All C&C appreciated and welcomed (QuatreLuva@hotmail.com).
By Kat
Chapter 6: Maelstrom
Glowing in the harsh light of the dancing campfire, he watched in detached fascination as the crimson liquid slowly spread its warm fingers across the sand only to be beckoned back to the earth from which it came moments later. A dark trail, a stain of the morose sort, now settled itself into the spot beside him as the last droplets of liquid were absorbed into the desert floor. All of this passed before eyes that observed but did not see, the mind behind the irises too preoccupied with something beyond the visible plane of comprehension.
A desire, a lust, greater than any human should or could feel, was beginning to claw its way to the surface of his psyche and the voluntary impulses that controlled his limbs. It was a feeling he had experienced before, and it usually ended in very violent results. The need for blood, for the exhilaration that came from slitting the skin open to reveal all inside, for a fulfillment to one of the most carnal desires known to Man: power. Power to give life and power to take life, power to spare and power to condemn, all the powers needed and yet unnecessary to take omnipotent control of this world and the souls living in it.
It was overwhelming and slowly overcoming.
Kenshin growled and shook his head madly, the thoughts so pressing upon his conscious that he could no longer control them. He attempted to clear his head many more times, and finally, after what seemed like an eternity, his vision came slowly back to him. Eventually, he was able to discern more than just amorphous black forms sitting around him, either not aware of what turmoil he was fighting with or knowing better than to ask. If any one of them had turned to look at their leader at that moment, all attention would have be drawn to his eyes, where fierce amber was gently giving way to cool violet. A chorus of laughter from his men broke the final hold his previous thoughts had had on him, and he gazed around as if trying to find the true reality about him after waking from a dream that had masqueraded as such.
His eyes came to rest on his wet hand, broken shards of a clay cup scattered about him, resting in a dry, dark pool in the sand, and imbedded in the skin of his palm. Almost in disbelief, he trailed a finger from his other hand across the shiny smear on his flesh, and his fingers came away sticky and warm with blood. His blood.
How very surreal it was to see the blood from his own veins on his hands.
Sighing like one who had fought a long and merciless battle only to discover more enemies were lying in wait, he lay down upon the soft sand beneath him and clasped his hands behind his head. His eyes sought the comfort of the waning moon above him, the one thing that was constant and never changing in his life of interminable chaos. It was beginning again, and it was becoming harder and harder to control.
Unsuccessfully, he tried to push the rapidly surfacing memories down into the depths of his mind once again, but they refused to be manipulated. All at once, flashes of images long since buried once again became the daunting focus of his thoughts: a tall shadow beneath the swaying fronds of desert palm tree, whispers heard by only the night creatures of the sands, a raging war cry, the clashing of three swords, amber glinting in the darkness, a searing pain streaking across his cheek, a desperate cry, blood, and then silence. Oh gods, the silence.
Five days after that horrific night laced with a metallic stench and crimson, he had awakened with an unbearable pain coursing throughout his body, only to fall into the open arms of unconsciousness moments later. The last sensation he could remember was the feeling that someone had buried a sharp, metallic something in his side. It was not the broad edge of a sword, but something smaller. Something like a dart…
His eyes closed tightly as he shook his head fiercely one last time. Suddenly, he rose from his place in the sand and strode towards his tent, closing the flap behind him without a sound or word of explanation. Finally, after several splashes of ice cold water, he managed to bury those memories in the intricate corridors of his mind, determined to seal them away for eternity. A false hope, he knew, but still he tried.
The final coherent thought he had running through his head before he was lulled to sleep was the voice of someone, a young woman, chanting a phrase to an unknown beat as if chiding him.
*-*-*-*-*-*-*-
As he rounded the corner to the inner courtyard, he stopped dead in his tracks. A blush slowly climbed its way up his cheeks as scowled at himself for reacting like that just upon seeing her. But she was so beautiful just to look at…
Dark, vibrant hair hung around her face and a little above her shoulder, framing her innocent features in raven waterfalls. Her dark eyes danced with her voice as she hummed a quiet song to herself, one without words or pattern. The dark blue of her sleeveless woven top was a wonderful companion to the beige of her long skirt, which had a small slit in it up to her knee. Light, decorative lace in a shade of blue many tones lighter than that of her shirt was tied about her waist, draping diagonally across the front of her skirt on the opposite side of the slit. The outfit of a servant, but it made little difference to him. She was calmly gathering flowering blossoms from one of the many luxurious looking and foreign trees in the courtyard. His mother had told him she had helped plant those trees when she was a child…
A small, frustrated sigh brought his thoughts from his departed mother back to reality. It appeared that the girl was vainly searching for something without success and was becoming rather flustered at the situation.
“Now, where did I put those other flowers?” she asked herself quietly, searching all around the base of the tree and sighing in disappointment when she could not find them. “They were my favorite ones, too…”
He suddenly found the opportunity to speak to her spring before his young eyes, an opportunity he had long been waiting for since he had first laid eyes upon her. The bundle of flowers in question was, thank the gods, merely a few meters away from him but hidden from her view by another tree. Taking a deep breath, he walked to the spot where the flowers were concealed, gathered them in his hands, and strode as nonchalantly as he could towards her.
“Are you looking for these, miss?” he asked, trying to mask the nervousness he felt with politeness. He couldn’t remember the last time he had ever resorted to politeness to cover for his anxiety.
“Oh!” she jumped at his voice. She turned around, preparing to thank whoever it was who had found her flowers, but gasped as she recognized the face that was giving her a small smile. “P…Prince Yahiko! What…I…um…”
His smile broadened at her state of confusion and shock. He guessed she didn’t see royalty wandering around the palace grounds all that much. “You…you’re Tsubame, right?” he stuttered, hoping she wouldn’t think him intimidating because he knew her name. Of course, that was one of the first things he had learned about her after he had first seen her...
“Y…yes. I am. How do you know my name?” she queried, the sound of disbelief ringing in her voice as she shifted her balance from side to side.
“I heard Sohjiro talking with Sano about his sister a few weeks ago. He seemed really happy that you were coming to work here,” he explained, half-lying. Actually, once the messenger had described his sister to him, Yahiko had immediately, if not impetuously, asked for her name. Sohjiro was one of the few people working at the palace that both he and Sanosuke enjoyed spending time with. That is, when the messenger was in Sumaktra and not running about Kahaktri gathering news.
“My…brother?” she muttered, dubious that Sohjiro was actually friends with the royal family. But Yahiko seemed serious about the conversation, which elicited a slight chuckle from her. “My brother, spending time with Sanosuke-sama and his nephew like he was one of the family. I would never have guessed…Thank you for finding my flowers, Prince.”
“Just Yahiko is fine. All that ‘Prince’ stuff seems kinda dumb between friends. I mean, if being friends is alright with you,” he quickly amended, afraid he had overstepped his bounds.
She giggled softly, her quiet nature never abandoning her for a moment. “That sounds wonderful.”
*-*-*-*-*-*-*-
“Hey, Sano?”
The emperor looked up from the cup of wine he was nursing, his attention turned to the red-haired companion sitting across from him on a large, plush cushion. A quizzical gaze had settled itself on the bandit leader’s features. “Mm?” he replied.
“Who…The other night, when I was leaving the palace, I saw someone standing on the balcony outside one of the east rooms. I’ve never seen her before,” he explained, his eyes not really focused on Sanosuke.
“Oh, her? That was probably Kaoru. She’s been a light sleeper for as long as I can remember,” he answered, taking another sip of the red liquid in his goblet.
“Is she the friend you told me was coming to visit a few nights ago? Her name is Kamiya Kaoru, right?”
“Yeah,” he affirmed, swirling the wine in his cup. Then, a spark of mischief leapt into his eyes. “Why?”
Kenshin was well aware of the look his friend was giving him. “Just curious.”
The sovereign knew his marauder friend far too well to take that answer for face value. Kenshin was much more intrigued than just ‘curious’ if he had asked Sanosuke for her name.
The sovereign smiled mischievously. It looks like another
guest bedroom will be in need of preparation very soon.
*-*-*-*-*-*-*-
She laughed a bitter laugh at the vision she was watching
with her sight beyond sight, eyes closed. Do you really think me so much a
child that you take your burden so lightly? We’ll see just how long you can
keep your bloodlust contained, Kenshin.
The cool pressure of something around her wrist became more apparent as she slowly opened her eyes to the world surrounding her. A deep sigh tinged with loneliness escaped her body as she fingered the golden bracelet...and remembered.
*-*-*-*-*-*-*-
The lovely image of a raven-haired young woman smiled back at him as he closed his eyes, allowing the scent of the spices and incense of the room to play with his senses. A slow grin tainted with something not quite sane spread its way across his face.