I’d like to apologize beforehand if this chapter seems like crap. I know where I want the story to begin and go and end, it’s actually writing the middle stuff that’s hard. ^_^ Alas, so are the tribulations of an author, ne? On with the fic!

Comments: QuatreLuva@hotmail.com

Text in all italics denotes flashback

Desert Rose

By Kat

Chapter 7: Come Elysium

Shit.

That was the first coherent thought that ran through his mind after he finished reading the conclusion of his lieutenant’s report. Now, under normal circumstances, Hajime Saitoh was not the kind of person who would lose control of his emotions easily when things went awry; he would simply revise his strategy and carry on with his original objectives intact. But, after reading his officer’s report on the reconnaissance findings, the particular situation he was now facing was anything but normal.

The dead didn’t just walk back from the grave.

“Aoshi, get in here!”

*-*-*-*-*-*-*-

Throughout the history of Mankind, there have been many peaceful accomplishments and good deeds completed. These are the kinds of things historians love to write about and share with the entire world: the side of Man that faces the light and reflects its brilliance. But there is also another side to all people that is very seldom acknowledged but never denied its existence: the dark shadow that hides on the other side of the luminescent moon. While there is no fallacy in the fact that Mankind can be attributed with many good effects, Man can also be attributed those things that hide in the deep recesses of the shadows, far from the scrutiny of the light. There have been hideous crimes and bloody wars in which humans use other humans as tools to reach their ultimate goal, be it for the sake of humanity or for the sake of themselves. After all, the ends justify the means, right?

There is a reason for this subtle dark side, however. Some congenital flaw resides in every human’s soul, and it is this flaw that so often causes us to find ourselves battling flesh to flesh. It’s just an interminable circle that allows for no chance of escape: war to peace, peace to prosperity, prosperity to jealousy, jealousy to hate, hate to war, and back again. Even among close family and friends this cycle holds true, however cruel that may seem.

But for someone like Saitoh, this perpetual cycle is what he thrived on. There are simply those who are unfit to lead a life without event or consequence where they cannot fight for their beliefs, which is perhaps the reason why Saitoh loved this continuum of warfare. He could fight to gain peace and fight to keep the peace safe for others and be assured that life will always continue in this way. Some may question his morality and the verity of his intentions, but what do the opinions of the ignorant matter? In any case, he would be able to lead a very eventful life and live it by his own rules, and he had succeeded in doing so thus far.

However, the foreboding feeling that nightfall brought with the moonrise was more than enough to make the hairs on his neck stand alert. Something was coming, and it involved far more than the petty desires and simple machinations he had grown so accustomed to seeing before the axes of battle were raised high.

Oh no, this felt much worse.

*-*-*-*-*-*-*-

“Yes, Saitoh-sama?” The tone in his voice was a little more agitated than he had intended, but he did not attempt to apologize for it. Riding for three days and three nights straight, through nothing but sand and wind, had the tendency to do that to a person.

He raised an eyebrow at his officer’s tone, but did nothing more. “Is it true?” Saitoh queried harshly, his gaze once again returning to the paper on his desk. “Your report, is it truly accurate or partial speculation?”

“No, it is all fact. I recorded what I saw in my notes and simply reported it back to you. There is no pretense in that report,” the lieutenant replied, his voice now more controlled.

“So he’s back, then. This is certainly something unexpected and most disturbing. I suspect you already know what this means?” he asked, sure that his best officer had long before pieced the proverbial puzzle together in his swift mind.

“Yes, Saitoh-sama, I do,” he answered, shifting his weight. “He’s still at it, after all these years. I would have thought that he would have forgotten all of that by now.”

“No, of course not. That would be the smart thing to do.”

A few moments of still silence enveloped them, each engulfed in their own thoughts. Finally, something dawned on the general as he caught sight of the dark red ribbon Aoshi always kept fastened around his sheath. “Are you going to tell her?” he asked, half to himself. He had been doing a lot of questioning today.

The lieutenant followed his superior’s gaze and sighed, the only indication of emotion since his irritated tone earlier. “I don’t think so. It would be too painful for her, and besides, I haven’t even laid eyes upon her in seven years,” he responded quietly. It was a subject he didn’t particularly care to broach; strong emotions always overcame him when speaking of her and he didn’t like the feeling of not being in control of himself at all times.

“Then this would be a good time to visit. I think you at least owe her that, Aoshi. Would you rather she finds it out on her own, or worse, from him directly?” the Kahaktrian general countered, knowing he had just unsheathed a very hot knife to force his lieutenant to look at the situation rationally.

“I…I’ll think about it,” he admitted softly, Saitoh’s words cutting to the core and leaving him desperately in need of a change of subject. Suddenly, he remembered something that had been intriguing him for the past few weeks. “How did that whole matter with your “treason” turn out, Saitoh?”

The general didn’t miss the absence of the formal suffix, and inwardly he was relieved. The kid was finally relaxing a little. “There was nothing of consequence to discuss. Honestly, thinking I would actually betray my own country and hand over real military documents of such grave importance. Sanosuke probably got the idea from Himura.”

“True, but in their defense, your intentions are not always crystal clear, Saitoh. I don’t even know what your have in mind most of the time.”

The general allowed a slight chuckle to surface on his normally humorless face. “Just the way I would like to keep it. My affairs are my own and no one else’s.”

*-*-*-*-*-*-*-

The desert was much colder at night and Kenshin had discovered he liked it that way. The sun’s light was simply too blazing and so damned intolerable in this climate, but the night was serene and welcoming like the arms of a forgotten mother.

He felt, rather than saw, someone approach from behind. Hand at his left hip, ready to draw his blade if necessary, he turned ever so slightly to look into the face of this newcomer. A sigh of relief flooded his mind.

“Aoshi.”

“Himura,” the taller man replied, slightly inclining his head in greeting.

Kenshin had long been awaiting the arrival of his fellow Hitokiri and military informant. True, having someone who could get close to the higher-ups in the army was really useful, but at the same time frustrating because of conflicts between the two separate duties. “I was starting to think you’d been detained by another reconnaissance mission. Do you have any news regarding the situation?” the bandit leader inquired, eyes perfectly reflecting his anxiety.

“Yes, and some rather disturbing news, at that,” the soldier replied, his glance darting about the small oasis fervently to assure himself they were alone. “It appears the situation is much more complicated than we first thought. Our enemies seem to have no knowledge of the threats they have been sending us, but at the same time have possession of several of our military strategies and documents.”

“It seems there’s a traitor among the Kahaktrian army, then,” the redhead muttered, thinking out loud. “Any ideas on who this bastard is?”

“I can’t confirm anything yet. Whoever it is has done one hell of a job covering their tracks and…”

Their conversation was abruptly shattered by the piercing sound of something like a war cry. Suddenly, like a great bird of darkness, a figure fell from the air and landed soundly between the two men, never losing balance. Wasting no time, the mysterious figure withdrew his sword and attacked both men without warning. His skill became quite apparent when, in a matter of minutes, he had gained the upper hand against the two Hitokiris.

Kenshin charged forward, taking the offensive and giving the intruder a taste of his raw power. However, it did not take long for the man to gain his footing once again and, with a mighty blow, he sent the red-haired man into the trunk of the nearest palm tree. Coughing blood and cursing profusely, the marauder leapt from where he had landed and once again attacked the stranger head on. He managed to down the man twice, dealing him several crippling blows to the torso, and began to feel his confidence returning from his languid, shock-induced state of mind. He charged again, intending to end the fight, but before he could even come close with his sword, he felt the impact of the blunt end of a hilt on his forehead. A dirty tactic brought forth on a second wind.

As his vision was blurring, he began to stumble back only to be caught on the wrist by his attacker. Irrevocably held in place, with his enemy’s blade poised at his stomach, the Battousai realized death would come on swift wings if he could not free himself. But the strike never came. The mysterious swordsman had quickly flipped his weapon so it was directed behind him and thrust backwards, never taking his eyes away from Kenshin.

Aoshi, caught in mid-stroke with an unprotected torso, fell wordlessly to the sand in a pool of his own blood, an angry, deep gash in his stomach.

Without a sound, the assassin sheathed his sword and quickly fled the scene amidst Kenshin’s infuriated screams, his bandages trailing in the wind behind him.

“Do not attempt to interfere with our plans, Battousai, or you will lose more than just a lieutenant. An emperor, perhaps…”

*-*-*-*-*-*-*-

His eyes shot wide-open as he sat up ramrod straight, his breathing heavy and his palms clammy. Gods, you think I’d be used to this dream by now. After all, this wasn’t the first time he had experienced it. The thing that disturbed him most about this dream, however, was not what happened throughout its course, for in that sense it was more a memory than a dream, but the fact that it had been recurring several times within the past few months was enough to make him wary.

Even more, the fact that it had been recurring at least once a night for the past week was enough to make him worry.

*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-

She watched in a horrified fashion as her love died right before her eyes.

Even though she was seventy-three miles away, the distance served as no hindrance to keep her from experiencing first-hand emotions. After all, she didn’t need to be there if she could witness the whole scene from where she stood, eyes closed, in her tent. The sound of his last breath was enough to convince her it was all terribly real.

And there was nothing she could do about it.

How cruel could the gods be? To bless her with powers that allowed her to do extraordinary things, but she could not save the life of the one she loved most in this world. It was the first time she had felt utterly useless and weak, unable to do anything but watch and cry. If only she had been able to see the man, woman, or thing responsible for his death, then she could avenge him instantly and ease the grief a little. But there was nothing she could see in the clouded image to offer any kind of clue as to the identity of Aoshi’s murderer.

Unless…

Here tears of lament turned to tears of hate as she continued to watch the death vision slowly clarify into something more distinguishable than just a dying soldier. Him. It was him. She could see it now: the blood on his clothes, his unsheathed sword lying on the ground next to Aoshi, the body of her love in his arms. He had killed her lover, father, brother, friend, and confidant all in one stroke. And he would pay.

Dearly.

*-*-*-*-*-*-*-

She laughed as she sealed the curse, completing the ritual by thrusting one of her sharpened darts into her side and causing the blood to flow freely from the confines of her body. Her macabre humor was only furthered when she watched the vision of his body convulse, wracked with the curse’s pain. His eyes opened momentarily as he screamed in agony, showing a shade of amber the world had never known before. A few moments later, the convulsions subsided and the color of his eyes slowly returned to their usual violet color. Before he fully drowned in the open arms of unconsciousness, she left him with one final thought.

“A gypsy is a terrible thing to anger.”

Now, she would see how long he could survive with this bloodthirsty demon longing buried within his human soul. He would be ripped apart starting with his mind. What will he do now to control his bloody rage and maintain his sanity at the same time?

Her cold laugh echoed far into the night.

*-*-*-*-*-*-*-

All the elders in Kahaktri couldn’t help him with this one, and he knew that all too well.

If only Shishio had stayed in his grave where he was put to rest seven years ago…Feh, hoping to change the present was foolish. The future, however, was up for grabs to anyone who dared to mold it. Although he could not save their past, perhaps he could save their second chance…

It had been so painful to leave her; he had thought he would die from the suffering and emptiness that ensued. But he knew it was simply what had to be done, no matter what his personal feelings on the matter had been. The state of the country always came first, as did the people’s happiness, and Aoshi had to do what was safest for the general populous and not what would best benefit his own interests.

It hurt like hell to do the right thing.

After that night he and Kenshin were attacked by the assassin, whom he later discovered to be Shishio, he had awoken on the dewy floor of the oasis, dry blood caked on his clothing. Although his mind had felt like it was in a million different places at once, he had slowly begun to recall the events of the past night- two nights, maybe?- and he had quickly lifted his shirt to check the wound.

There was nothing there but unscathed skin and dry blood.

Bewildered was an understatement to what he had felt at that moment. The last thing he had recalled was the sound of his murderer’s voice taunting Kenshin with threats to assassinate Sanosuke-sama should they tell others what they had learned. He didn’t need to be told by anyone that Shishio had meant what he said, however mocking he may have seemed.

Deciding that the best course of action was to return to the military encampment and report back to Saitoh, he gathered his sword and stumbled out of the oasis and into the arid desert night. Even though he knew what he was doing was for the best, he couldn’t stop his mind from wandering back to melancholy thoughts of his lover and the bandit leader.

He never saw Misao or Kenshin again.

Walking further away from the oasis where he had been reborn, he thought he detected the smell of some exotic fragrance on the cool breeze.

It almost smelled…like white plums.