Chapter Text
Naki hito ni
kagoto wa kakete
wazurau mo
ono ga kokoro no
oni ni ya wa aranu
Kotowari ya
kimi ga kokoro no yami nareba
Oni no kage to wa
shiruku miyuran
(Murasaki Shikibu shû)
When Taigen awoke from his unconsciousness, all the pain immediately returned. From the tips of his hair to his toenails, his body was aching. His breath rattled through his broken ribs, the bruises throbbed hotly beneath his skin, the scabs over the open wounds were tense, and every muscle ached. The rough stone floor pressed cold and hard into his back, but his back was better off than his hips. And his hips were better off than his knees. Now he seemed to have been forgotten here. Taigen couldn't quite tell the time, but at least two nights had passed since a frightened boy had last brought him food and water. The dampness of the stone walls had crept under his skin. Water had collected in a depression in the floor. Until now, his right hip had been lying in the puddle. If he could find the strength, he could turn around and lick the water up like a dog. But Taigen hadn't reached that point in his misery yet.
The dungeon was silent. The outside world didn't penetrate the thick stone walls. The only sounds were the sighs and groans of the other prisoners and the firm footsteps of the guards. Every now and then, the iron blades of their Naginatas clanged against the bars, then the iron of the razor-sharp blades whirred. This place had witnessed so much cruelty. Suddenly, the sounds of battle arose. The wheezing of impaled bodies, the battle cry of an attacker, the sound of a sword piercing flesh. Then silence again.
When the man appeared at his cell door, Taigen thought he was hallucinating. Only a ghost could be standing in his cell door; his mind couldn't come up with any other explanation. The ghost's blue eyes glowed almost eerily. Blood was plastered to his face and clothing. A katana with a stained blade was in his hand. Taigen stared at the ghost, petrified.
"Mizu," he croaked hoarsely.
"Taigen," Mizu's ghost smiled gently and knelt to carefully raise him and hold him. The moment enclosed them in a small bubble. He vaguely noticed how his very sore face tensed beneath a grin.
Mizu's face showed a mixture of relief, concern, and guilt. A ghost shouldn't have so many emotions on its face, Taigen thought. Especially not Mizu's ghost. Mizu had been too stoic a man in life. A ghost shouldn't feel so physically solid either. The dry blood on Mizu's face cracked beneath his smile, and small specks of blood trickled down onto him.
"Can you walk?" the ghost asked.
"Maybe slowly!"
Mizu pulled him up, held him tight, and slid his arm under Taigen's shoulders. In Taigen's chest, his heart began to flutter like a trapped hummingbird, but perhaps it was the effort of moving again. They left the dungeon rooms, stepped over a few corpses, and reached a staircase. He heard Mizu gasp as he pulled him up the stairs.
"Wait!" Taigen slid out from under Mizu's shoulder and leaned against the wall to put some distance between himself and Mizu.
"You're dead!" Mizu sighed and looked at a spot over his shoulder.
"No, I'm not." he admitted quietly.
"You died in that fire three years ago!" Taigen stated.
"You burned to ashes, along with that white bastard! You must have burned to ashes because I looked everywhere for you! I dug through piles of rubble, corpses, and ash. There were corpses everywhere. You had to have been one of them, because where else were you?" he spat accusingly through gritted teeth.
"No, I wasn't. I didn't die!" Mizu retorted. At first, Taigen felt such great relief that he almost felt dizzy. But immediately followed by indignation. He clutched his knees.
"You bastard!" he hissed softly, glaring at him accusingly from his position on the steps.
"How do you even know I'm here?"
"I know from Ringo," Mizu muttered, his eyes darting around. "We can talk when we're outside and safe."
He tried to help him up, but Taigen pushed his hand away.
"I know Ringo didn't know you were still alive either." Taigen said with a hurt tone, "We mourned you while you were hiding somewhere in Japan?"
"I wasn't in Japan.", Mizu admitted, "I was in the country the four white men came from. I had to find the other two."
Taigen hadn't expected that answer.
"And you couldn't give advance notice that you were leaving? Ringo and your master Eij mourned you. Ringo was devastated whenever we spoke of you."
Mizu stiffened, only for a moment, but clearly visible. A shadow flickered across his face.
"But we should have known better. Mizu only cares about his revenge!"
Taigen said harshly. Mizu didn't respond to that either. Not a muscle moved in the mask-like face, but a spark glowed in the eyes. So, Taigen sighed and let him help her up.
Both reached the door leading outside in silence. The sentries who had been guarding the basement entrance lay dead on the ground. Outside, it was night and raining. Taigen groaned in frustration when he saw the dead.
"How many dead did you leave behind?"
"I wasn't alone!" Mizu said crisply. "I had help!"
He pointed to a man who grinned, shaking the blood from his katana and bowing mockingly to them.
The dead remained behind them, and they sought shelter in the adjacent forest. Crouching beneath the densely planted trees was the small boy, whom Taigen recognized as the trembling bearer of his meal. So the boy had shown the two men the way to the dungeon. The boy looked at him with eyes far too deep and far too dark for a child's.
"Come now!" Mizu commanded. "The boy will show us the way to Iwahara. We've laid false trails so they'll think we're going to the river to take the ferry to Horikane. That'll give us time!"
The boy led them through the forest. The path was long, and night was deepening. Mizu continued to try to help Taigen, but Taigen wouldn't accept help. Mizu soon gave up and went ahead. Taigen watched his slender figure snake through the trees while trying to follow him along the narrow path that wound impassably through the dense undergrowth. Soon he had to take a short break to catch his breath. He held his face up to the cool night air, savouring the fresh scent of rain and forest. Mizu and the boy kept their distance, respecting the break he needed. The other man, who had been keeping the rear guard, approached. His expression was hidden in the darkness. Taigen remembered seeing, in the light of the castle torches, a man of perhaps thirty, with the rugged demeanour of a street fighter. His dark hair was tied back tightly, but it looked as if it were trying to curl out of its bun.
Taigen groaned.
"I think I need a little help getting further!" he gave Taigen a toothy grin, its white glowing in the moonlight, and offered him his shoulder. Now he regretted having refused Mizu's help. He remembered how well his body had felt against Mizu's. At that moment, Taigen simply felt uncomfortable hanging limply at his side. The rain had subsided. The bamboo forest carried the scent of leaves and moss. Her damp clothes steamed in the warm summer night. Mosquitoes bit her skin. The man began to speak.
"I'm Hôshô!"
"Taigen!" Taigen mumbled, concentrating on moving forward.
"I know," he said non-committally, "It's because of you that we're here." He spoke with a strange accent. "Because of me? You don't even know me."
"Well, I'm here because Mizu is here!" he clarified. Taigen raised an eyebrow and grunted in response. A hollow feeling lingered.
"Are you a... couple?" he stumbled a little over the last word. Not because the fact was shady, but because he genuinely cared if Mizu let anyone get close to her.
"No!"
"Um, I was just being a bit of an asshole for saving me."
"Well, don't tell me that, tell him."
Why did Mizu make him so angry? Because only revenge mattered to Mizu? Despite Taigen's prejudices and reluctance, Mizu had earned his respect. He desperately wanted Mizu to keep that respect. Suddenly, he felt the rage inside him cool and give way to something else he couldn't find a name for. Fortunately, the first huts soon appeared at the edge of the forest. The village of Iwahara lay beside a small hamlet, its water shimmering black in the darkness. The plains where the rice paddies lay were fertile, but not productive enough to satisfy the lord's greed. The huts seemed desolate and poor, even in the merciful darkness.