CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

“Oh gods no,” Thalia breathed, appalled to find herself manifesting fire again, though it was far less consuming than it had been on the planet’s surface. She had not panicked on the battlefield in longer than she could remember, but now her breathing quickened with her pulse, and fear gripped her with iron claws.

Her opponent used her distraction to press back at her suddenly, knocking her off-balance. She swung back around, keeping low, and stuck one of her knives into each of his sides, restraining herself from thoughts of any and all the elements; pushing back hard against the planet's presence, insistent, invasive - threatening. Her enemy's sword fell out of his dying hands and glanced off the wall, striking her leg and drawing a deep gash across her thigh.

Harada was starting to feel fatigued, so he knew he needed to end this sooner rather than later. He put an extra burst of speed into his movements, enough to parry and turn in just the right way to catch Aoi on a pressure point, stunning him. Thalia put her knee on the back of his neck, baptizing him with blood from her fresh wound while Harada handcuffed him. Finally, then, he could embrace her with all the relief and passion in his soul.

Almost at once, the strength she’d been keeping up dissipated. She dissolved into heartbroken tears, sobbing over all the fear, sorrow, and love of the past three days. He had never seen her cry like this, and it quickly began to upset him. His own eyes started stinging, so he looked around the room to distract himself.

There was plenty to look at; Sekiguchi had deprived them all of his head after all, the sly bastard, and committed seppuku like a true samurai. This gesture in itself provoked strong mixed feelings in the Vice-Commander. He had left letters, too, Harada saw; one of which had his name on it. Another was addressed to Izumida Kei, another to Nakamura Kirito, and the last to Thalia.

Something really was wrong with her, he thought in dismay. She had not stopped sobbing, and she clung to him with what seemed like fear. Fear was normally something alien to Thalia; she repudiated it in the way she lived. She believed fear and love were mutually exclusive, and that evil almost always sprang from a root of fear. He had never known her to give fear an inch of leeway before; yet her distress right now held a great deal of it.

His protective instincts were already in overdrive; the way she trembled piteously and hid her face against him made him desperate to shelter her, to give her safety and security she would never doubt.

“My love, don’t cry so hard. You’re breaking me. Don’t make me cry in front of these assholes,” he said in a soothing voice, making sure he stood against a blank wall from which he could see the door.

It seemed the battle was over; anyone who had not surrendered had been killed or captured. The others had started to gather in the doorway of the cabin, and all their faces went through the same play of powerfully opposed emotions when they registered everything in this room.

Kirito arrived splattered with blood, eyes still wild. He cursed loudly when he saw Sekiguchi, then knelt beside him with his head in his hands. Harada wondered how much relief he felt underneath the anger and regret over wasted potential, wasted love and lost life.

“He left letters for the three of us as well as Izumida Kei,” Harada said. Kirito nodded, not looking up.

“In the end, then, he was still a samurai,” Kirito said, smiling a little through his tears. “In the end, he cared abou” – he stopped abruptly. “No, no, wait – there’s no weapon. Where’s the blade? He must have been forced to do this, but who would go to all that trouble but you?” he said to Harada.

“No, no one forced him; he used Thalia’s knife, which she needed for her own use and reclaimed a few moments ago,” Tetsuya explained. This made Thalia cry harder.

Kirito looked at her in consternation; this was very unlike the woman he knew. Gwyneth, Yamamoto, and Okada showed up; Okada rushed toward Thalia, who was still attached like a limpet to Harada’s shirt. She was not making a lot of noise, but her deep racking sobs were filled with an ocean of horror.

“Kaa-chan, please don’t,” he said as he knelt beside her and leaned his head against her, one hand on her back. She managed to loosen her grip on Tetsuya with one hand, which she placed trembling in Okada's hair.

Everyone looked at each other as if the world were ending; Thalia Cairde, shaking like a leaf in a storm? What was this?

Saya was clinging to Kyoko, both splattered generously with blood, their eyes full of tears in sympathy with Thalia’s.

Gwyneth stepped forward, her eyes big and frightened; the little kitchen boy was still hanging onto her skirts. “My sister is terrified. This has never happened before in this lifetime, not within my memory,” she said.

“But terrified of what?” Harada demanded, frustrated not to know what to fight off.

Gwyneth swallowed. “Of that planet,” she replied softly, looking at the land below both ships. More than one person felt his or her skin crawl at that response.

Thalia managed to pull herself somewhat together at the sound of her sister’s trembling voice. “Gwyn,” she said in a watery voice, turning at last in the circle of Tetsuya’s arms to face her. “Oh, Gwyn, how I’ve missed you!” she exclaimed.

Gwyneth rushed into Thalia’s embrace, and both shed happier tears for a moment. Everyone except Tetsuya, who still couldn’t see Thalia’s injured face, stared in shock; it was a terrible sight at this point. The left side of her head had bled pretty heavily where she landed on it after Aoi kicked her. Enough time had passed for the swelling to take effect as well; her eye was puffed shut, her lip split.

“The planet?” Harada repeated, wondering why this should raise the hair on the back of his neck the way it did.

“Harada-san, we should get her out of this place as soon as possible,” Kyoko said softly to him, having come over with Saya to put her hand on Thalia’s shoulder. Her eyes were even larger than usual, and she, too, looked frightened nearly senseless.

What the hell is with this place? Harada wondered, his stomach clenching. These women were warriors; they didn’t flinch at bloodshed or death, yet this planet had them petrified, apparently just by existing. He knew their instincts responded to different threats than typical male instincts, and shuddered to think he and the others were walking obliviously with unknowable monsters, close enough to stir the hair on their heads with the rank breath of otherworldly air.

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“Something terrible happened there, didn’t it, Thal?” Gwyneth said softly, though her words seemed to echo in the death-filled air.

Thalia began to tremble harder again. “Yes,” she whispered, her eyes haunted.

Kirito rose, taking the letters with him after silently taking leave of his childhood friend, who had grown into his enemy. He tucked the ones for himself and Izumida into his kimono, then handed the other two to Harada, who indicated they should be given to Okada for the moment. Paper was not going to find a safe haven on his person until after a hot shower and a change of clothes. This uniform might need to be burned, also, he thought.

Okada tucked the letters carefully inside his jacket. “What next?” he asked. This was a new thing, Tetsuya thought with surprise; Okada normally pretended not to recognize him as a superior, only taking his orders from Chief Kato when he could get away with it. He always obeyed direct orders from the Vice-Chief, but had never actually requested them before.

Harada picked up Thalia, who made no protest, but curled inward toward the shelter of his chest. “My priority is to take care of her. I know you’ll want to be with her also, but someone needs to stay here and start getting this mess sorted out. It’s a good thing Yamamoto snuck on board after all; he can handle this side of it for a while, then you can relieve him.”

Okada nodded. “We’ll need to put the right spin on this,” he said. “Natsume Ishida will do everything he can to spin it against us.”

“I know,” Harada said with a chilling smile. “It’s one of several reasons I have for keeping Aoi alive.”

Okada’s eyes lit with a fiendish glow. “I see,” he said. “It will be my pleasure to install him in his new quarters before I go off-duty, Vice-Commander.”

“Just don’t forget his value,” Harada cautioned. “We need him alive and unharmed.”

“Why unharmed?” Okada wanted to know. Tetsuya glared at him. “Oh, all right, all right,” Seizo said sulkily.

“Yamamoto,” Harada called.

“Yes, Vice-Chief?”

“I’m putting you in charge here for now. We need to get this cleaned up; we’ll be taking this ship back with us, so you can use the brig for prisoners. It’s bigger than ours, which will be occupied by Aoi. Captain Okada is taking him off the ship in a few moments, so you don’t need to worry about him.”

Yamamoto looked appalled; Harada had never put him in charge of any scene before, and although the trust pleased him, the role of leadership did not. He did not complain, however. “Understood,” he said. “What about Sekiguchi?” he asked.

Tetsuya caught Kirito’s eye. “He died a samurai, though a dishonored one. We’ll observe his death as is appropriate, so take care with the body. If he has family to claim him, we’ll deal with that as it comes up. If not, we’ll take care of it ourselves.”

Kirito bowed slightly, acknowledging that he understood the gift he was being given; the option to accept Sekiguchi as brother again, or to disown him permanently. He decided then and there to give Kei the same option once they returned, along with the letter left for him.

Harada departed the Hellfire Rising ship then, his trembling fiancée held close to his heart. Gwyneth, surprisingly, elected to stay and help Yamamoto organize the initial stages of taking over the ship. She must have sensed how far out of his depth he was, Yamamoto thought, but it surprised him that she did not want to be with her sister at such a time.

“Thalia needs to be alone with Tetsuya right now; her fear is making me afraid also, and she hates it when her emotions spill onto me. Typical big-sister bullshit, but I don’t want her any more upset than she already is. Only he can help her when she gets like this,” Gwyneth explained.

Yamamoto nodded. “In that case, I’m very grateful for your help,” he said, bowing slightly in her direction with a sincere smile.

Okada Seizo was taking charge of his prisoner, who was beginning to show signs of returning consciousness. He took away all weapons or potential weapons, and in the process discovered a stiff piece of paper sticking out of one pocket. It looked like the paper on which the letters had been written; sure enough, when he took it out, it was a letter written to Aoi from Sekiguchi. On impulse, Okada tucked it away in his inside jacket pocket alongside the others.

“Do you really think that’s a good idea?” Saya asked from beside him, making him jump.

“Damn it, Saya, don’t sneak up behind people. It’s dangerous,” Okada said sharply. His face was burning, telling him he was flushing guiltily, and that irritated him even more.

“You didn’t want anyone to see you taking that, is what you mean,” she corrected cynically. “People who read other people’s private papers generally don’t like what they find,” she warned.

“He has no private papers; he’s a known terrorist who is now my prisoner,” Okada retorted.

“He’s the Shinsengumi’s prisoner, I thought,” she replied, not sure why she was arguing with him over this, but knowing she felt strongly that he would regret reading that letter. “Are you self-identifying as Shinsengumi incarnate?” she asked sarcastically.

“Maybe I am. Look, Sa-chan, if I let you read it with me, will you keep it secret? Just for now. Please.”

“But why do you want to?” she asked. “I really don’t think it’s a good idea.”

“That’s the offer. Take it or leave it,” Seizo said stubbornly, refusing to address her question.

“Fine,” Saya said, annoyed. “Just don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

“We’ll read it together when we get back on board. Will you help me get his things over there? All this stuff is his,” he said, indicating the scattered weapons and miscellany he’d confiscated. For some reason, he wanted the Bloodfire girl’s help and no one else’s.

“Of course,” she replied, understanding though neither of them articulated it that he trusted her. His trust meant more to her than she would ever have admitted, much as she disagreed with his decision about the letter. Well, she would be there for him in the aftermath, she thought grimly, still convinced that what he read would devastate him somehow.

Kyoko had taken charge of the little kitchen boy, who was difficult to detach from Gwyneth at first, but who soon transferred his iron grip to Kyoko’s hand. “Come, little one,” she said gently. “We’ll get you something to eat and drink, right after we get you clean and warm.”

Kyoko saw Kirito as they went, still staring at his old friend’s corpse. She went over and put her free hand on his shoulder. “Kiri-chan,” she said.

“Hmm?” Kirito replied, rousing himself as if from a dream or a vision. He was standing over Sekiguchi’s body, his thoughts returning to the years they had spent together as boys, then as men, and then the terrible rift that had come between them as a result of Sensei Kurama’s death.

It had been so senseless, that rift; all of them had loved their teacher, who had adopted them as his own children. They had all been war orphans, all the students in Kurama’s dojo; he cared for them as if they were his own, and their devotion to him had been absolute in return.

Yet somehow, his death and the war in general had devastated each of them in such different ways that they could no longer tolerate each other. Sekiguchi’s mind had broken somewhere along the line, though Kirito could never pinpoint when or how precisely. Had it been when he lost his eye? Or was it during the brief time he had spent as a prisoner of war? Or had his mind broken when Kurama was executed, just as all their minds had, except that his never mended, but only grew worse with time?

Perhaps the letter would answer some of these questions, he thought sadly. It wasn’t likely that even Sekiguchi knew the answers, however, let alone being able or willing to articulate them in his preparation for death.

“Will you stand up as brother to him at the funeral?” Kyoko asked.

“Not sure yet,” Kirito said softly. That was one question he had decided he would answer based on what was in the letter.

“What about Kei-san? Do you think he will?”

Kirito thought about this, then shrugged. “I can’t even tell how I feel, really,” he replied, “so there’s no way I could answer with certainty about Kei’s feelings. People generally assume he cares more, because I’m too lazy to show it most of the time, but I’m not sure how he’ll deal with this. He might be pissed off that this bastard died a samurai’s death by his own choice, despite it being a dishonorable death of sorts; I’m dead sure he’ll be pissed off that we were here without him, but that’s his own fault for being so at odds with the Shinsengumi.”

They were both silent for a moment, then Kirito continued in an irritable tone that told Kyoko he was getting ready to leave the death room. “Who can tell how Kei will react to anything? None of us ever could growing up – except Sensei, of course – although Teiji came closest at times. Kei’s a guy who goes undercover as a woman and makes incomprehensible choices about honor,” Kirito said finally with a sort of fond irritation. “There’s no applying reasonable standards to him.”

Kyoko nodded, smiling. She recognized it as fairly momentous that Kirito had mentioned his teacher directly; his past was one subject he never opened up about, and seemed as if he never would. He and Thalia had exchanged war stories during a drinking binge, so she probably knew more than anyone apart from Kei, who had been with him and Sekiguchi when it all happened.

“I think Thalia-san really cared for Sekiguchi,” Kyoko said suddenly, without knowing she meant to say anything of the kind.

Kirito nodded. “She did. She’d known him even longer than I had,” he said, still lost in thought. Kyoko found this confusing, but did not remark on it further. Some things, she found, were better left unexplained and unexplored.