Shimada Kanbei alone confronted the Renegade Warlord. Behind them swarmed their troops over the walls, but no one would dare to intervene in the duel.
The two opponents could not be more different than the two of them were. Kanbei tall, composed, even if marked by a bloody battle, Omezo small and wiry, well rested but infuriated about what seems to be a surprise attack to him. From the moment the fight begins, Shichiroji sees clearly, how it will end. Omezo might be well rested and Kanbei exhausted from battle but it changes nothing. Not only is Kanbei the better swordsman, he is in full control of his temper, while Omezo’s attacks are angry and lack control. Within only minutes Warlord Kagawa Omezo fell from the blade of Shimada Kanbei. Like an invisible wave fell the silence on the courtyard. Jimada fortress had fallen.
***
“I don’t care how you try to rationalize it – it was never our objective to go after the fortress. Iredhél should never have gone after that blasted Raker!” Akinari’s voice betrayed painfully constrained anger. “When a pilot says he can’t do something, then his Samurai-partner should respect this.”
Bunjiro’s reply was a contemptuous snort. “We’re Samurai! We don’t ask for our survival in battle, but for victory! I ordered that pilot to bring me in to take this ship down.”
“And Bloodraven paid with his life for it,” Akinari’s eyes were dark with anger. “I ordered him to break off, yet you countermanded this, senselessly so.”
“We won this battle. It was a great victory.” Bunjiro snapped, approving nods came from half a dozen other samurai which were spectators. “The true way of the warrior lies in dying, not in surviving, even if the pale Captain won’t see this.”
“General Kanbei salvaged the mess you created, brilliantly so, yes,” Akinari pointed out. “What you did was against the battle plan and put your pilot needlessly in the line of the fortress’s canons. It happened because he took your orders – it won’t happen again.”
“Your damned Iredhél seems to be more to you than the glory of this day.” Bunjiro had taken a more threatening pose, which had no apparent on the whitehaired pilot. “Were you not such an…,” Akinari visibly forced some words down. “Were you not as ignorant as you are, I’d call you out for this.”
Shichroji had been running the last part of the stairs, to reach the group. He positioned himself between Bunjiro and Akinari before a real fight could break out. “Stop it, both,” he ordered. “Akinari, it is not for you to decide who’s orders are of precedence to who’s.” The pilot seemed for a moment ready to fight Shichroji, but the wild expression in his eyes faded, swallowing hard, he nodded and stepped back. Shichroji turned to Bunjiro. “And it is not for you either.” He felt the hard glare of the Samurai, but did not waver a moment. “This whole matter will be decided by the General alone.”
Akinari nodded shortly. “As you say it, Shichiroji-san. I have to take care of my men, there might be another dead before dawn.” He turned and left the courtyard towards the caverns that where to serve as their quarters here.
Bunjiro’s anger was hardly suppressed. “They are no samurai, they don’t have the heart of a true warrior. They… they are peasants. Pale peasants.”
Shichiroji took one step closer. “Repeat this and you truly will have to answer. They are our allies.” He felt that this would take some strength to sort it out.
***
Night fell as Shichiroji reported to Kanbei about the incident. “It might seriously damage our fighting condition. If the pilots stop trusting their Samurai, the whole tactic is largely rendered ineffective.”
Kanbei had listened with his usual concentration. “This tactic’s backbone is the fact that it isn’t monolithic. Every unit has it’s individual strength and is able to adept to the current situation. This is why we need the best, the best pilots, what means your wing and Akinaris, there are none better. And we need the best samurai, warriors who use their wits and can make decisions within moments. Do you think we can get both sides back to working together?”
Shichiroji thought about it for a moment. “I think so. It should be possible to talk Akinari into continuing what we began. Even as I believe that Bunjiro somehow offended him. But what is more complicated is to rebuild the trust between both sides. I came to realise today, that some Samurai consider the pilots – equally our allies and my pilots – to be inferior, which might prove to be a major source of trouble in the future.”
This assessment seemed to be what Kanbei had expected. “You said that you can talk Akinari into continuing to fly with us, do so. Leave the question of the Samurai to me.”
***
By now Shichiroji knew the caverns of Akinari’s pilots well enough. They did not mind underground quarters for some reason, like others would. Usually it was a noisy quarter, where chatter, laughter and songs were commonplace, along with shouts, arguments and jokes. To this day they had never shown the slightest fear of death or seemed to mourn their fallen comrades. Whatever had changed this, Shichiroji knew he had to find it out. It was very silent down here, when he descended the stairs. The few pilots that were around, moved on tiptoe, often using their handsigns for communication. Which amplified the voices from one of the sleeping quarters more than usual.
“I---I just can’t,” the voice was close to breaking. “How… to live with the pain? How… how could you survive it?”
“It was painful,” he heard Akinari reply. “For months I kept the pain in by day and spend the nights a quivering ball in my bed. Never daring to sleep and longing to do so, the same moment. For nearly a year I would find myself on the verge of tears at any given moment. But it got better and the pain began to fade. The pain does fade, Varyl, and you’ll see the sun rise again. Irédhel will wait for you, and he always was patient. He’ll stand guard on the starwall, and wait for the day you join him.”
A muffled sound, like someone trying to suppress a sob, was all what there was for an answer. Shichiroji had been spotted by Paidráigin, who gestured him to wait where he was. Silently he slipped into the room where Akinari was and not long later Akinari came out. “See that he doesn’t sleep more than two hours at once,” he said in a hush to Paidráigin. “I’ll relieve you in two hours – latest.” Striding towards Shichiroji his mien lit only slightly. “I am sorry that I wasn’t there at once.”
“Never mind,” Shichiroji waved it off. Akinari was very loyal to his men, which was nothing to apologise for. “This was Mockingbird, wasn’t it? What happened to him?” If there were any breakdowns to add to the losses already sustained they might find themselves with fewer fighters than expected.
“Bloodraven was his bondmate,” Akinari replied. “When he died, their bond shattered.” Looking down, he shook his head, running his hand through his long pale hair. A gesture so far out of his usual mannerisms that it clearly betrayed his tiredness.
Shichiroji could vividly imagine what the man was going through. To loose the person one loved most in the world, was tough. “Perhaps something that helps him sleep and find rest would be of help,” he offered.
“If you want him dead within the night, then yes.” Akinari pointed out. “He’s already on the doorstep, if he sleeps to long, or too deep he might slip and follow Bloodraven into the darkness. If he is to live, he’ll have to stop sleeping for a some time.”
“Like you?” Shichiroji vividly remembered that Akinari had been the only one not to sleep on their escape from Ohka-fortress. He rarely seemed to sleep at all, and if so, never for long periods.
Akinari bit his lip. “Probably. I hope he is among those who last. From all who lose their bondpartners, half die within days from their partners. Those who don’t die last for an indeterminable span of time, a year, five, perhaps ten, I once heard of a man who lasted nearly nineteen years, before he eventually gave in to the darkness.” Looking up again, and within drawing a breath and releasing it, he became the calm captain again. “I assume you are here because of the ruckus in the courtyard?”
Shichiroji nodded. “That’s about it. It hasn’t been the first time some of your pilots died, the same goes for my wing, but you never confronted someone about or did cast blame,” he began. It wouldn’t do just to vent down his own anger and tiredness on Akinari, he needed to be constructive if they were to be going anywhere.
“No one’s denying that we’re here to die,” Akinari leaned against the cold wall of the cavern, a relaxed pose to cover up for his exhaustion. “But that doesn’t mean that they should die unnecessarily or because some Samurai can’t wait for his own death in battle. That wild goose chase after that Raker was stupid, unnecessary and against the battle plan. The General turned this thing brilliantly, still it should never have happened.”
“Bloodraven did not die unnecessarily, he fell in the wake of a great victory.” Shichiroji pointed out. “It was no senseless death, and surely not meaningless.” He still was trying to figure out what had infuriated Akinari, who had never even spoken of the men his wing had lost so far.
“You don’t understand,” Akinari’s clenched fist came close to hit the wall hard. “But how should you? You are Samurai, to you a life and death decision in battle should go in favour of death. So what Bunjiro did, comes naturally.”
Shichiroji vividly remembered some long evenings when he had tried to explain Bushido to Akinari. “It is,” he replied. “But not to you?” He could only hope that Akinari would elaborate enough for him to understand what the problem was.
“I’m not sure if you can understand it. Where I come from, you go out to accomplish the mission and you see that you get your men through this alive. You won’t always be successful but…” Akinari turned, this time his fist really hit the wall, bloody smears marking the pale skin. “… I have often lost men, Shichiroji - san, but never to some stupid, unnecessary, glory seeking comrade who did not know what the battle objective was.”
Shichiroji could see the anger burning up in Akinari, the pain seemed to help him to cool down again. “So it is about trust,” he observed. “you think, or suspect, that Bunjiro sacrificed Bloodraven to get to that Raker.”
“No,” Akinari’s bloodied hand was still a fist, clenched and hard, but he seemed to find a way to detain his rage. “Had the General told me that there is this or that ship to be taken out, to make the battle plan work, and this had asked me to get my fighter shredded to pieces while getting my Samurai partner in – so be it. That’s war, you have to sacrifice people, to obtain your objectives. It is that Bunjiro strayed from the plan, getting his pilot killed. How can I ask my men to fly out with the Samurai again, after this?”
Slowly Shichiroji begun to understand. “You are asking yourself how your pilots can still trust the samurai?” He didn’t necessarily need an answer, he could see that he had hit the mark. An idea began rising in Shichiroji’s mind. “Perhaps we should partner pilots and Samurai on a more permanent basis. If they know each other, always fight together, they’ll find it easier to trust each other, and to value each other’s judgement.”
“You are really inclined to make this idea work, aren’t you?” Akinari’s betrayed that he respected Shichiroji’s stubbornness.
“Absolutely.” Shichiroji confirmed. “I can’t guarantee you, that such things won’t happen again. But this way the Samurai will be looking out for their pilots the same way the pilots are looking out for them.”
Akinari sighed. “We’ll do it,” he condescended. He turned to walk up the stairs that led out from the cavern.
Shichiroji followed Akinari up. They had found a way to solve the problem, which was fine with him. But he again had learned that he knew not much about their allies. When he reached the upper end of the staircase, he saw Akinari, standing high up on the bastion, tiredly leaning against the wall. He followed him over. “You should get some rest yourself, you’ll need it.”
Akinari turned. “I am already getting some. There is still one hour before I’ll relive Paidráigin, he’s looking after Varyl and I promised I’d be down there when it’s time to wake him. And it wouldn’t do for me to sleep either.”
“I don’t understand fully why you are avoiding to sleep,” to put it mildly. He had never heard of someone dying in his sleep for other causes than old age.
“It comes from the bond,” Akinari explained, his eyes fixed on the landscape below them. “When you love someone deeply, so deeply that your heart and soul aren’t yours any more, you might think of bonding with him. It’s something reached through cycles of meditation usually, but there is one deep meditation that will take permanent effect and link your mind with his, link your soul to his and bind your hearts together. From that moment on, you will feel what he feels, you will sometimes know his thoughts and he’ll be with you, in your soul, always. You will share the strength of life too, from that moment on. Distance can’t affect the bond, nor can other things of the physical world but one. Death. While bondpartners can survive wounds others would not, instant death can’t be escaped that way. And death shatters the bond, imagine half of your being ripped away, your soul slashed into halves, one of them to vanish into the darkness. Out of ten men to suffer this fate, five die within a day from their partner. The others, who last, have to learn to live with the pain. There is only one moment when the bond might be revived in a fain, distant way - in your sleep. In deep slumber, your mind gets detached enough from your physical existence, to find an echo of your partner in the world beyond.” Akinari bit his lip. “And for the rest of your waking life you’ll be trying to escape the lure of this call, until someday you’ll give in to it, healing the bond forever and follow your partner up to the wall of the stars. This is why Varyl can’t be allowed to sleep very long or deep, until he has adjusted to it and avoiding sleep becomes a second nature.”
“He might wish to die and follow Bloodraven, there’s no shame in it.” Shichiroji pointed out. “He might wish to take his life.”
Akinari gave an ironic snort. “We don’t take our lives, never. You surrender after you are dead. Not earlier.” His words became softer again. “We help each other through this first time, at least with these things. What he really needs is to find something to life for, something to focus on.”
“As you did?” Shichiroji could not stop himself uttering his observation. He could only guess that Akinari knew these things from experience.
The pale pilot shortly turned towards him. “In a way – I came here.”
Shichiroji woke from the memories, frowning. “I can’t recall you there, Kyuzo,” he said. The blonde Samurai did not answer directly. He closed his eyes, pretending to sleep. Even as he saw through the sham, Shichiroji rose silently. Perhaps it was better he left Kyuzo some time alone, time to think.
***
Night had long fallen outside, it was far past midnight. Shichiroji made a last round about the house. Everything had fallen silent. He saw Yukina was already asleep. It had been a tiring day for them. For all of them. Yet he was glad, that she slept. Finding his own mat, he lay down, staring up into the darkness. The conversations had woken other memories too. Memories that made his heart ache while it pounded hard. He did not dare to close his eyes, because when he did so, it inevitably conjured the image of Kanbei in his mind. Not the image of the legendary warrior, or the great leader, although he was both for Shichiroji, but another one, one he had not dared to imagine for a long time. For years. Shichiroji sighed as he turned to the side, adjusting the blanket. It was so long ago, so far away, but the thought of Kanbei made things not easier. Forcing himself to breath in an unfailing rhythm willing himself to sleep. Escaping the worries of the waking world for some hours, but not escaping the dreams.
The practice floor was shaking when Kanbei delivered one of his fierce jump attacks. His blade came down in a double cut hard to avoid and harder even to block The practice floor was shaking when Kanbei delivered one of his fierce jump attacks. His blade came down in a double cut hard to avoid and harder even to block. Shichiroji took a halfstep backwards, raising his blade in a hard angle, to block the first strike, another half turn, got him out of the line of the second one – nearly. The tip of the blade still touched, slicing his garb along his left arm. Shichiroji didn’t waste a thought about it, when practicing with Kanbei it was imperative to be alert. He’d gotten into the habit to reduce his garb to the absolutely necessary for this practice. They both used sharp blades even for practice and if only his clothes got sliced he had done reasonably well. Dodging another attack, he dived below Kanbei’s katana, bringing his blade up towards the left shoulder in a feint, to strike in a murderous long slice along the body. Yet, Kanbei had seen through the trick at once, his blade flashing down, catching Shichirojis sword the last moment. The parry threw Shichiroji backwards, he somersaulted to keep himself from crashing on the cedarwooden practice floor. The warm panels of cedar were vibrating below his naked feet when he landed. Almost at once he had to parry another attack, Kanbei was getting just warm, a whole whirlwind of slashes came down on Shichroji like a storm. He fell into his favourite stance of defence, his blade flashing through, parries, curves and turns, to withstand the hailstorm attack. His arms were heavy when the last attack glided off his blade. Wearily he raised his sword again, yet too late – Kanbei had only tricked him into believing the attack was over, the next strike broke through and sliced across Shichirojis upper body. Under normal circumstances Shichroji would have caught the hit, taken the edge off it, but so he stumbled, and felt the cold tip of the katana, slice through his clothes and skin from the shoulder to the hip. In reflex, Shichiroji jolted backwards, out of Kanbei’s reach, panting he stopped. “You win.” Shichiroji hardly ever had won a fight.
Kanbei had still not moved from the spot where he was standing. During the years they were fighting against each other, Shichiroji had more than once suffered scratches and small wounds from Kanbei’s blade. But these wounds had been dealt out deliberately, to remind Shichiroji of mistakes he had committed, showing him flaws and imperfections in his defences. If Kanbei had ever injured Shichiroji on the practice floor it had been to make sure he’d be able to stand against any opponent that came with a sword against him. Never ever had Kanbei injured Shichiroji by accident.
Shichiroji sheathed his katana. Sweat was running down his body, where it run across the cut, he felt a salty burn. “I should have known, that you’d not let me get away that easy.”
Hastily Kanbei threw his blade back into the sheath. “Roji, I didn’t mean to hit you that hard.”
Shichiroji gave the cut only a short look. He felt the blood, tickling from the shoulder, and sweat burning into the wound. “It’s just a scratch,” he replied. “I already learned to avoid your blade most of the time.”
“Let me look after this,” Kanbei had reached Shichiroji within few steps. “I didn’t intend to cut you at all.” A worried gaze followed the bloody line his sword had left on Shichirojis body. His eyes trailed down the angry red line near the hip that became a bloody smear across the chest and dark patch near the shoulder. Often as he might have send Roji off the training floor with wounds or marks, overlooking pain or sometimes desperation as the ultimate price for perfection, he’d never inflicted them lightly or without reason. Yet the bloody slash across Shichiroji’s body reminded him of the other side of the exchange, of his own loss of control. Pain of what he had done to his friend scorched through him. He wanted to reach out to him and heal that wound instantly.
“It is really nothing.” Shichiroji’s voice sounded slightly irritated. Kanbei had never made any fuss about the scratches Shichiroji had taken in training, and neither had Shichiroji expected him to do so.
Kanbei pointed to the ground of the training floor. “Sit down, the cut went too deep into the muscle.” Bending down beside Shichiroji he carefully began to free the cut from the remnant clothing. Shichiroji’s skin was cold under a film of sweat and smirched blood. Kanbei gently cleaned the shoulder of it, the cut below was clean, but deep enough to bleed strongly. None of the training wounds had ever left traces so far, this one would leave Shichroji with a scar. ‘I marked him,’ Kanbei thought, ‘Not as I might wish to mark him, but nevertheless I did.’ His hand gently wandered along the bare shoulder, while he cleaned away the last smears of blood and sweat. He gently probed the depth of the cut that ran across his friends bare chest. The soft vibration as Shichiroji drew a breath made his hand tremble. Abruptly Shichiroji caught his hand, stopping him. “No, it’s not necessary,”
His grip was firm, Kanbei could feel the warmth of them, an odd contrast to the cold skin. Kanbei tenses and twists his wrist sharply, pulling against Shichroji’s wrist. The move pulls the cut muscles at the shoulder, new blood began to run down the shoulder. Kanbei let go of Roji’s hand at once, even as he isn’t showing any sign of pain, Kanbei has seen the flicker in his eyes. Wordlessly he applies as thin bandage to the shoulder, to stop the bleeding. Again he checks the rest of the cut running along Shichiroji’s sinew body. Fortunately the cut becomes more and more superficial the more down it gets.
Shichiroji half closed his eyes, trying to avert his gaze. Every touch of Kanbei’s hands sends fine sparks of pain and longing through his aching body. The touch isn’t really soft, even as it is gentle, the strong, sword-calloused hands are warm and determined as they wander over his shoulder. For the tiniest moment Kanbei’s long hair brushed across the bare skin of Shichiroji’s shoulder, a touch that lets a growl rise in his throat. He barely managed to suppress it. Slowly opening the eyes again, he sees Kanbei, still beside him, the hand still resting on his shoulder. Gazes locked, and Kanbei did not move. Tentatively and trembling with fearful anticipation one of Roji’s hands glided upward over the strong column of Kanbei’s neck and into that thick mane of pale brown. His other hand shook as it slid upwards to the hard jaw. He saw the hazel eyes flash dangerously at the slight touch, burning like the late summer sun. Hastily Shichiroji withdrew his hand. How could he have dared to go that far? Shaking he averted his eyes. “Forgive me,” He could hardly make himself speak the words. Better Kanbei slew him right now and here than….
Two strong hands gripped his head, he felt fingers burying deep into his sweat damp hair, as they forced him to look up. Kanbei’s hazel eyes seemed to penetrate Shichroji’s mind, he loved this gaze, these wonderful eyes, they made his heart race, while a well known fear was still coiling his stomach. For a moment Kanbei just looked into his eyes before he kissed him. The moment when Kanbei’s rough lips touched his send a shiver through Shichiroji’s body, and electric fire that burns through all his nerves. That kiss came close to make Shichroji’s head swirl and world around him blur. Kanbei’s rough lips made him melt, open up to the languid tongue that claimed him. He responded to it, opened up to him, but being claimed so intently he enjoyed just to give in to Kanbei. He needed to catch his breath, when they finally broke off. But it wasn’t a break off, Kanbei never let go of him. In a deliberate move his hands wandered along Shichiroji’s head, loosening the ring that held his blonde hair back while seeking Shichiroji’s lips again.
Roji responded hungrily to that kiss, again burying his hand in Kanbei’s long hair. The touch of their lips is like electric fire, cold and burning all in one, but it’s like nothing he’s ever expected. He had expected dominance, a claim that could not be denied, a thrust into his mouth, a struggle he only could loose. He had been willing to surrender. But this kiss is firm, gentle and completely mutual.
He vividly remembered the moment he’d met Kanbei for the first time. It had been that horrific day in the woods near Ohka-fortress, right after the night when the old emperor and his sons had been murdered. He could still see it, Kanbei standing alone against a dozen enemies, among them Shichroji's brothers. In Kanbei's back, the boy, the youngest of the emperor. Kanbei had been alone, against a dozen fighters, but there he had stood, ready, completely composed and utterly unafraid.A fine sheen of sweat glistening on his brow, while he moved with the gracefull, effortless speed of jungle cat. His taut muscles rippling under his skin, as he send his blade down in crashing attack. The sight had taken the breath away from Roji. It still did. Ever since that first, fateful encounter, he had never been able to look at Kanbei without a measure of longing coiling inside him.
He felt those strong hands shoving off what remained from his sliced clothing, inciting his skin as they went. Daringly Roji's hands began to explore Kanbei's taunt body. Hs tanned skin still warm from the fight but feels smooth to Roji’s fingers, Muscles warm and supple, bulging slowly underneath. Suddenly his fingertips encountered the hard round of Kanbei's nipple, making the elder Samurai grasp for breath. Shichroji gazed shyly at his face, continuing teasing the taut flesh, watching Kanbei writhe with pleasure from his ministrations.
Kanbei had trembled under Shichrojiy's tender hands, gripping the younger samurai tightly he drew him closer, into another consummate kiss. His hands forcefully wandered down Shichiroji's back, doing away with the last shred of clothing there. The feverent kiss made Shichiroji arch up, a deep purr caught in his throat. He felt those rough lips wandering along his jaw, down to his neck, while Kanbei leaned him over so he ended up lying down on the hardwood floor, the tiles pressing into his naked back.
Shichiroji felt the warm wood beneath him. Somewhat forcefully guiding Kanbei down with him, his lips found Kanbei's neck, burying himself in his warmth. The same time, Kanbei’s hands have found their way down Shichroji’s body, stroking, teasing, incinerating him all the way along. The younger samurai groaned as he felt those fingertips teasing his erection. Drawing Kanbei into his embrace, into another kiss again, he feels his hardness. Rubbing against each other, it sends a painful aching shiver down his spine.
Their eyes lock and in Kanbei’s hazel if dilated pupils, Shichroji can read a question. There are no words necessary now. He just can see it in these eyes. This short look sends a near painful stab right on Shichiroji’s soul. Even now, in the middle of their passion, would Kanbei never force him into something. The only answer he can give, a smouldering kiss, is enough for both of them to understand. There’s nothing there to prepare, as Shichiroji’s hands wander along Kanbei’s hardness massaging it a little here and there, as he goes on. A stifled moan and the now burning hazel eyes tell him, that he is completely right. Kanbei’s hands incite the same flame in him the same time as they he slid along his behind. Shichroji felt a gentle finger brush his entrance. Kanbei had eased a finger inside a small shudder vibrated through Shichiroji's body, his breathing becoming heavier, he wasn’t going to last long. Kanbei drove his finger in deeper, before withdrawing it quickly and replacing it with two. Shichiroji moaned “Kanbei..” as the fingers were suddenly gone. “Please.”
A passionate kiss is his only answer, as he feels Kanbei slowly entering him. It is a gentle touch, giving him time to adjust. But it’s not enough. Shichiroji slowly started rocking forward, to make him slide in deeper. There is pain, a sharp cutting pain, but it is nothing compared to the delirious pleasure rising up inside him. “Yes…” Shichiroji threw his head back in passion, as he exploded right the moment, he felt Kanbei thrusting inside him. He felt Kanbei’s hands gripping his, as the tidal waves reached him, making him cry out in passion.
Shichiroji woke with a start, his breath went raggedly, he felt his hands tremble. It was still dark in here, the cold wind of the night was brushing around the house, cooling his heated skin. Burying his face in his hands, he sat unmoving for some moments. The memory was still so painfully close. A memory he had forbidden himself for the past five years.
Yukina stirred in her sleep. Shichiroji silently rose and slid out of the room. He didn’t want to deprive her of the few hours sleep she would get. The air was cool outside, the wind of the night brushed against his skin. A calm and cool touch. Only wearing the scarce garb he had worn while sleeping his arms were exposed to the could air. Painfully clear he felt where his right arm ended, and the metal arm began. The sensation wasn’t quite the same. They had told him, he’d always feel the cut and with the years gone by had gotten used to the pain. A new gust of wind had gotten hold of his open hair, brushing it up his shoulders. Shichiroji’s eyes rose to the dark skies above. “I still love him,” He silently told the stars. “I always will.” His eyes fell again, trailing along the dark metal of his arm. Not even Yukina would touch it, usually, even as she made jokes of it’s cold giving her the creeps. Again pain welled up inside him, but he now was in full control of himself. Akinari was right after all, to get the chance to love has to be enough.” Settling himself for a walk in the rock garden Shichroji never saw Kyuzo who stood just outside the house and had studied him silently.
Title: Shadows of the past
Chapter 3: Forging alliances
NC-17 for violence and sexual content
Disclaimer: This is a work of non-commercial fiction, based on "Samurai 7" by Gonzo. I don't receive any financial or other recompensation.
Forging alliances
We’re closer my friend,
so don’t turn around….
(Littlehorse: George Mallory)
Shichroji hardly ever took the cowards way out, but he was glad to let Yukina deal with the glib merchant Kyuzo had brought with him. He despised Ayamaro deeply and there were other, more important, things to attend to.
As always with him Kyuzo had chosen to remain in some distance from the others. He hardly spoken and the short report of what he had been doing had consisted of exactly one and a half sentence, grudgingly delivered before retreating. There had been a time, when Shichiroji would have demanded a more detailed report and made his point crystal clear, and, as he recalled with a painful stab, shared a good joke on it with Akinari afterwards. Gone as these days might be, he still couldn’t help noticing the slight limp of the stubborn blonde warrior. Shaking his head he assembled a bowl of hot water and one of cold water, along with clean cloth, disinfecting salve and other things needed for treating wounds. His warrior life had provided him with a working knowledge of field surgery and some of his more reckless comrades had seen to it, that it exceeded the normal by far. Especially one brave leader, who had never shied away from whatever danger came his way. He smiled as he shortly looked in Kanbei’s direction and found that their eyes met. Shichiroji nodded shortly. He didn’t need to say anything, Kanbei understood that Shichiroji would take care of their most problematic ally, leaving Kanbei time to see to the greater matters of the campaign.
He found Kyuzo sitting on the ground near one of the smaller doors that led out to the rock garden. The blonde samurai was looking up, as Shichiroji approached him, without saying a word. His eyes conveyed the message Go away! very clearly. “I saw that you were injured,” Shichiroji said, setting down the tablet. “Let me take care of your wounds.”
The garnet eyes became annoyed, the fine eyebrows rose. “Won’t you ever get tired of being the errant-girl?”
Shichiroji grinned. Kyuzo had deigned to speak a full sentence to him. He did not react to the insult, for he saw clearly that Kyuzo tried to drive him away. “An pillar is not demeaned by being used to hold up a roof,” he replied using one of his father’s favourite quotes. He even managed to do this with a smiling face, with the years going by, he had learned to turn the pain inwards. “And now, let me look after your wounds.”
Grudgingly Kyuzo exposed his left leg. A long bloody cut ran down, uncared for. Shichiroji sighed, great warriors must believe themselves immortal or they would be less careless. As he began cleaning the wound, Kyuzo kept silent, unmoving. If he felt any pain, he did not show it. “Just remember, you are treating the wounds of the man who will kill your – ‘spouse’,”
“Brag after you hit ground again,” Shichiroji replied with one of the pilot’s sentiments, even as he had to exercise some control on himself. He wrung out the bloodied cloth, and send one of the maid’s for more hot water. “I can only promise that I will pray at your grave, Kyuzo.” Shichroji replied, examining the wound closer, as it was now cleaned. “That will need to be stitched or it’ll never heal.”
Kyuzo wordlessly eased himself down, lying in a position, that made it easy for Shichiroji to access the wound “You trust Shimada Kanbei.” It wasn’t a question, it was a statement. The maid returned with a kettle full of hot water, avoiding to take note of any of the samurai’s conversations.
“Indefinitely,” Shichiroji said with some force. Letting go of that matter he inspected his tools, if he had anything he would need. “Yukina surely has some Neru – tea in the kitchens. I can get you some before we begin.” It would make things easier on Kyuzo,
But the blonde Samurai wouldn’t have any of it. “No,” he said, leaning back against the wooden barrier. He sat completely unmoving while Shichroji began to stitch together the gaping wound. “You’re doing it again,” he observed to Shichiroji’s astonishment after a while.
“Doing what? Taking care of wounds? Now, that’s nothing new to me. I saw pretty much of this during the war,” Shichroji replied
Kyuzo wordlessly shook his head. “I didn’t meant that,” he answered, “You try to smooth the edges of our alliances. As you did before.”
Shichroji did not look up, he was concentrated on the task before him. But if speaking distracted Kyuzo from the pain he had to experience, he wouldn’t deprive him of that. “I’m not sure what you are speaking of,” he said, while moving one of the lamps nearer to enhance the light on the wound. “If we don’t care about our allies, about whom shall we then care?” Somehow he seemed to be doomed to be restricted to philosophical quotes for answers today.
Kyuzo drew a sharp breath, yet he spoke calmly when saying: “You just happen to choose the most complicated, most problematic ally?”
A slight irritation crept up inside Shichiroji. Kyuzo tried to tease him or pry something out of him, or so it seemed. Yet, he had navigated more complicated conversations. “Do you see yourself as problematic? I can’t concur with you.”
A sharp noise, almost a barked laugh was his immediate reply. “I nearly forgot – you were the one who kept the the pale captain in line for General Shimada Kanbei.” He closed his eyes, obviously concentrating on the pain. Shichiroji didn’t reply at all, but focused on that ugly wound. He had just learned an important fact about Kyuzo: not only had they been fighting on the same side but among the same troops. The pale Captain was a nickname, hardly known outside their regimen and it hardly been a friendly one. Yet, Shichiroji could not recall the blonde Samurai, he was sure he had never met him before. After he was finished with the wound he gently saw the bandage it. “Don’t move for some hours and rest the leg for another two days and you should be fine,” he said in the end. “I’ll see that you get something to eat before you sleep.”
The blonde warrior rose to a sitting position, garnet eyes sparkling with a strange amusement. “You are good at it, you know,” he said.
“I told you, I’ve often taken care of wounds,” Shichroji replied. He did not leave the room, but send the maidservant to take the tablet back to the kitchens.
“Not this,” Kyuzo’s eyes pointed to his bandaged leg. “But alliances, you are an alliance-builder, it comes naturally for you.”
Shichiroji was a little astonished. Somehow he saw that Kyuzo wanted to talk, perhaps he did only talk because he did not want to be alone, yet he had tried everything to alienate Shichiroji. Shichiroji was sure, that Kyuzo’s rudeness was also part of this attempt, as was using Akinari’s least favorite nickname. He sat down opposite of Kyuzo. “How do you know of this?” he asked, knowing he might get himself into a complicated conversation. “The name of the Pale Captain has only once been used in the open, in…”
“..a particular nasty argument.” Kyuzo finished the sentence. “I still marvel how you managed to balance those two sides. Everyone believed General Kanbei’s idea was madness.”
“It wasn’t,” Shichiroji said a little louder than necessary. He smiled as he remembered. It had been a brilliant plan, yet the details had been madness….
“Eagle, two Cloud-owls are closing in on you,” Shichiroji had hardly any time to deliver this warning, flying through the shrouds of debris took all skill he could muster. Kanbei had left only junk of the four raiden. Right now his blade was a whirlwind reflecting the heavy fire that came in on the fighter. Shichiroji drove the machine into a tight spin, avoiding a swarm of rockets coming their direction. The only on that came close, was sliced cleanly in two halves by Kanbei. “Get me to their flagship.”
Shichiroji nodded an affirmative, and drew the fighter to maximum speed. It was the fifth battle of their combined forces and the it began to pay off. Their enemy still had trouble to adapt to the new tactic that cost him more capital ships then he had ever lost before, while they themselves rarely had any of their few greatships in these battles. Only fighters, Sparrowhawks and Firebats, and Samurai. Shichiroji manoeuvred his fighters, a sturdy Firebat, through a heavy fire zone, vaping a mecha-samurai with his canons. Several others are blocking their path, but relying on the sturdy build of the Firebat and their speed he brings them through. This is Shichiroji’s battlefield: the wide skies, full of fire, explosions and blinding light, enemies moving at lighting speed, fire smashing whole formations within moments, debris and junkyards, graves of the fallen, yet deadly traps for anyone who comes close. And when he’s piloting his fighter through these fighters, there isn’t a real separation between him, his fighter and the burning skies outside. They melt into something unique, something he can’t describe or even name. But it still is the place where he belongs.
He drew a very tight spiral around the enemy flagship, to give Kanbei the best jumping position possible. Down there, the wide metal ground of the enemy ship, flagship to Warlord Kagawa Omezo, stretched in the light of the eastern sun. This was Kanbei’s battleground: shaking, insecure and a thousand times as deadly. Shichiroji sees the tight spin to the left and knows, that Kanbei has jumped down. He hovers over the place for a moment longer, seeing that even before landing Kanbei cut two mecha-samurai in pieces.
The usual routine, developed in the last four battles, for fighters was to circle the ship attacked by ‘their’ samurai to be at hand when needed and to stand ready to get him off that ship again before it exploded. Shichroji had experienced few troubles up till now, he knew Kanbei well and thus was able to know when to move in or out. While he began his first circle, fighting his way through some mecha-samurai he became aware of the running communications again. Both channels – OP-chan used by all fighters and COM-chan only used by the commanders – were active on his fighter. “….heavy carbon scoring on the outside, seems inoperable.” “…group of mecha’s incoming! Get out of there,” “Steady,” Akinari’s voice cut in. “Condor, you get Mockingbird out of combat zone, the rest is with me.” A shriek and a curse ended in crackling static. Shichiroji knew that the group of mecha’s was the same one, that he was approaching on his circle. “Eagle, this is Katana, we have them between us.”
A cloud of explosions and debris shook Shichiroji’s fighter as he made his way through the battle formation of mecha’s. Even as he was fighting, half his attention was focused on the flagship, which was also marked by the first heavy explosions. As soon as he had passed the cloud, he forced the Firebat around and in a nice long roll-out descended down onto the ship again. Not a moment too early, the port thrusters of the ship were catching fire, it was short of breaking apart. He saw Kanbei, near the starboard gunturrets, or what was left of them. Passing a cloud of overheated gas, he made his pass by as slow and deep as possible.
He had no need to worry, agile as a cat Kanbei was up on the wing again and Shichiroji brought them away from the dying ship. “Bloodraven, negative on RAKER, repeat: negative on RAKER, break off!” Akinari’s shout was twice as loud and startled Shichiroji. Below them a drama ensued. A lone fighter, one of the Sparrowhawks, was chasing after a fleeing Raker that was obviously trying to reach their ground fortress of Jimada.
“He’s already in reach of their guns,” Kanbei had seen through the situation before everyone else. “Send one group against the Raker, then bring us down on the fortress.”
With any other Samurai Shichiroji would have assumed he was following a reckless and glory seeking impulse, but he was sure that Kanbei had some new plan, something brilliant. He sped them up, moving in on the scene down there. “Eagle, this is Katana, send green group to take care of the Raker, everyone else is with us.” He relayed the orders, while bringing them down on the fortress.
He heard the sharp affirmative, and knew that Akinari believed them mad, even as he obeyed. Shichiroji had no time to think about this, he had to concentrate on Kanbei’s orders. What lay ahead of them was the most singularly complicated and brilliant plan, without a moment’s hesitation Shichiroji brought them down on Jimada fortress.
***
No sooner had they hit ground than a whole fist of enemies was storming up the bastion. Shichiroji jumped out of his fighter, the battle lance at hand. Kanbei had jumped off earlier on, and was fighting across the courtyard. Always capable to cover a wide area of ground, fighting in an aggressive, almost wild style. Wielding his blade in the right and a blazing torch in his left hand, he was a whirlwind of power as he leapt and whirled and spun, always in swift motion, always in attack, always hacking, stabbing and slashing, piling the corpses of fallen men and machines on the stairs of the core fortress. Shichiroji used his lance like a lever to throw his first attackers off the bastion again before the real battle began for him. It was like a mad, endless dance to an air of shattered metal, pained screams and murderous crashes. A track of scrap metal, blood and mutilated corpses was drawn across the courtyard. Some time during the fight Shichiroji had found himself shoulder to shoulder with Akinari, who was wielding his strange, crescent moon shaped, sword. They had a hard time to reach Kanbei who had already forced his way into the innermost courtyard of Jimada fortress. Eventually they stood right on the palace stairs, the guard swarming down on them. First they came by three at once, then in groups of six, nine and twelve, by the time their Master, Warlord Kagawa Omezo himself joins the fighting the stairs are a bloody field, covered by so many corpses that his last companions stumble over them. Shichiroji gestured Akinari to stand down, as Shimada Kanbei alone confronted the Renegade Warlord. Behind them swarmed their troops over the walls, but no one would dare to intervene in the duel.
The two opponents could not be more different than the two of them were. Kanbei tall, composed, even if marked by a bloody battle, Omezo small and wiry, well rested but infuriated about what seems to be a surprise attack to him. From the moment the fight begins, Shichiroji sees clearly, how it will end. Omezo might be well rested and Kanbei exhausted from battle but it changes nothing. Not only is Kanbei the better swordsman, he is in full control of his temper, while Omezo’s attacks are angry and lack control. Within only minutes Warlord Kagawa Omezo fell from the blade of Shimada Kanbei. Like an invisible wave fell the silence on the courtyard. Jimada fortress had fallen.
***
“I don’t care how you try to rationalize it – it was never our objective to go after the fortress. Iredhél should never have gone after that blasted Raker!” Akinari’s voice betrayed painfully constrained anger. “When a pilot says he can’t do something, then his Samurai-partner should respect this.”
Bunjiro’s reply was a contemptuous snort. “We’re Samurai! We don’t ask for our survival in battle, but for victory! I ordered that pilot to bring me in to take this ship down.”
“And Bloodraven paid with his life for it,” Akinari’s eyes were dark with anger. “I ordered him to break off, yet you countermanded this, senselessly so.”
“We won this battle. It was a great victory.” Bunjiro snapped, approving nods came from half a dozen other samurai which were spectators. “The true way of the warrior lies in dying, not in surviving, even if the pale Captain won’t see this.”
“General Kanbei salvaged the mess you created, brilliantly so, yes,” Akinari pointed out. “What you did was against the battle plan and put your pilot needlessly in the line of the fortress’s canons. It happened because he took your orders – it won’t happen again.”
“Your damned Iredhél seems to be more to you than the glory of this day.” Bunjiro had taken a more threatening pose, which had no apparent on the whitehaired pilot. “Were you not such an…,” Akinari visibly forced some words down. “Were you not as ignorant as you are, I’d call you out for this.”
Shichroji had been running the last part of the stairs, to reach the group. He positioned himself between Bunjiro and Akinari before a real fight could break out. “Stop it, both,” he ordered. “Akinari, it is not for you to decide who’s orders are of precedence to who’s.” The pilot seemed for a moment ready to fight Shichroji, but the wild expression in his eyes faded, swallowing hard, he nodded and stepped back. Shichroji turned to Bunjiro. “And it is not for you either.” He felt the hard glare of the Samurai, but did not waver a moment. “This whole matter will be decided by the General alone.”
Akinari nodded shortly. “As you say it, Shichiroji-san. I have to take care of my men, there might be another dead before dawn.” He turned and left the courtyard towards the caverns that where to serve as their quarters here.
Bunjiro’s anger was hardly suppressed. “They are no samurai, they don’t have the heart of a true warrior. They… they are peasants. Pale peasants.”
Shichiroji took one step closer. “Repeat this and you truly will have to answer. They are our allies.” He felt that this would take some strength to sort it out.
***
Night fell as Shichiroji reported to Kanbei about the incident. “It might seriously damage our fighting condition. If the pilots stop trusting their Samurai, the whole tactic is largely rendered ineffective.”
Kanbei had listened with his usual concentration. “This tactic’s backbone is the fact that it isn’t monolithic. Every unit has it’s individual strength and is able to adept to the current situation. This is why we need the best, the best pilots, what means your wing and Akinaris, there are none better. And we need the best samurai, warriors who use their wits and can make decisions within moments. Do you think we can get both sides back to working together?”
Shichiroji thought about it for a moment. “I think so. It should be possible to talk Akinari into continuing what we began. Even as I believe that Bunjiro somehow offended him. But what is more complicated is to rebuild the trust between both sides. I came to realise today, that some Samurai consider the pilots – equally our allies and my pilots – to be inferior, which might prove to be a major source of trouble in the future.”
This assessment seemed to be what Kanbei had expected. “You said that you can talk Akinari into continuing to fly with us, do so. Leave the question of the Samurai to me.”
***
By now Shichiroji knew the caverns of Akinari’s pilots well enough. They did not mind underground quarters for some reason, like others would. Usually it was a noisy quarter, where chatter, laughter and songs were commonplace, along with shouts, arguments and jokes. To this day they had never shown the slightest fear of death or seemed to mourn their fallen comrades. Whatever had changed this, Shichiroji knew he had to find it out. It was very silent down here, when he descended the stairs. The few pilots that were around, moved on tiptoe, often using their handsigns for communication. Which amplified the voices from one of the sleeping quarters more than usual.
“I---I just can’t,” the voice was close to breaking. “How… to live with the pain? How… how could you survive it?”
“It was painful,” he heard Akinari reply. “For months I kept the pain in by day and spend the nights a quivering ball in my bed. Never daring to sleep and longing to do so, the same moment. For nearly a year I would find myself on the verge of tears at any given moment. But it got better and the pain began to fade. The pain does fade, Varyl, and you’ll see the sun rise again. Irédhel will wait for you, and he always was patient. He’ll stand guard on the starwall, and wait for the day you join him.”
A muffled sound, like someone trying to suppress a sob, was all what there was for an answer. Shichiroji had been spotted by Paidráigin, who gestured him to wait where he was. Silently he slipped into the room where Akinari was and not long later Akinari came out. “See that he doesn’t sleep more than two hours at once,” he said in a hush to Paidráigin. “I’ll relieve you in two hours – latest.” Striding towards Shichiroji his mien lit only slightly. “I am sorry that I wasn’t there at once.”
“Never mind,” Shichiroji waved it off. Akinari was very loyal to his men, which was nothing to apologise for. “This was Mockingbird, wasn’t it? What happened to him?” If there were any breakdowns to add to the losses already sustained they might find themselves with fewer fighters than expected.
“Bloodraven was his bondmate,” Akinari replied. “When he died, their bond shattered.” Looking down, he shook his head, running his hand through his long pale hair. A gesture so far out of his usual mannerisms that it clearly betrayed his tiredness.
Shichiroji could vividly imagine what the man was going through. To loose the person one loved most in the world, was tough. “Perhaps something that helps him sleep and find rest would be of help,” he offered.
“If you want him dead within the night, then yes.” Akinari pointed out. “He’s already on the doorstep, if he sleeps to long, or too deep he might slip and follow Bloodraven into the darkness. If he is to live, he’ll have to stop sleeping for a some time.”
“Like you?” Shichiroji vividly remembered that Akinari had been the only one not to sleep on their escape from Ohka-fortress. He rarely seemed to sleep at all, and if so, never for long periods.
Akinari bit his lip. “Probably. I hope he is among those who last. From all who lose their bondpartners, half die within days from their partners. Those who don’t die last for an indeterminable span of time, a year, five, perhaps ten, I once heard of a man who lasted nearly nineteen years, before he eventually gave in to the darkness.” Looking up again, and within drawing a breath and releasing it, he became the calm captain again. “I assume you are here because of the ruckus in the courtyard?”
Shichiroji nodded. “That’s about it. It hasn’t been the first time some of your pilots died, the same goes for my wing, but you never confronted someone about or did cast blame,” he began. It wouldn’t do just to vent down his own anger and tiredness on Akinari, he needed to be constructive if they were to be going anywhere.
“No one’s denying that we’re here to die,” Akinari leaned against the cold wall of the cavern, a relaxed pose to cover up for his exhaustion. “But that doesn’t mean that they should die unnecessarily or because some Samurai can’t wait for his own death in battle. That wild goose chase after that Raker was stupid, unnecessary and against the battle plan. The General turned this thing brilliantly, still it should never have happened.”
“Bloodraven did not die unnecessarily, he fell in the wake of a great victory.” Shichiroji pointed out. “It was no senseless death, and surely not meaningless.” He still was trying to figure out what had infuriated Akinari, who had never even spoken of the men his wing had lost so far.
“You don’t understand,” Akinari’s clenched fist came close to hit the wall hard. “But how should you? You are Samurai, to you a life and death decision in battle should go in favour of death. So what Bunjiro did, comes naturally.”
Shichiroji vividly remembered some long evenings when he had tried to explain Bushido to Akinari. “It is,” he replied. “But not to you?” He could only hope that Akinari would elaborate enough for him to understand what the problem was.
“I’m not sure if you can understand it. Where I come from, you go out to accomplish the mission and you see that you get your men through this alive. You won’t always be successful but…” Akinari turned, this time his fist really hit the wall, bloody smears marking the pale skin. “… I have often lost men, Shichiroji - san, but never to some stupid, unnecessary, glory seeking comrade who did not know what the battle objective was.”
Shichiroji could see the anger burning up in Akinari, the pain seemed to help him to cool down again. “So it is about trust,” he observed. “you think, or suspect, that Bunjiro sacrificed Bloodraven to get to that Raker.”
“No,” Akinari’s bloodied hand was still a fist, clenched and hard, but he seemed to find a way to detain his rage. “Had the General told me that there is this or that ship to be taken out, to make the battle plan work, and this had asked me to get my fighter shredded to pieces while getting my Samurai partner in – so be it. That’s war, you have to sacrifice people, to obtain your objectives. It is that Bunjiro strayed from the plan, getting his pilot killed. How can I ask my men to fly out with the Samurai again, after this?”
Slowly Shichiroji begun to understand. “You are asking yourself how your pilots can still trust the samurai?” He didn’t necessarily need an answer, he could see that he had hit the mark. An idea began rising in Shichiroji’s mind. “Perhaps we should partner pilots and Samurai on a more permanent basis. If they know each other, always fight together, they’ll find it easier to trust each other, and to value each other’s judgement.”
“You are really inclined to make this idea work, aren’t you?” Akinari’s betrayed that he respected Shichiroji’s stubbornness.
“Absolutely.” Shichiroji confirmed. “I can’t guarantee you, that such things won’t happen again. But this way the Samurai will be looking out for their pilots the same way the pilots are looking out for them.”
Akinari sighed. “We’ll do it,” he condescended. He turned to walk up the stairs that led out from the cavern.
Shichiroji followed Akinari up. They had found a way to solve the problem, which was fine with him. But he again had learned that he knew not much about their allies. When he reached the upper end of the staircase, he saw Akinari, standing high up on the bastion, tiredly leaning against the wall. He followed him over. “You should get some rest yourself, you’ll need it.”
Akinari turned. “I am already getting some. There is still one hour before I’ll relive Paidráigin, he’s looking after Varyl and I promised I’d be down there when it’s time to wake him. And it wouldn’t do for me to sleep either.”
“I don’t understand fully why you are avoiding to sleep,” to put it mildly. He had never heard of someone dying in his sleep for other causes than old age.
“It comes from the bond,” Akinari explained, his eyes fixed on the landscape below them. “When you love someone deeply, so deeply that your heart and soul aren’t yours any more, you might think of bonding with him. It’s something reached through cycles of meditation usually, but there is one deep meditation that will take permanent effect and link your mind with his, link your soul to his and bind your hearts together. From that moment on, you will feel what he feels, you will sometimes know his thoughts and he’ll be with you, in your soul, always. You will share the strength of life too, from that moment on. Distance can’t affect the bond, nor can other things of the physical world but one. Death. While bondpartners can survive wounds others would not, instant death can’t be escaped that way. And death shatters the bond, imagine half of your being ripped away, your soul slashed into halves, one of them to vanish into the darkness. Out of ten men to suffer this fate, five die within a day from their partner. The others, who last, have to learn to live with the pain. There is only one moment when the bond might be revived in a fain, distant way - in your sleep. In deep slumber, your mind gets detached enough from your physical existence, to find an echo of your partner in the world beyond.” Akinari bit his lip. “And for the rest of your waking life you’ll be trying to escape the lure of this call, until someday you’ll give in to it, healing the bond forever and follow your partner up to the wall of the stars. This is why Varyl can’t be allowed to sleep very long or deep, until he has adjusted to it and avoiding sleep becomes a second nature.”
“He might wish to die and follow Bloodraven, there’s no shame in it.” Shichiroji pointed out. “He might wish to take his life.”
Akinari gave an ironic snort. “We don’t take our lives, never. You surrender after you are dead. Not earlier.” His words became softer again. “We help each other through this first time, at least with these things. What he really needs is to find something to life for, something to focus on.”
“As you did?” Shichiroji could not stop himself uttering his observation. He could only guess that Akinari knew these things from experience.
The pale pilot shortly turned towards him. “In a way – I came here.”
Shichiroji woke from the memories, frowning. “I can’t recall you there, Kyuzo,” he said. The blonde Samurai did not answer directly. He closed his eyes, pretending to sleep. Even as he saw through the sham, Shichiroji rose silently. Perhaps it was better he left Kyuzo some time alone, time to think.
***
Night had long fallen outside, it was far past midnight. Shichiroji made a last round about the house. Everything had fallen silent. He saw Yukina was already asleep. It had been a tiring day for them. For all of them. Yet he was glad, that she slept. Finding his own mat, he lay down, staring up into the darkness. The conversations had woken other memories too. Memories that made his heart ache while it pounded hard. He did not dare to close his eyes, because when he did so, it inevitably conjured the image of Kanbei in his mind. Not the image of the legendary warrior, or the great leader, although he was both for Shichiroji, but another one, one he had not dared to imagine for a long time. For years. Shichiroji sighed as he turned to the side, adjusting the blanket. It was so long ago, so far away, but the thought of Kanbei made things not easier. Forcing himself to breath in an unfailing rhythm willing himself to sleep. Escaping the worries of the waking world for some hours, but not escaping the dreams.
The practice floor was shaking when Kanbei delivered one of his fierce jump attacks. His blade came down in a double cut hard to avoid and harder even to block The practice floor was shaking when Kanbei delivered one of his fierce jump attacks. His blade came down in a double cut hard to avoid and harder even to block. Shichiroji took a halfstep backwards, raising his blade in a hard angle, to block the first strike, another half turn, got him out of the line of the second one – nearly. The tip of the blade still touched, slicing his garb along his left arm. Shichiroji didn’t waste a thought about it, when practicing with Kanbei it was imperative to be alert. He’d gotten into the habit to reduce his garb to the absolutely necessary for this practice. They both used sharp blades even for practice and if only his clothes got sliced he had done reasonably well. Dodging another attack, he dived below Kanbei’s katana, bringing his blade up towards the left shoulder in a feint, to strike in a murderous long slice along the body. Yet, Kanbei had seen through the trick at once, his blade flashing down, catching Shichirojis sword the last moment. The parry threw Shichiroji backwards, he somersaulted to keep himself from crashing on the cedarwooden practice floor. The warm panels of cedar were vibrating below his naked feet when he landed. Almost at once he had to parry another attack, Kanbei was getting just warm, a whole whirlwind of slashes came down on Shichroji like a storm. He fell into his favourite stance of defence, his blade flashing through, parries, curves and turns, to withstand the hailstorm attack. His arms were heavy when the last attack glided off his blade. Wearily he raised his sword again, yet too late – Kanbei had only tricked him into believing the attack was over, the next strike broke through and sliced across Shichirojis upper body. Under normal circumstances Shichroji would have caught the hit, taken the edge off it, but so he stumbled, and felt the cold tip of the katana, slice through his clothes and skin from the shoulder to the hip. In reflex, Shichiroji jolted backwards, out of Kanbei’s reach, panting he stopped. “You win.” Shichiroji hardly ever had won a fight.
Kanbei had still not moved from the spot where he was standing. During the years they were fighting against each other, Shichiroji had more than once suffered scratches and small wounds from Kanbei’s blade. But these wounds had been dealt out deliberately, to remind Shichiroji of mistakes he had committed, showing him flaws and imperfections in his defences. If Kanbei had ever injured Shichiroji on the practice floor it had been to make sure he’d be able to stand against any opponent that came with a sword against him. Never ever had Kanbei injured Shichiroji by accident.
Shichiroji sheathed his katana. Sweat was running down his body, where it run across the cut, he felt a salty burn. “I should have known, that you’d not let me get away that easy.”
Hastily Kanbei threw his blade back into the sheath. “Roji, I didn’t mean to hit you that hard.”
Shichiroji gave the cut only a short look. He felt the blood, tickling from the shoulder, and sweat burning into the wound. “It’s just a scratch,” he replied. “I already learned to avoid your blade most of the time.”
“Let me look after this,” Kanbei had reached Shichiroji within few steps. “I didn’t intend to cut you at all.” A worried gaze followed the bloody line his sword had left on Shichirojis body. His eyes trailed down the angry red line near the hip that became a bloody smear across the chest and dark patch near the shoulder. Often as he might have send Roji off the training floor with wounds or marks, overlooking pain or sometimes desperation as the ultimate price for perfection, he’d never inflicted them lightly or without reason. Yet the bloody slash across Shichiroji’s body reminded him of the other side of the exchange, of his own loss of control. Pain of what he had done to his friend scorched through him. He wanted to reach out to him and heal that wound instantly.
“It is really nothing.” Shichiroji’s voice sounded slightly irritated. Kanbei had never made any fuss about the scratches Shichiroji had taken in training, and neither had Shichiroji expected him to do so.
Kanbei pointed to the ground of the training floor. “Sit down, the cut went too deep into the muscle.” Bending down beside Shichiroji he carefully began to free the cut from the remnant clothing. Shichiroji’s skin was cold under a film of sweat and smirched blood. Kanbei gently cleaned the shoulder of it, the cut below was clean, but deep enough to bleed strongly. None of the training wounds had ever left traces so far, this one would leave Shichroji with a scar. ‘I marked him,’ Kanbei thought, ‘Not as I might wish to mark him, but nevertheless I did.’ His hand gently wandered along the bare shoulder, while he cleaned away the last smears of blood and sweat. He gently probed the depth of the cut that ran across his friends bare chest. The soft vibration as Shichiroji drew a breath made his hand tremble. Abruptly Shichiroji caught his hand, stopping him. “No, it’s not necessary,”
His grip was firm, Kanbei could feel the warmth of them, an odd contrast to the cold skin. Kanbei tenses and twists his wrist sharply, pulling against Shichroji’s wrist. The move pulls the cut muscles at the shoulder, new blood began to run down the shoulder. Kanbei let go of Roji’s hand at once, even as he isn’t showing any sign of pain, Kanbei has seen the flicker in his eyes. Wordlessly he applies as thin bandage to the shoulder, to stop the bleeding. Again he checks the rest of the cut running along Shichiroji’s sinew body. Fortunately the cut becomes more and more superficial the more down it gets.
Shichiroji half closed his eyes, trying to avert his gaze. Every touch of Kanbei’s hands sends fine sparks of pain and longing through his aching body. The touch isn’t really soft, even as it is gentle, the strong, sword-calloused hands are warm and determined as they wander over his shoulder. For the tiniest moment Kanbei’s long hair brushed across the bare skin of Shichiroji’s shoulder, a touch that lets a growl rise in his throat. He barely managed to suppress it. Slowly opening the eyes again, he sees Kanbei, still beside him, the hand still resting on his shoulder. Gazes locked, and Kanbei did not move. Tentatively and trembling with fearful anticipation one of Roji’s hands glided upward over the strong column of Kanbei’s neck and into that thick mane of pale brown. His other hand shook as it slid upwards to the hard jaw. He saw the hazel eyes flash dangerously at the slight touch, burning like the late summer sun. Hastily Shichiroji withdrew his hand. How could he have dared to go that far? Shaking he averted his eyes. “Forgive me,” He could hardly make himself speak the words. Better Kanbei slew him right now and here than….
Two strong hands gripped his head, he felt fingers burying deep into his sweat damp hair, as they forced him to look up. Kanbei’s hazel eyes seemed to penetrate Shichroji’s mind, he loved this gaze, these wonderful eyes, they made his heart race, while a well known fear was still coiling his stomach. For a moment Kanbei just looked into his eyes before he kissed him. The moment when Kanbei’s rough lips touched his send a shiver through Shichiroji’s body, and electric fire that burns through all his nerves. That kiss came close to make Shichroji’s head swirl and world around him blur. Kanbei’s rough lips made him melt, open up to the languid tongue that claimed him. He responded to it, opened up to him, but being claimed so intently he enjoyed just to give in to Kanbei. He needed to catch his breath, when they finally broke off. But it wasn’t a break off, Kanbei never let go of him. In a deliberate move his hands wandered along Shichiroji’s head, loosening the ring that held his blonde hair back while seeking Shichiroji’s lips again.
Roji responded hungrily to that kiss, again burying his hand in Kanbei’s long hair. The touch of their lips is like electric fire, cold and burning all in one, but it’s like nothing he’s ever expected. He had expected dominance, a claim that could not be denied, a thrust into his mouth, a struggle he only could loose. He had been willing to surrender. But this kiss is firm, gentle and completely mutual.
He vividly remembered the moment he’d met Kanbei for the first time. It had been that horrific day in the woods near Ohka-fortress, right after the night when the old emperor and his sons had been murdered. He could still see it, Kanbei standing alone against a dozen enemies, among them Shichroji's brothers. In Kanbei's back, the boy, the youngest of the emperor. Kanbei had been alone, against a dozen fighters, but there he had stood, ready, completely composed and utterly unafraid.A fine sheen of sweat glistening on his brow, while he moved with the gracefull, effortless speed of jungle cat. His taut muscles rippling under his skin, as he send his blade down in crashing attack. The sight had taken the breath away from Roji. It still did. Ever since that first, fateful encounter, he had never been able to look at Kanbei without a measure of longing coiling inside him.
He felt those strong hands shoving off what remained from his sliced clothing, inciting his skin as they went. Daringly Roji's hands began to explore Kanbei's taunt body. Hs tanned skin still warm from the fight but feels smooth to Roji’s fingers, Muscles warm and supple, bulging slowly underneath. Suddenly his fingertips encountered the hard round of Kanbei's nipple, making the elder Samurai grasp for breath. Shichroji gazed shyly at his face, continuing teasing the taut flesh, watching Kanbei writhe with pleasure from his ministrations.
Kanbei had trembled under Shichrojiy's tender hands, gripping the younger samurai tightly he drew him closer, into another consummate kiss. His hands forcefully wandered down Shichiroji's back, doing away with the last shred of clothing there. The feverent kiss made Shichiroji arch up, a deep purr caught in his throat. He felt those rough lips wandering along his jaw, down to his neck, while Kanbei leaned him over so he ended up lying down on the hardwood floor, the tiles pressing into his naked back.
Shichiroji felt the warm wood beneath him. Somewhat forcefully guiding Kanbei down with him, his lips found Kanbei's neck, burying himself in his warmth. The same time, Kanbei’s hands have found their way down Shichroji’s body, stroking, teasing, incinerating him all the way along. The younger samurai groaned as he felt those fingertips teasing his erection. Drawing Kanbei into his embrace, into another kiss again, he feels his hardness. Rubbing against each other, it sends a painful aching shiver down his spine.
Their eyes lock and in Kanbei’s hazel if dilated pupils, Shichroji can read a question. There are no words necessary now. He just can see it in these eyes. This short look sends a near painful stab right on Shichiroji’s soul. Even now, in the middle of their passion, would Kanbei never force him into something. The only answer he can give, a smouldering kiss, is enough for both of them to understand. There’s nothing there to prepare, as Shichiroji’s hands wander along Kanbei’s hardness massaging it a little here and there, as he goes on. A stifled moan and the now burning hazel eyes tell him, that he is completely right. Kanbei’s hands incite the same flame in him the same time as they he slid along his behind. Shichroji felt a gentle finger brush his entrance. Kanbei had eased a finger inside a small shudder vibrated through Shichiroji's body, his breathing becoming heavier, he wasn’t going to last long. Kanbei drove his finger in deeper, before withdrawing it quickly and replacing it with two. Shichiroji moaned “Kanbei..” as the fingers were suddenly gone. “Please.”
A passionate kiss is his only answer, as he feels Kanbei slowly entering him. It is a gentle touch, giving him time to adjust. But it’s not enough. Shichiroji slowly started rocking forward, to make him slide in deeper. There is pain, a sharp cutting pain, but it is nothing compared to the delirious pleasure rising up inside him. “Yes…” Shichiroji threw his head back in passion, as he exploded right the moment, he felt Kanbei thrusting inside him. He felt Kanbei’s hands gripping his, as the tidal waves reached him, making him cry out in passion.
Shichiroji woke with a start, his breath went raggedly, he felt his hands tremble. It was still dark in here, the cold wind of the night was brushing around the house, cooling his heated skin. Burying his face in his hands, he sat unmoving for some moments. The memory was still so painfully close. A memory he had forbidden himself for the past five years.
Yukina stirred in her sleep. Shichiroji silently rose and slid out of the room. He didn’t want to deprive her of the few hours sleep she would get. The air was cool outside, the wind of the night brushed against his skin. A calm and cool touch. Only wearing the scarce garb he had worn while sleeping his arms were exposed to the could air. Painfully clear he felt where his right arm ended, and the metal arm began. The sensation wasn’t quite the same. They had told him, he’d always feel the cut and with the years gone by had gotten used to the pain. A new gust of wind had gotten hold of his open hair, brushing it up his shoulders. Shichiroji’s eyes rose to the dark skies above. “I still love him,” He silently told the stars. “I always will.” His eyes fell again, trailing along the dark metal of his arm. Not even Yukina would touch it, usually, even as she made jokes of it’s cold giving her the creeps. Again pain welled up inside him, but he now was in full control of himself. Akinari was right after all, to get the chance to love has to be enough.” Settling himself for a walk in the rock garden Shichroji never saw Kyuzo who stood just outside the house and had studied him silently.
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Date: 2006-07-11 12:22 am (UTC)From:Nicely done!
(Just a little note for when you edit- there were one or two duplicated sentences in the new section. *laugh* I probably only noticed because I printed the chapter out to read- the graphic designer in me caught it!)
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Date: 2006-07-11 04:28 am (UTC)From:Your graphic designer eye really caught the details (the bond - sleep theme for one. *hugs* I'm so happy you liked the completed chapter.
Thanks so much for sticking with me and my story.
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Date: 2006-07-11 04:44 am (UTC)From: