Rurouni Kenshin Fan Fiction ❯ Snowblind ❯ Wolf Hunt ( Chapter 4 )

Disclaimer: Kenshin and Saito do not belong to me, neither does the Bakumatsu, any amount of snow, and in fact anything that could be part of Watsuki's world. People are trying to talk me into patenting the Cursed Tofu Bucket, however.

 

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Snowblind Chapter 3

 

Kenshin had been prepared to ignore Tsuji Yamashita on the journey, expecting the Shinsengumi defector to be nervous, sly and full of bluster. Katsura had said that he trusted the two cousins and Kenshin in turn trusted Katsura's judgment, but that didn't mean he had to like Yamashita or even pretend that he did. He was Katsura's bodyguard, not his diplomat. Kenshin had crossed swords with Saito Hajime and Okita Souji enough times in the past year that he'd grown to respect the Shinsengumi as honorable opponents, and a man who would betray them to save his own skin was not someone he cared to befriend. Iizuka had, after all, been a painful example of the repercussions of misplaced trust.

 

He had been prepared to dislike Yamashita on sight. If he were forced to be honest, Kenshin would admit that for once he'd relished the idea of hiding behind the facade of his demonic reputation on his way back to Choshu friendly lands, if only to ensure the traitor knew full well what he faced if he dared to be less than honest in his dealings with Katsura.

 

His resolve began to fade when he finally entered the small tea garden in the hour before dark, hair carefully concealed beneath the wide brim of his straw hat, and came face to face with a boy younger than he was. And while he was nervous - the pale, calloused fingers constantly changing their grip on the cup in his hands - Tsuji Yamashita did not seem sly or particularly talkative. Instead, he looked haunted.

 

And frightened. Even if Kenshin hadn't read the fear on his face, the slight flinch that trembled through the boy's frame as Kenshin sat opposite him without a sound was enough. Yamashita's gaze dropped to the bandage on his cheek, then lifted again to stare hard at Kenshin's amber eyes, and he swallowed. At close quarters, it would be impossible for the boy not to know precisely who had come to take him from Kyoto on this cold winter evening.

 

Kenshin kept his silence, taking the time to study other, more subtle characteristics. The dark eyes were shadowed and faintly bloodshot, betraying sleeplessness and past tears. He discarded the idea that the boy was a coward as he took in the grim set of his mouth and the resolve apparent in the line of his shoulders. Yamashita might be scared, but he was committed to this course of action; it was an odd combination of emotions that made Kenshin wonder, for the first time, why he felt the need to abandon his current loyalties.

 

Yamashita took a moment to swallow, and then spoke with all the calm deliberation of a man resigned to his fate, hands clenched in his lap. “Are you here to kill me?”

 

Kenshin blinked and answered, voice very soft,[Author ID1: at Fri Jan 20 18:12:00 2006 ] “No.”

 

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Kenshin let himself doze in the end. He knew little enough about Saito, but he seriously doubted that the man would decide to kill him in his sleep. There was little point to such cowardice, not when it would have been child's play for Saito to slaughter him at any time he chose beforehand. Whatever reason the wolf had for keeping him alive, Kenshin would take advantage of the situation where he could. Let Saito stay up all night guarding the only sword; come the morning he would be tired whereas Kenshin would at least have the benefit of a few hours. Tired people made mistakes.

 

At the very least, he thought vindictively, Saito would have a miserable day.

 

He awoke to the quiet sound of feet padding away from the firewood to the nearby trees and opened his eyes, raising a hand to shield his sight from the initial brightness of the snow. Early morning sunlight filtered through the trees. The fire was almost dead; most of the wood he'd collected had been fed to the flames in the night. Kenshin glanced across to the few scattered pieces that remained, pressed slightly into the ground. Saito had let the fire die deliberately. He intended to move on soon.

 

So what happens now?

 

He heard the faint rustle and was ready this time, snatching the remainder of his clothing deftly from the air as Saito threw it to him. His underclothing was dry and his hakama had a faint, residual dampness that would fade as the morning progressed, particularly if they were traveling. The sky was still clear; hopefully the fine weather would last. Long enough that they could make it back to the road at the very least - assuming he was forced to remain in Saito's company until then.

 

He expected Saito to make a scathing comment on his decision to sleep, but the wolf was silent. Kenshin watched him curiously for a moment, and then turned aside as Saito slid the haori from his shoulders, letting him dress in semi-privacy. He rose to his feet, wincing at the cramped muscles in his legs. The night had been manageable with the warmth of his gi and the fire, but it had still been far too cold to be even remotely comfortable.

 

Today, the air was crisp and his breath misted the air, but it didn't seem quite as frozen. His mouth twisted wryly at the thought. Today doesn't seem as cold, because today I haven't had to pull myself out of a river. He drew on his clothing with swift efficiency, moved to uncharacteristic sarcasm as he knotted the ties on his hakama. Of course, the day is young. Chances are he'll want to head back to the river, looking for the men that fell. If that was the case, he'd have to make an attempt for his sword soon. The moment Saito managed to gather even one of his men, Kenshin's life would be forfeit. They would fall back to their roles as wolf and hitokiri and he would be left to bleed out in the snow. It was a death he'd no doubt earned, and the thought of it wasn't particularly frightening … but there were people relying on him to return. Katsura. Takasugi. Even Yamashita; he would survive this little journey with Saito, if only to make sure the boy made it back to his family safely.

 

Such concern for a traitor, I have. Kenshin drew the hand guards on and then flexed his fingers to test the suppleness of the leather, relieved to find they'd survived the water undamaged. A little more protection, at least. He drew his arms through the sleeves of his hanten jacket, permitting himself a brief moment to huddle into its added warmth. Fully dressed, he felt far less vulnerable.

 

He glanced up just in time to see Saito calmly tear a strip from the bottom of his yukata, and he was confused as to why, before remembering that Saito was injured. The shallow wound Kenshin had dealt him sliced neatly up and across his left shoulder and was no longer bleeding, though its awkward position meant that any real exertion on Saito's part risked opening it again. He knew already that Saito would find the shoulder difficult to bandage, and for a moment he considered offering assistance. He decided against it. Even if Saito did accept his offer, what was the point? Kenshin narrowed his eyes. Better that he took every advantage he could get, rather than offer help and be mocked for it.

 

He kept his silence as Saito drew the strip of bandaging tight, tying the ends off with the help of his teeth. Feigning disinterest, Kenshin scanned the trees while the other man finally pulled the rest of his clothing on. Many of the branches were still laden with snow, a burden that would no doubt slide to the ground in a flurry of icy white if they were forced to take any more weight. His gaze flicked from one to another, sizing them up.

 

“Are you done daydreaming?”

 

Saito's words held a measure of amusement. Kenshin had no doubt the wolf knew exactly what he was thinking; he didn't particularly care. If Saito hadn't been expecting a try for the sword, Kenshin would have called him an idiot to his face. He turned casually, expecting to meet Saito's mocking stare, and was surprised to find that Saito had already turned away, picking a careful path through the snow and into the trees. He didn't look back. Kenshin suppressed a small flare of irritation at the assumption that he would follow. Saito's casual deliberation was an act, one he would abandon at once if Kenshin did not follow behind.

 

Fully dressed and warmer, his movement was no longer as hampered; the thought that he could just turn and run fleet foot through the trees in order to escape was one he discarded. Saito had his sword. And really, there was only one direction he could take in order to get home from here--

 

Into the trees? Kenshin blinked, speaking before he could think better of it. “You're not going to follow the river?”

 

“No.” Saito turned his head a fraction, speaking absently over his shoulder as he walked. “The river curves. It's faster to cut across the land.”

We didn't go that far, surely? But the question was never asked, his mind taken with a more interesting one. I shouldn't ask. It's better if he doesn't go. But ... “What about your men?”

 

“What about them?”

 

Kenshin stared, his steps faltering. “You're just leaving them to die.” It wasn't a question.

 

“Don't be a fool.” Saito stopped completely, turning to face him with an annoyed look. “If they didn't make it out of the river, then they are dead. That is a simple fact.”

 

“And if they did?”

 

“Would you like us running around the countryside aimlessly, Battousai?” Saito gave a snort. “There are many places that one could leave the river. That means far too much ground to cover, and we have a job to do. Those that survived will have already turned back for the road. They will not waste time searching for me. I will not do the same for them.”

 

“That's cold,” Kenshin snapped. “You'd put the life of one fugitive over the lives of your men?”

 

Saito's smile turned feral, genuine anger bright in his gaze. “I don't need to explain myself to you, and you shouldn't be asking such pointless questions. You have an understanding of survival. You should already know why I won't delay.”

 

He did. Unless the Shinsengumi were trained in wood lore - something Kenshin didn't find likely, given their usual restriction to the streets of Kyoto - they could spend a great deal of time hunting for their allies fruitlessly in a largely inhospitable landscape, where wasting any time lessened their chances of survival greatly . Chances were, he realised suddenly, that even if they had struggled their way out of the river, they might not have survived the night. How many were still alive?

 

How many had he killed?

 

“If your self sacrificing 'heroics' have left any of my men able to function, then they will continue on after Tsuji Yamashita without me,” Saito said. “I have something more important to do now, after all.”

 

That got his attention. Kenshin narrowed his gaze. “And what would that be?”

 

“Taking you back to Kyoto, of course.”

 

“To do what?”

 

Saito gave a casual shrug, his gaze malicious. “What do you think? You're the hitokiri Battousai. I rather suspect it's my duty to take you in for interrogation and execution.”

 

“You--” Kenshin gave him a disbelieving look for a moment. Then he snarled. “I saved your life!”

 

“I haven't killed you yet,” Saito pointed out mildly.

 

“You consider that payment?”

 

“I consider it lenient.”

 

They glared at each other across the short distance. Kenshin's gaze was murderous, anger directed both at Saito and himself. Of course there would be no acknowledgment of his actions yesterday. Even if he wasn't responsible for the deaths of most of Saito's squad, this was a war. Don't be a fool. You knew all along things would come to this.

 

Saito's hand drifted down to settle on the hilt of Kenshin's katana.

 

So be it. He stared into the wolf's face boldly, flinging his words as a challenge. “I threw your daisho into the river.”

 

He had the gratification of seeing Saito's eyes widen in outrage before he moved, lightning fast. His speed was greater than anything the wolf could match; before Saito had finished drawing his sword, Kenshin had vanished into the trees, leaving only a small spray of snow settling back to the ground in the wake of his passage.

 

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Saito discarded immediately the idea that Battousai had run away; the hitokiri would no sooner take the coward's way out than Saito would allow him to succeed. He was neither blind nor stupid, and the way Battousai had been staring oh-so-subtly at the trees earlier told him all that he needed to know.

 

Battousai was making his play for the sword.

 

Saito grinned briefly, dark humour resurfacing, before bringing his purloined sword up to guard, moving steadily off in the direction the hitokiri had gone. He was more than willing to play this game, and while he could not match the speed of his enemy, his eyes were certainly sharp enough to be able to follow the elusive flicker of red hair as the man - boy; how old was he? - vanished upward. Assassin's tactics, and ones doomed to fail; in the bright light of the morning, with barely a shadow to vanish into and no weapon to hand, the hitokiri Battousai was to all intents and purposes defanged.

 

On the other hand, Saito hadn't managed to live this long by making the mistake of underestimating his opponents. Battousai was smarter than most; unless he had a reason for this ploy, the redhead wouldn't bother to attempt it. Saito made no attempt at stealth. There was no point. Instead, he moved with an almost lazy tread through the trees, taking his time, presenting himself as a deliberate target.

 

The hitokiri was adept at hiding his presence, having spent a significant amount of his earlier months in Kyoto skulking in back alleyways awaiting the kill. Nevertheless, Saito knew the moment he passed Battousai's hiding spot even without looking up. Above, the tiny creak of the branch fifteen feet up that gave away his deft perch; the faint shift and flutter of snow displaced, a bare sprinkling that drifted to the ground. That his enemy was good enough not to divest the branch of its entire burden was impressive, but his presence was still obvious to anyone trained, and that made Saito frown. Battousai wasn't stupid; he had to know his hiding place was compromised. That left one option: the hitokiri wanted to be underestimated.

 

Saito kept moving, deliberately leaving his back open to attack, continuing along his original path with a casual air. Let the idiot think that he was doing exactly that. He let the tip of the sword drop, letting it drag slightly, insultingly, in the snow. Behind him, the branch trembled faintly, and then was still. Battousai had moved, shifting to another perch close by. Saito had to fight down an amused snort.

 

Apparently, he was being stalked.

 

Interesting ploy, and one I will indulge. To a point. A few steps further and he was back at the campsite, the embers of their fire no longer warm. This tiny clearing, ringed by trees, would no doubt be where Battousai wanted him. He scuffed at the ashes with a faint scowl, the memory of his awakening still fresh in his mind. There was irony in that; a game was being played out, but Saito had no doubt that if Battousai attacked, he would be going for the kill. He did grin at that. If the idiot didn't want this to happen, then he shouldn't have pulled Saito from the river in the first place.

 

There was something missing from the campsite.

 

It took a bare second to realise what had changed. He glanced sharply across to the faint depressions in the snow, and the memory of the remnants of splintered firewood sparked in his mind. Splintered, sharp; better a weapon than nothing. He blinked in honest surprise - he's fast - as he felt the sudden, faint flicker of hostility behind and above him.

 

Saito spun, eyes hard, meeting Battousai's narrow amber gaze as the hitokiri dropped from above without a sound, brandishing a long shaft of wood in his hands like a club. He didn't miss a beat, but took a step backward, bringing the sword up to shear the branch neatly in two and continuing in an upward stroke aimed to cleave up through his opponent's head. Battousai stared at him levelly for the briefest moment before falling backward, avoiding the lethal strike with easy grace as he flung the remnants of his makeshift weapon up into Saito's face.

 

It was barely more than a distraction, which no doubt was what it was meant to be. The ploy worked to a minor extent; by the time Saito swatted away the annoyance, Battousai had ducked backward to buy space, avoiding the downward arc of the sword and launching himself back up to a low, snow-laden branch. He landed heavily and glanced back, expression almost insolent as he leapt higher, allowing Saito a moment to spot the other two, smaller pieces of splintered wood tucked in the back of the navy gi before the force of his movement sent a flood of snow cascading down from the branch and blocking his view.

 

And just like that, the hitokiri vanished.

 

Saito grinned. A club. He used it as a club. He knew he would fail ...

 

... very interesting.

 

Cat and mouse it was; he had little desire to scale trees in an attempt to hunt a man who clearly had more experience fighting amongst them. Saito wondered when he'd learned that trick - it wasn't as if their fights in Kyoto took place off the ground. Had Battousai grown up out here? Trained out here? It was effective, if that was the case. He certainly knew how to keep himself alive in the wilderness at any rate; something Saito couldn't say for many of the men he worked with.

 

That aside, Battousai still had at least two more tricks up his sleeve, and now Saito wasn't particularly minded to wait and see what they were. He turned in a careful circle, gaze flicking from tree to tree until he found the one he was after. No snow gave away the redhead's presence this time; he just knew. Above, he would be balancing one foot on the crook of the branch, clinging to the trunk, ready to jump at a moment's notice. Saito could visualise it just as clearly as if Battousai had been in plain sight.

 

“One shouldn't play at stalking a wolf, Battousai. Come down.” His smile turned predatory as he stared upward, lifting the blade and running his other hand along its length, before turning the blade to rest sideways across his palm. “If I must, I will pull you to the ground if I have to cut down every tree in the forest.”

 

He struck, powerfully fast, ignoring the sudden sting across his shoulder. The blade sheared through the trunk as if it were rice paper and sent an explosion of wood chips into the air. Battousai was leaping even as the tree shuddered, sailing across the clearing to catch at another branch and swing even further, fiery topknot streaming behind him. He landed deftly as a cat on a low branch not twenty feet away and caught Saito's eyes with a look of pure fury. Saito merely smiled coldly and closed to attack, ignoring the tumbling fall of displaced snow to slice through the branch. Battousai leapt again, landing on the ground lightly enough that he barely disturbed the crust on the ground and took off at a run.

 

Behind them, the thunder of the tree's fall was deafening, sending a plume of snow into the air violent enough to shower down around them. Saito ducked behind shelter, avoiding the majority of the downpour as he paused a moment to check the crimson stain seeping slowly through his haori, curling his lip in annoyance. He caught a flicker of movement ahead and glanced up to see that Battousai had turned in mid sprint. Red hair dusted in powdered white, he drew the second piece of wood from his gi and threw it in one easy movement, sending the small length of branch - practically a twig - spinning end over end, aimed directly at his face.

 

Saito batted it aside with the blade, eyebrow raised. It had taken far less effort than avoiding Battousai's first attack, and he wasn't sure if the hitokiri had plain misjudged or if Saito had somehow upset his attack plan. Either way, his enemy's only response was to narrow his eyes, turn and keep running, weaving through the trees in an attempt to throw pursuit.

 

Truly intrigued now - and flatly insulted at being underestimated in turn - Saito gave chase, eyes fixed on the trailing topknot as the hitokiri continued to weave and turn, apparently determined to make sure as many obstacles were between him and the wolf as possible. Saito was relentless, closing the distance gradually with his more direct sprint, eyes fixed on the ribbon of red hair ahead as he ran. They were much closer to the river now - he could see the flat grey expanse of the water through the trees - and it was only as Battousai turned to dart a look over his shoulder that Saito stopped short, aware that it was entirely possible he was being goaded onward. The hitokiri vanished once more into the trees.

 

What are you up to, Battousai? He held still, listening carefully to the world around him. The sluggish flow of water close by was audible now, as was the crackling sound of the felled tree settling to earth in the distance. Remembering the look of fury he'd received, Saito glanced down at the sword in his hand, inspecting it for damage. The blade was intact. He smiled faintly in approval ... and lifted his head as he heard the faint footfall of a small figure lowering himself down to the ground some distance behind him. Battousai had doubled back. He caught the motion of a lifted arm out of the corner of his vision and almost rolled his eyes, before spinning on his heel and lifting the sword to deflect the anticipated attack.

 

The snowball hit the blade and dissolved into a fistful of wet cold spattering into his eyes, taking him entirely by surprise.

 

Saito flinched, shaking his head in an attempt to clear his vision, his surreal disbelief rapidly overtaken by a sense of growing urgency. He took a step backward, focusing blurred gaze past the snow glittering back to earth and caught sight of murderous amber eyes a scant three feet away. Hurtling along the same path as the ball of snow, taking advantage of the temporary blind spot it created, Battousai descended upon him with his final branch thrust forward, jagged edge on a line for Saito's throat, and he no longer had room to parry--

 

Saito's foot crashed into the redhead's ribs, sending the much smaller frame crashing into the snow with a grunt. The splintered end of the branch scraped a line across his collarbone, and he cupped it with a hand, lips pulled back in a snarl as he watched Battousai roll back to his feet with a pained look, yanking the branch back out of the ground from where it embedded itself.

 

Fool. An insult directed at himself; the odd tactic had taken him completely by surprise, and it angered him. He'd been playing by Battousai's rules all along. Enough is enough. He gave a flick of his wrist to shake the last snow from the blade and advanced as the redhead took a step backward, face wary, the knowledge clear in his slightly widened eyes that his tactic had failed to work.

 

Saito gave him a hard smile, his voice low, barely more than a growl. “I am going to kill you.”

 

In response, Battousai swung the branch backward as if preparing for attack - yet instead of leaping at Saito, his strike drove into the ground with a ridiculous amount of force. Snow exploded upward and out, threatening to engulf Saito where he stood. He swept to the left, hearing the sharp crack as the branch shattered under the strain, sending large splinters into the air to rain down with the snow. He expected Battousai to attack then - and instead caught sight of the dark, blue and grey clad figure sprinting past for the river.

 

What...was that? He didn't stop to consider it further, instead giving chase with a cold fury that promised death for his quarry. He no longer cared that Battousai was now unarmed, nor that he previously had half-serious intent to ensure that any secrets the hitokiri held could be forced from him in the cells at Kyoto There were no further tricks; Battousai was clearly in full flight now, aware that he was out of options, bursting from the trees to make straight for the river's edge.

 

He was still too fast; Saito drew the sheath from his belt, hurling it low and straight. The iron slammed into the back of his quarry's knees. This time, there was a sharp, surprised hiss of pain as Battousai fell again, tumbling to plow into snow and skid further down the bank, fetching up by the water's edge. Face pale with concentration, the hitokiri latched onto the rocks nearby, drawing himself up onto his knees, hand plunging into the snow beside him as Saito leapt across the snow to attack from above, bringing his stolen sword down in a vicious arc that the redhead would not be able to avoid--

 

The clear, ringing sound of steel on steel echoed through the crisp winter morning.

 

The blade was only partly drawn, held by hilt and sheath, the bared length of steel - Saito's own sword - parrying the killing blow. And as Saito stared across the crossed blades into the venomous eyes of his enemy, he decided to add one more detail to the information he was carefully memorising about this worthwhile opponent ...

 

... that among many other things, the hitokiri Battousai was a liar.

 

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Next Chapter: If a samurai falls in a forest, does anyone care? Saito and Kenshin stop to consider the wisdom of murdering each other miles from anywhere, and options are carefully examined.