Demon of the Mountain
	Part 3: Ishin . Shinsen . Arashi
	By: Shutani Houkiku <songshadow@hotmail.com>


   Lying in ambush for the one he had came to hunt, the Mibu
Wolf, tenth of the name, clutched his scabbard and finding
little comfort, reattached the katana to his side and reached
to his back, instead, for a long stick whose tip was wrapped in
oiled paper. This he pulled off and carefully stowed in an 
inner pocket: he was raised to be thrifty. With a critical eye
he scrutinized the bright metal tip of his yari, somewhat
ashamed to admit that he has neglected it. Behind him, someone
stifled a cough. Yuuji; he had always had a bad throat.

   "Is he REALLY passing by this way, sir?" Shuuichi murmured
by my ear. These boys. They are only boys, hardly sure of how
to hold their swords. Or how to hold an ambush. I spared him a
deliberate nod for an answer, not trusting my own voice nor my
eyes to leave the alley. "But sir, it's been hours..." He
persisted in a low whine. Of this group, only Hirotaka seemed
to be of any stomach for what it truly means to be Shinsen. Not 
the splendour of parading the streets in newly stained hands
and hems, nor the pride of a blood-smeared face. No, the 
terrible hunt just before, the duel to the death, the living,
knowing you may not wake to see tomorrow; THAT is what it is.
Ridding the times of trouble-makers. Keeping the peace,
ensuring Nippon stays intact and pulls through the turmoil of
the cusp of eras. Being the underdogs of the government, just
a tiny step above a common assassin. It is a dirty job. Someone 
has to do it.

			*	*	*

   "Houkiku, are you okay? You look terrible."
   I feel terrible.
   "Hai, I am fine, kami-sama." It is interesting, really, how
the only ones who take my name to the endearing form of "Kiku"
or "Kiku-chan" ever, are always male.
   "Are you sure, you look so pale! Take care of yourself, girl!
You know Harada-sama would not like it if you fall ill!" The
mistress of my employment watches and clucks over us as a hen.
   I'm sure you mean your pockets when he has to terminate his
visits, Land-lady.
   "I am aware, Toga-san. Hai, I will pay more attention." I
smiled demurely. It is moments like this when I despise myself.
Never for my professions, neither one, only for the mask I
sometimes wear to hide from the world. Shutani Houkiku! What
great shame have you to hide?
   Yes, I am sick. My head hurts from all the thinking, my hara
wrenches with a terrible premonition. This peace that I have
carved for myself from these restless times has grown unstable.
How long before it gives?
   Sho, brother of my heart... where are you?
   It is pointless to ask why you left, for I was the one who
most encouraged it. How ironic, that I was to save you from a
fate that I am to now fall to myself.
   What is the meaning of "Arashi" as understood by those of
the Sanchuu? A combination of the Mountain, "Yama", and the 
Wind, "Kaze". The wind from the mountain-tops, the Fury of the
Mountains. I will tell you your meaning, storm from which I
borrow half my name; your word is Lonliness.

   I cannot say it to your face, Sho, because I know you will
comply to me, even if it kills you. I cannot say it because
it is selfish and I loathe myself for wanting to. But in these
dark recesses of my mind, here, I believe it safe to tell: Stay
with me, Shoichi, I need you.
   I need you now, more than ever.

			*	*	*

   "Be reborn in a better world." It is the best blessing I can
give the dying and the dead. I clean my sword on a clean piece
of the yukata. The 'investigators' will do the rest.
   "Thank you for your help tonight."
   "You're welcomed."
   These same words, each time, lacking in warmth and 
sincerity.
   I fight, and I kill, for the sake of the innocent. Those who
will be killed if I do not do something. Shifu, my mentor, he
stays in the hills, unconcerned with the mundane world as long
as he has his sa'ke. Perhaps he has a point in saying that the
world is best left to its own devises, but I cannot rest easy
knowing that there are others whose lives are at risk each hour 
I spend blissfully unaware. Nippon cries red. The blood of her
children barren the land. If I, with my prowess with the sword
can be substitute for ten, even two, innocent, peaceful land-
workers, why not? I, at least, have greater chance at survival.

   So tell me, Gods, why does it feel so wrong?

			*	*	*

   Himura Kenshin returned to his hostel under the ever-lit
lights of Kyoto sector, heart heavy in his step. He skirted the 
broad main streets, shunning the brightness. What little glare
that peeped through the side alleys was enough to see by.
   It is a quicker way, He argued to the prick of conscience.
He stopped and squatted down suddenly to watch a dreaming cat
tucked away in a cosy corner of the wall. The inn was just 
ahead. It was a cold night. He didn't really want to go back.
   It was on such a night that he longed for the mountain 
lodge, the humble kith he kept with his swordsmaster. Oh, how 
he would laugh to see his baka-desha in his current thoughts!
Laughed, and said "I told you so".

   It was on such a night that she longed for the mountain
lodge, the shambled smithy she kept with her father. "You did
your best", she could just hear the gruff man say, ruffling her
unkempt hair with a tenderness reserved only for her. She can
still see his smile behind her eyelids, gentle and dazzling,
brighter than the sun. The sun...

   A slender shadow fell across the returning swordsman. He 
looked up, shaking shaggy red bangs out of his eyes, the 
stroking of the cat tapering away to nothing.
   "Eto... Shinta..." The words were soft and strained. The
speaker he knew. Only one ever addressed him by his childhood 
name now. She had discovered it quite by his own slip and 
declaring an open liking for it, refused to call him by any 
other. Kenshin stood up expectantly, wondering at the pinched 
quality of her greeting. They stood silent in the dark, 
screened lantern lights casting dusty auras around both. She
was so... frail... and haggled in the edge of light. It tugged
at his heart, and indeed, appealed to him in a way she never 
had at her finest grooming. An extra prick of brightness
glistened in her eye. A trick of the light? On impulse he took 
her wrist and drew her to him while the dampness soaking in his
shoulder realised its reality.
   "Kiku?" He murmured softly in her hair, so soft and fine,
tickling his face as it escaped her ribbon's confines in the
way it always has. He didn't need to ask what's wrong. In his
heart, he already knew. "I'm here..." The slight tremble of her
frame and the faint, clear scent of chrysanthemums ever-present
in her dark tresses an invitation to join her in a moment's
indulgence. A bright watery pearl or two caught in her hair.

			*	*	*

   Houkiku stirred, like a soft sigh, and drifted back in a
calm rest, encircled in lean arms not much more masculine than
her own. They offered a security that she hadn't even dare hope
for for a long time and she wanted to bask in it while it 
lasted. Her eyes were closed, but she knew well the shape of 
the nose nuzzled against her neck, the sharp curve of the 
narrow shoulders that just encompassed her, the luxuriant fall 
of copper-red hair mixing with her own spread of raven. She has 
known them all, quite intimately. He was infinately kind and 
gentle, in a way that Tsuke never was, even in his own fumbling 
hesitation. It was the boy's first, after all. A deliberate 
reflection noted that it hasn't been the sort of night that 
usually satisfied her. But for the moment, it was exactly what 
she needs.
   She felt, more than listened to, the calm rhythm of his
trusting heart and the rise and fall of his warm breath
stirring the downy hair on the back of her neck. Thus lulled,
the assassin slipped under a rare cover of complete peace.

			*	*	*

   Morning brought a storm which was only to be expected, made
more terrible in its silence. It might have been looked back
upon as a comic event, some decade later, but there was nothing
amusing to any of the three when Harada entered Shutani's room,
barely noticing his surroundings, and only realised Himura's
presence some heart-stopping moment after.

   The room echoed with the clear ring of metal drawn and harsh 
grate of cotton across tatami mats as the Mibu Wolf drew his
sword at his archest enemy; and his lover threw herself between
them. The men watched her, uncomprehending. One attempting to
gather his outer garments and sword, the other lowering his
blade, unsure of what to make of the situation.
   "There are laws governing this establishment." She said, a
slight tremble in her voice betraying the wild pounding in her
chest. "I claim sanctuary, Harada-sama, and unless you wish to 
be arrested, please lay down your sword."
   He began to listen: she was correct, there are laws 
concerning the security of the Yoshiwara that made its streets
safe in less than carnal affairs and being one that had 
experienced and appreciated the advantages of this obligations, 
he would hesitate to breach them. The sword settled back in its 
sheath with a grudging "chink". He growled low in his throat 
of his discontent. She held her ground, firm and steady.
   "Kiku-chan..." Battousai alighted a tentative hand on her 
shoulder and realised how much she was actually shaking.

   It was too much.
   No! Only to me, to me only can she be referred to in such 
affection! A terrible, stormy cast upon his face, tensed and 
set in stone, Harada took his leave without another word, 
taking a futile retaliation with the noise he made.

   It wasn't until the sounds were well and truly gone did she 
drop her arms. Visibly shaken, Shutani carefully closed the 
screen doors and sank straight to the matted floors in a 
miserable heap.
   The red-haired swordsman dared neither to approach nor leave 
his friend. He knew how much the man meant to her even if she 
did not. And it was, after all, his fault. "I... you didn't 
have to do that." He finally said after a long silence 
punctuated by quiet, half-hidden sobs.
   "Shigatanai. It is the law." She replied, adamant, though 
choked on misery.
   "Damn it, Kiku! You don't behave like this! You KNEW this 
would happen, so why!" His was a look of pain and frustration.
   "I was prepared for that. It just doesn't stop the hurt, 
that's all." She managed as calmly as she could, pulling 
herself together. At his frown of befuddlement, she shook her 
head and raised. Time waits for none and the morning was almost 
done. "I couldn't let either of you fight here, Shinta." Was 
all she offered him in way of explanation.
   Not here, She added silently. Not anywhere.

			*	*	*

   DAMNIT, Kiku! How could you do this to me!
   She does not belong to you, A treacherous little voice 
reminded him. She may do as she please.
   But oh gods, it hurts so much!
   A heavy fist smashed into the jagged side of an ancient
boulder, much scarred by many similarly unprovoked assaults. It
ravaged his knuckles and rendered rivers of scarlet between the
rock and his flesh, but he could feel nothing. Not with the
greater pain tearing up his heart.
   Kiku, Kiku...
   She's a frickin' harlot, damn you! It's not like you've gone
and BOUGHT her or something!
   That is true. Whatever in the world prompted him to think
she was his, and his alone? And even if she was, he hung his
head in mortification at the sudden revelation, he had been a
most shameful master.
   But why HIM?

   "You must forgive her, Harada-san." The voice he most detest
to hear of the moment intruded upon his consciousness. "She was
lonely... as was I."
   "Go. Away. Himura."
   "I..."
   "Go!"
   Himura looked sadly at his adversary's hunched shoulders and
bleeding fist, knowing it would break his dear friend's heart
to see the man hurting himself thus. "Hara..."
   "GO!!!"
   He sighed and turned away. As she had said, "shigatanai". No
solution. Not in his current condition. But later, Kenshin was
afraid, would be too late. He wavered a moment between the two
courses of action. And besides, what can he do?
   "Battousai..."
   Kenshin stopped, somewhat relieved that at least one of
them knew.
   "I challenge you. The Hour of the Ox. Here."
   "Oro?? Chotto..." Kenshin started to protest, but Harada
would have none of it, quietly leaving the hill down the other
side. He could not refuse without a properly solid reason, any
way. He had been challenged as Battousai, the Senhitokiri. The
implications was that of a formal duel, Shinsen against Ishin.
Kenshin was not afraid. Harada Sanosuke was a good fighter.
Indeed, he would be honoured to fight such a man. It was 
Shutani's reactions that he dreaded. It was made painfully 
clear that she did not wish a confrontation between them. What
would be her take on this turn of events?
   He decided he didn't want to find out.
   Surely she will not know if neither inform her.

			*	*	*

   Contrary to the western beliefs, the darkest hour comes, not
at midnight, but at the hour of the Ox, some two hours later.
The moon was a vague lady, impartial witness, the Healer and
the Lunacy. The wind was high and sharp, mocking howls across
the hill-top, rattling the ancient tree as a dead man rattles
his bones. The scent of wet hang heavy in the air, a warning of
storms to come. The tall grass rustled and swayed to the heavy
caress of a gust, heedless of the two men among them.
   They were armed, and spoke no words. The man with the spear
had shed his blue and white robes for something plainer. This
was not a battle for politics, Justice or Order. It was the
fight between two men, for their honour; and that of a woman's.
The man with the twin swords had hard, glinting eyes. This was
not a butchering, some name written on a black letter, listed
for eradication. It was a fight between swordsmen, a duel of 
skill and cunning, that, at the end of the day, was the sole
purpose of Bushidou.
   It would be impossible, to the untrained, to tell who drew
first. All of a sudden, they sprinted towards each other,
voices mingling in a savage harmony of battlecries, the high
clash of metals a shrill counterpoint. Fallen leaves broke and
scattered, danced the turbulence of their growing violence to
the ceaseless clash and whine of metal on wood, metal and air.
   A block, a parry, double-thrust, twist-turn-strike-KUCK! and
spin away, quite breathy and flushed from the close encounter,
only to pick up the steps again as the turn reversed-- slash,
rush, thrust, back, block, lock, kick, spin, nigasa-CHING! but
not as quick! A dark patch quickly spread over Harada's hakama,
to no sign of realization.
   Their eyes have gone wild, all sensibility lost to the 
basest instinct. They charged at each other again, the Shinsen 
fighter's advantage in his range and the Hitokiri's in his 
greater damage. Three passes and they are knocked back, panting
hard. Each knew as well as the other they have to end it soon.
As one, their grip tightened. Eyes met across the distance and 
held. This has to be their best move. Their last move. The spear
snaked out, the sword flashed, sparks flew and the world held
its breath--
   The moon-sliver quivered from its impact on the rocks of the
hill, the men fighting for their balance from its deflection.
"WHAT THE HELL??"
   "Enough." The harsh voice fell familiar to both ears and
came to the older man's view, perched on the nearby boulder.
   "Yasha!" Harada continued in his denied anger. "This is not
your figh-"
   "Shinta! Da'me!"
   While the man had been distracted by their interceptor, the
Ishinshishi had been unswayed and dancing around the Tenshotou
that separated them, now came for his opponent. A flurry of
white and mint shoved him off his feet and crumpled between 
them. His mind stopped working that instant she cried out in
the femininely mellow voice he had last heard some twenty hours
ago.
   Battousai dropped his swords with nerveless fingers. Why?
Why didn't I stop? What have I done! "No..." He hesitantly
reached to the pile of white, red and mint that raised and fell 
with fervent shallowness. "Oh gods, I'm sorry," He gathered her
up, trembling, running those words over and over, all thoughts
gone from his mind except the one that screamed he has surely
killed her. His friend.
   The pale face turned up to the moon, labourously fighting 
for breath in blue-robed arms, It couldn't be... numbly he
touched the warm ruby droplets sprayed across his face. Blood,
but not his own. The snarling face leered up at him at his feet.
No, no, Sanosuke, you're dreaming... But surely...
   In sudden animation, the Shinsengumi taisho launched at them
and snatched his love and goal from the other man; not before a
blind hard fist in his jaw. "Don't touch her." He snarled, for
the moment becoming that vengeful spirit that he had chased for 
so long. He raised his arm to strike him again. The boy! The 
fool that would contest him for his woman and kill her in the
end! How he has the gall to look so scared and innocent at what
he has done!
   "No..." The grip that snaked to hold back the blow was
surprisingly strong. "Please..." The words were so soft, so 
strained. He began to weep. Even to the last she would defend
him, the boy who was beginning to be the best hitokiri of the
Ishin group, the boy that was now trying to catch her words, 
wincing unknowingly at the split lip and swelling bruise he had
just received.
   "Kiku..."
   "Hush..." She smiled at Himura, a gentle regretful smile he
had never seen. What was he doing holding her, then? HE should
be the one, not Harada Sanosuke. But he couldn't drop her. He
just couldn't.
   "Why? Why must it be you... Why did you do that..."
   "She... couldn't let us fight." Himura bowed his head,
ashamed.
   "It's okay." Him again. Harada's heart wrenched. "Tsuke...?"
And leapt, though his voice wavered.
   "Yes?"
   "Gomen..."
   "No, no, it's alright..." The silence cut him off and the
empty countryside echoed with an anguished howl of a Mibu Wolf.

			*	*	*

   It was a deserted mountain path, long and winding into the
endless horizon. The welcoming party met her and cornered her
off the road, against a wizened tree. Horrible evil spirits and
ghouls, people she had killed, people she had let killed, 
coming for her. Then, the tree moved its branches and caged her
to their teeth, claws and rusty swords... ...

   She woke sweat-soaked, groping for her sword, panicking when
it wasn't anywhere close and remembering what has passed,
settled in a broken dispassion. It was a simple room, typical 
of inns and similar establishments. There was something
painfully revealing about the pristine white around her. Her 
ribs screamed when she tried to move, leaving her a gasping 
patient prone on the futon. Deeply wounded, restricted by 
bandages, unarmed and still weak from wound fever. What a state
you have landed yourself in.
   It was another of those stunned, embarrassed moments when he
sneaked in and found her up. Quietly he sat on his knees beside
her and watched the pale stillness of her features. Finally, 
she spoke.
   "You will turn me in now, I suppose."
   "No. I have no reason to."
   She raised an eyebrow elegantly, masking the raising
confusion. "And about the Yasha?"
   "What about her? She has vanished."
   "And how do you explain me."
   "A foolish girl threw herself in the path of two men's
swords."
   "Souka."
   "Hai."
   Silence, as she looked down at her hands and he followed her
gaze.
   "What's to become of us now."
   "You could come with me, I suppose, we'd go somewhere in the
country and live off the land or something..."
   "And the Shinsengumi?"
   "I'll quit... It's still your choice, of course." He was 
thinking of Battousai.

   She winced; not to the pain, she was not raised to bruise at 
a touch and wilt in the heat. She did not survive in her 
profession shunning pain. It was those words. The sloppy 
romanticism, the tentative claim. Why could he not leave me to
those ghouls and nightmares, then? Something rebelled. They at 
least -knew- they want me.
   But she said nothing of it because it was not the correct
thing to say to a man in such a situation.
   Do I want him?
   She wasn't as much a romantic country lass as she'd have 
liked to think. She knew that about herself then. It wasn't the
dovey romance she craved but the wild abandon of what they had
in the moon-lit streets, when there was nothing in the world 
but them and the chase, their quaint courting ritual. This man
that proposed for her a secluded rural life that ended in
simple serenity somehow horrified her. Was it not what she had
wanted? Peace?
   Yes, peace of mind. Not this.
   She could not tell if it was the mountain spirit or girl 
that the thought so appalled. Perhaps it was too late to 
distinguish the both.

   "You uh... can stay here for as long as you wish. It's on my
tab." He said finally when the silence dragged on. "Please rest
well, Kiku... I can still call you that, right?" He hesitated,
and relaxed when she nodded absently. When he next sees
Battousai, he will tell him she is here. For her sake, he must
forsake his antagonism. For her sake, he must give her up. Even
if it is to a man such as Battousai. A part of him despaired of
this wholly uncharacteristic behaviour. But neither part
disagreed on giving her happiness.
   Would this give her happiness, then? Your shoving her off to
someone else?
   It's Battousai.
   You love her.
   She loves him.
   You never asked.
   I don't need to. You saw them.
   You're afraid.
   ... Yes, yes I am.

   I cannot stay here.
   If you leave, he'll never find you.
   If he wants me, he will. Or I'll come back.
   Then why are you leaving?
   To give him room to find out.
   Room for him, or yourself.
   Both.
   It was fun while it lasted.
   I'll miss the chases.

			*	*	*

   She was gone in the morning.

   When he went to her previous place of employment, the owner,
Toga, reported a lanky man claiming to be from Harada bought
her out. No, he knew no such man. Would you know where they
may have gone?
   No, she didn't.
   What about anyone else who might?
   He was welcomed to ask around, but found nothing.
   And when Harada told Himura, the boy shook his red head
sadly and said, "There was nothing between us. You should have
held on."

			*	*	*

[End Part 3/Ishin . Shinsen . Arashi]