CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Thalia’s eyes darkened with pain as she recognized Yamamoto in the mound of clothing, beaten bloody and mercifully unconscious. He must have been discovered after sending his message. Then her rage took her again, and her face grew more terrible than ever.

“It will be the worse for you if either of them suffers permanent harm,” she warned.

“They won’t, if you will but listen to me,” Sekiguchi said softly, reasonably. “Who better than a Fury, a goddess of justice and vengeance, to understand why I must do what I do? This world is full of evil, is it not? It is vile, contemptible, unworthy. It destroys what is noblest in its midst. Why do we tolerate it? Would it not be seemlier to destroy what is corrupt, let the dust settle, and begin again with more suitable materials?” He spoke now with his lips nearly touching her skin as he walked in slow circles around her. He kept bringing his nose close, inhaling her scent as if it intoxicated him. His fingers grazed hers as he passed; to none of this did Thalia show a reaction.

Harada, on the other hand, felt his temper rising.

When Thalia replied there was a kind of pity in her voice.

“Tell me, Sekiguchi Teiji,” she said, turning his own methods on him, speaking in a low, seductive voice with her lips near his ear. He was captured by the first syllable. “What kind of conditions for a new and better world would be present after mass destruction? What kind of people would be left to rebuild? Your desire for destruction claims a noble goal, but rushes greedily over everything – good, bad, indifferent – in its hunger to consume.”

“Ah, but this is why I need you at my side,” he said, standing in front of her and looking at her with his dark eye full of passion. “You are the laser precision to direct my wrath; you know how, having directed your own for so long.”

“And what do you know of my wrath?” she demanded, suddenly filling her voice with the disturbing minor-key harmonics that caused nerves to fray. Wataru hissed when he heard it, whether in pain or pleasure no one knew. Her fangs grew long and sharp, bared near Sekiguchi’s throat; her eyes glowed with anger. “You have told yourself pretty stories about what drives it. You think that because you hurt those I love, and claim power to hurt them more, I will have to bow and direct my rage as you wish; that betrays how little you understand me.”

“Then make me understand,” he said, pleading.

Tetsuya found observing this exchange both excruciating and intriguing; the possessive lover in him hated Sekiguchi’s offensive proximity to her, and sickened to see her returning it, though he understood her strategy.

The strategist in him found it fascinating, even thrilling, to watch these two bait each other. Sekiguchi had done as much research on Furies as Tetsuya had, and knew he had to expose himself, let her see everything, if he hoped to avoid her wrath; yet in showing her his pain he also gave her insight to exploit. Thalia clearly found it difficult to maintain her Fury in the face of her enemy’s vulnerability, which appealed to her sense of justice; so she undermined him with her Grace, the side of her Sekiguchi had not known about.

“You try to bend me to your will using the only motivation you understand: fear. But fear has no place in a true Fury, one that is driven by love. You may destroy the bodies of those I love, and you may cripple their souls, but I will only love them all the more, and will see them again soon, whatever happens. Punishment will come to you nevertheless, because justice and balance must be maintained. That is how a true Fury operates.”

“Are you telling me I cannot make you feel fear that inspires you to act?” he asked.

She gave him a slow, dangerous smile. “What do you think?”

“That I’ll call your bluff.” He signaled Aimi. She blew three darts rapid-fire at Tetsuya, but when they got there, he wasn’t. It seemed the Demon Vice-Commander had not lost all his speed.

Thalia raised one eyebrow. “You’ll have to try harder,” she suggested, feeling Tetsuya’s presence behind her. They stood back-to-back now, a unit of strength. Thalia could feel his exhaustion, though he did not show it; she did what she could to lend him her reserves.

She did not look in Yamamoto’s direction, since she did not want to remind anyone there was still a hostage. Instead, she spoke in a more conciliating tone, modulating her voice to be as soothing as a cool damp cloth laid gently over a fevered forehead.

“Sekiguchi, do me the courtesy of hearing me: you tried to coerce me outright because you knew I would not willingly do your bidding; but you assume wrongly that I do not understand you. I know your rage. I know how it burns inside, how it threatens to consume everything within and leave you nothing but a hollow, blackened shell with the moaning of the wind your only voice.

“I know, too, that your rage originates in pain.” Her voice held a deep, rich note of compassion here. “I know how you loved your sensei, that he was your adoptive father, and how cruelly the invaders stole his life while none of you could do anything to stop them. You have never stopped grieving, but you believe that sorrow is weakness, and you feel the illusion that anger is a stronger place than grief; so you drown your pain in torrents of wrath.

“I know you realize your sanity is dangling by a single slender thread which sometimes snaps and drops you further into the abyss of madness, but that so far you have managed to find another thread to grasp in time to pause the descent.”

Sekiguchi was staring at her now as if he wanted to kill her slowly, but also wanted to break down and cry at her feet. No one, doubtless including himself, could tell which desire was the stronger. Harada hardly dared breathe, praying that nothing would break the spell she had woven over the whole ship.

She continued: “And do you know how your rage differs from mine? You use fear to motivate for the simple reason that you yourself are motivated by it. You fear what might happen to you if you stop and feel your grief, which is sooner or later always the price we mortals pay for love; you fear what you might do if you let yourself endure the pain of loss. You use fury as a shield, as a wall to protect you from your grief, pain, and fear.

“The problem with walls like that is that they grow, Sekiguchi Teiji; one subtle, silent, inexorable inch upon another – until one day, you’re no longer hiding behind a wall. You’re imprisoned alone in a tower with no doors or windows, huddled in a dark pit you can no longer control or understand. You know of what I speak, I can see it in your face. You fear your lonely pit, but you fear to leave it even more.”

Sekiguchi’s frozen expression burst into a rictus of hate. “Can’t you stop talking?” he hissed, bringing his katana over his head and then down with enough force to split her in half. Harada was still faster – barely. He had his blade up, blocking with both hands, straining to push him back before anyone processed what had happened. Thalia swung around to cover Harada’s side, noticing a gunman taking aim. She threw the bloody knife that was still in her hand, piercing the pistol-wielder’s shoulder just as he took the shot.

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The gun’s aim was thrown off, but one of the bullets caught Thalia’s arm, traveling through and leaving a large bloody hole.

Thalia cried out, knocked to the ground by the impact, then got back up before Harada could so much as glance in her direction. Sekiguchi was smaller than he, but possessed of formidable strength. It took everything Harada had left to push him back away from her.

It was then that a bazooka fired from beside the ship, exploding on the top deck. Neither Furutani Aimi nor anyone else who had been up there could be seen through the dense, choking smoke.

“Nothing like waiting until the very last minute, Seizo,” Thalia muttered. Her arm was an appalling red smear, and she could feel her physical limitations encroaching on her.

Tetsuya was no longer grappling with Sekiguchi, who was retreating fast in the other direction. He began to pursue, but his leg hampered him, and he cursed.

Thalia grasped his arm with her good one. “Tetsu. Yamamoto,” she said. His eyes widened in horror when he saw her wound, but she was already darting away, her arm hanging at her side like a limp red banner on a windless day. He could not match her speed with his leg wound, which had reopened with his exertions and burned like a small brushfire; but he went after her as fast as he could, cursing her stubborn, heedless nature.

Thalia reached Yamamoto where he still lay unconscious. No one was paying him any attention, but he was in danger of being trampled. Thalia began trying to move him with her good arm.

Tetsuya finally arrived, cursing even more virulently. “What do you think you’re doing, idiot? You’ll bleed out if we don’t bind that wound!” he said, his voice rough with fear, and used his good arm and leg to get the younger officer out of the trample-zone. She didn’t give him a smartass comeback, a sure sign she was not feeling like herself, he thought with increasing anxiety.

Sure enough, as soon as they had moved Yamamoto out of harm’s way, she looked up at Tetsuya and smiled. “There,” she said, and collapsed on top of him, unconscious from blood loss.

Tears of worry and strain stung his eyes, and again he cursed under his breath. The blood was still flowing fast from her gaping wound; he needed to bind it. He remembered his cravat, though it was as ragged and filthy as the rest of him. Still, it was the best thing he had; he took it off and began trying to slow her blood loss.

The cloth went red as soon as it was bound around the wound, but once he wound it around a few times it began to slow. He made it as tight as he dared, then knotted it; he felt a small measure of relief when the red stain seemed to stop spreading. Perhaps he had been in time; he would never forgive himself or anyone in Hellfire Rising if it turned out he had not.

He sat with her on his lap, her head against his chest, shielding Yamamoto with their bodies. He held the katana propped in front of them all, though he hoped there would not be any further need for it today.

When Seizo’s face came into view amidst the chaos, Tetsuya smiled a little in relief; it was a history-making moment, Thalia would have said. Seizo did not return it, however, being too shocked at the sight that met his eyes. He had never seen Harada so near collapse, and at first he was afraid the worst had happened to Thalia. His eyes widened in fear.

“Kaa-chan!” he cried out, leaping over several bodies in succession to get to them. Harada frowned, wondering if he could possibly have heard correctly. Seizo did not even look at him, but knelt and tried to take Thalia from him.

Not even in his sorry state was that going to happen. “What are you doing, Seizo?” he snarled, turning away and raising the sword a little. “If you yank her away like that, you’ll start the bleeding again, damn you.”

“Is she alive?” Seizo asked, his eyes filled with the bright sheen that heralds tears.

“Yes,” Tetsuya said, “but she’s lost a hell of a lot of blood. We need to get her to a hospital right away.”

“Shit,” Seizo said, surveying the scene. It was still a battlefield, though it was becoming quieter. “Can you run?” he asked Tetsuya.

“No, and Yamamoto is unconscious behind me,” he replied grimly.

“Wait,” Seizo said, and ran off. It was not long before he returned with two other Shinsengumi members. “Let me carry her,” he said to Tetsuya, holding out his arms for Thalia. Tetsuya hesitated, not willing to give her to anyone, fearing he would never hold her again if he did. “Harada-san, please,” Seizo said.

The last time Okada Seizo had pleaded with Harada Tetsuya, it had been on behalf of his dying first love, and Harada refused. That had ended in a duel and years of bitterness; Tetsuya knew how hard it had to be for Seizo to ask him like that for anything.

“Did you call her ‘Kaa-chan’?” Tetsuya asked, his grip on Thalia loosening a little as he searched Seizo’s eyes.

“Yes,” Seizo replied; a tear spilled out and trickled down his cheek.

Tetsuya relented; this must have been what Seizo meant when he described his love for Thalia as familial, not sexual. It explained a great deal about the interactions between them lately, which had caused puzzled speculation among the younger officers – but only when they were certain the captain was well out of earshot.

Tetsu gave up his beloved to Seizo’s care and accepted the assistance of a young officer – strong enough to bear his weight if needed – to walk as quickly as possible toward the waiting submarine. The third officer lifted Yamamoto and carried him on his back.

Seizo practically sprinted back to the submarine. He was damned if anything was going to happen to her because he hadn’t been there just a little sooner – anything even worse than what already happened to her, anyway, a nasty voice in his mind snarled at him.

Tears continued to leak out of his eyes, unheeded. After what seemed an interminable run across a deck that had become an obstacle course, he reached the sub, somehow maneuvered them both inside it, and used the emergency radio to summon a medical airship.

The officer carrying Yamamoto arrived stumbling a few moments later, bleeding from a superficial head wound.

“Captain!” he said urgently once he had laid Yamamoto on a bunk. Seizo waved him off until he could put the radio down.

“What is it?” Seizo asked.

“The Vice-Commander – he’s still up there. He … might be dead,” the man said in a panic, choking on the words.

Seizo ordered him to stay beside Thalia as he raced back up to the deck, his face set and grim. Whatever his own complex feelings for Harada might be, he knew Thalia loved him more than life itself; and knew too that her love was reciprocated by him as it could never be by anyone else. If Thalia survived, he did not want her to wake up to a world she would hate.

The young officer who had been assisting Harada was definitely dead; a sharp, splintered spike of wood protruded from one eye, the other staring sightlessly up at the sun. He was covered in singe marks and minor lacerations, the only other major wound another puncture, this one through the inner thigh. Judging by the blood pooled, it had struck the femoral artery; he would have died even without the spike through his head. Someone must have thrown a grenade at them.

Seizo turned to Tetsuya sprawled beside him; there were no obvious fatal injuries, although he had several serious wounds, some of which looked days rather than hours old, yet were still open and oozing blood. His hand trembling, Seizo felt for a pulse in the carotids; thanked whatever gods there might be that he found one – thready, weak, but present.

There were footsteps running up to him from behind; without a thought, he drew his katana and whirled to face one of Hellfire Rising's remaining members bearing down on him with maddened eyes, sword raised over his head. Seizo ended his charge with a thrust through the sternum, straight out through the spine. He had a little difficulty retrieving his blade, which made him curse; he hated when his blade caught in the vertebrae. Finally he got it loose and wiped it clean. A cursory glance around told him no one else was near enough to pose an immediate threat.

He bent down and got a shoulder underneath Harada’s ribs, slung one arm over his own shoulder, and lifted. The Vice-Commander was four inches taller than he, so it was awkward, but he managed to get him onto the submarine’s deck. Pushing him through the door at this point would be counterproductive, since he could see the medical airship approaching.

He called the officer up from downstairs, telling him to stay with the Vice-Chief and await the coming ship; then went downstairs to be with Thalia again. He could not help her except with his love; so he expressed it by holding her small, pale hand in his, pushing her hair out of her eyes, stroking her forehead tenderly, avoiding the sight of the bloody mess that was now her arm.

When he heard the medical airship landing nearby, he bent and kissed her face, not wanting people to witness that, but needing to do it.

Seizo gave them instructions; two medics attended to the Vice-Commander, getting him onto a stretcher and into the airship, administering oxygen and hooking him up to monitors.

Four more went down into the submarine; Seizo led them to Thalia first, then to Yamamoto.

The ones caring for Thalia began speaking in low, grave tones that sounded sinister to Seizo in his hyperaware state. He went closer, straining to hear what they were saying.

“…recovery is not possible, I would think,” one of them was saying.