Blossom of the Samurai Page 7

  “You need me here, at the theater.”

  “I need you alive and well, A-chan. You’re one of my dearest friends in the entire world.”

  The anger Toho had squelched earlier now began to resurface. He wanted nothing more than to put a sword through Sozaemon. “There is no point arguing,” he muttered. “Aoki is in no shape to travel right now and I’m not leaving him.”

  “Toho, please.”

  Toho leveled a look at Aoki. His determination was stronger than the very blade of his sword, crafted by one of the best swordsmiths in Edo. “The conviction I had when I promised to return to you, Aoki-san, is the same now that tells you I won’t leave your side. I will write to my fathers and ask them to come here.”

  “You shouldn’t bother them, To-chan. Please, just return until it’s safe.”

  “I want to make sure I’ve done the plasters properly. I’ve never practiced on my own before. I want Sho to check on my ministrations.” Toho rose. “I’m going to post a message to my fathers now and then stop at the theater to inform Daisuke of what has happened. I will return in a short while.”

  Genji nodded. “Thank you, Toho-kun. I’ll stay here, of course.”

  “What about the performance?”

  Genji stroked Aoki’s hair. “I have an understudy too, my dear.”

  AOKI WATCHED Toho leave. He didn’t want Toho going out but no longer had the strength to beg him not to. Knowing Toho as he did, the youth would have refused his entreaties anyway. He sighed, closed his eyes, and allowed himself to relax a bit under Genji’s comforting, sisterly touch.

  In the quiet that ensued however, the nightmarish memories surfaced with great force. The pain in his body throbbed, a cruel reminder of what had happened a mere few hours ago. Against his will, he whimpered.

  “Shh, A-chan. You’re safe now,” Genji crooned, as if to a small child.

  Aoki opened his eyes and met Genji’s kind gaze, upside down because of the position of their faces. For years now, Genji had been the confidant to whom he told the kinds of intimate things he could say to no other. After all, Genji had been a kagema as well, until his love affair with Daisuke had bloomed into a partnership that had enabled him to go off the game. Genji understood things that many others, Toho included, would not. “Sozaemon… he… he….” Tears made his vision blur. He’d never been someone given to weeping, and now he couldn’t stop himself.

  “Shh,” Genji said again, his caress on Aoki’s hair a constant comfort. “I understand, A-chan. You don’t need to say the words.” He used the pad of his thumb to wipe Aoki’s tears. “I’m just glad you told me. Now it will no longer be a dark burden.”

  Instead of feeling unburdened, a memory of Sozaemon’s expression, of his jealous words, surfaced, and guilt assailed Aoki for having inspired such insecurity in the man he’d wanted to love. “Yes, it will, Genji. I… made him think that I was going back to my old life. He thought Toho and I… that we….” Aoki shook his head. “I suppose I deserved it.”

  “Oh. My dear friend, don’t you ever say such a thing. You couldn’t be more wrong. No one deserves such abuse!” Genji picked up his hand and squeezed it. “You are the kindest person I’ve ever known. I wish everyone in the world were as good at heart as you. There would be nothing but peace and love.”

  The praise only made more tears fall. “You’re so kind.”

  Genji smiled. “I have my moments.” He kissed Aoki’s hand and set it down. “Rest now, my dear friend.”

  Aoki sighed. His body ached and a place deep inside also ached, felt shrouded in darkness. “I don’t feel as if I will ever rest again.”

  Genji resumed the caress on his hair. “You will. And your friends are here. For as long as you wish us to be.”

  AOKI COULDN’T sleep. The second a touch of light came into the sky, in spite of the slats covering the windows, his eyes popped open and stayed open. Not that he had actually been sleeping while it was dark. Now, in the third day since… Sozaemon… he still wasn’t sleeping, even though the ache in his rib wasn’t quite as sharp as it had been those first hours. Toho had been well trained by his father Sho and had done a perfect job of wrapping a bandage around his ribcage once he’d finished with the plasters. Not too tight and not too loose, the binding allowed him to sit up and move around just enough so he could relieve himself and eat and drink. Aside from that, he hadn’t left this room. Someone was with him constantly, whether it was Genji, Toho, or Peony. Everyone was so concerned and so helpful. What he’d done to deserve such care and loyalty, he didn’t know.

  Toho was still sleeping. Every night he unrolled his futon a mere few inches from him, refusing to be any distance away except for when he went to the privy.

  Aoki turned his head on the pillow and watched Toho sleep. Toho wasn’t getting enough rest, keeping vigil over him nearly all night and all day. Toho was on his back. Stray locks of hair, still in its topknot, had escaped and gave him a bit of a wild look. His beard was growing in, darkening his chin, jaw, and upper lip. Toho’s dark lashes rested on his cheeks and every few breaths, he exhaled extra deeply and his eyes moved rapidly under his eyelids, a characteristic of his dreaming that Aoki remembered from when he was a boy.

  As always, tears rushed to Aoki’s eyes. After years of barely ever crying, he couldn’t stop tears from spontaneously pouring out for seemingly no reason at all.

  Except there was a reason. His life would never be the same. He wasn’t rallying and coming back to himself the way he had always done when life gave him adversity. He’d always been able to gather himself up, lift his chin and move on, even as a child when he had left his parents and came to be in that pig Shizu’s care. He’d taken heart from Genji’s presence and friendship and found his own inner strength. Yet now, even with all the love and support, he was not finding that strength present inside himself. The thought of ever going back onto a stage filled him with dread. The mere prospect of stepping outside this house had the same effect. What was to become of him? Surely as time passed, people would grow tired of his new fear and cowardice and leave him alone. Even Toho, who claimed he would never leave his side again, would surely sicken of being tied to a has-been actor who couldn’t cross back over the threshold of his house. Not a handsome young man who had his whole life ahead of him….

  Aoki hadn’t realized how harsh his own breathing had become until he saw Toho’s eyes open, regard him, and widen, and then saw Toho sit quickly up, leaning over toward him.

  “Aoki-san? Are you all right? Is your binding too tight?”

  Shame flooded Aoki. He forced himself to calm his breath. “No, To-chan. It’s still perfect. I’m so sorry I woke you.”

  Toho smoothed back the errant locks of hair Aoki had enjoyed looking at earlier and smiled. “Don’t worry. I was about to wake up anyway. I’m just glad you’re not having trouble breathing.”

  “Not at all.”

  Toho sat fully up. “My fathers should arrive later today, if they got my message in time.”

  Again the tears came. First of joy, followed by the usual guilt.

  Toho inched forward. He knelt close by and picked up Aoki’s hand.

  Aoki felt foolish as Toho’s fingertips pressed into his pulse point. He watched Toho concentrate on listening. The entire room seemed to go still each time Toho did that, and even though Toho wasn’t Sho’s birth son, the resemblance he’d taken on to his father was striking.

  Toho set down Aoki’s hand, and Aoki squelched the impulse to reach out and grasp him again. “Thank the gods you’re healing well. I’m so relieved.”

  “You’ve been such a great help, To-chan. How can I ever thank you?”

  To his surprise, Toho’s face darkened with a look almost of… guilt. “I have something to tell you. I didn’t mention it when I first came back.”

  Chills skittered along Aoki’s arms. “What is it?”

  Toho took a breath. “Before I left to come back here, I was having… nightmares… of you. I felt something
bad was going to happen to you and I was worried. I mean… I wanted more than anything to see you again, but I know that I left sooner than I would have if I wasn’t having nightmares.” He bowed his head. “I’m sorry, Aoki-san. I was worried you’d think I only came because of my fear for you.”

  Aoki sat up, wincing slightly from his rib. Toho reached out but Aoki stopped him. “I wouldn’t have thought that. Seeing you again was one of the best days of my life.” Those uncontrollable tears now rolled out of his eyes again. He wiped them away with the heel of his hand. “I’m sorry. I can’t stop crying.” He started to turn away but Toho rose up and reached out, taking his hand again, this time in the way of affection that Aoki had wanted earlier.

  “Please, don’t ever feel embarrassed with me. I beg of you.” Very carefully, he embraced Aoki, drawing him close.

  The warm strength of Toho’s body made him succumb, beyond his embarrassment and beyond his guilt. He allowed himself to sink against the younger man, whose arms surrounded him… until his true exhaustion and battered state made him unable to sit up any longer.

  Toho obviously sensed his friend’s need to rest, for he gently released his hold and ushered Aoki onto his back on his futon. “Rest now, Aoki-san. When you awaken, my fathers will hopefully have arrived.”

  The thought of his dearest friends back together with him made a sense of comfort bloom through his chest. “I will be so happy to see them,” he murmured, his eyelids fluttering closed. “So… happy….”

  TOHO SAT back and watched Aoki fall asleep. The world felt so dark, and he felt so powerless. Emotions he hadn’t experienced since childhood resurfaced, from a place he’d hoped long forgotten. Now, he understood, those feelings didn’t disappear—they lay dormant, only to swirl up again, like lying dust blown by a sudden wind.

  To see Aoki’s face full of bruises and cuts, to know he’d been brutalized and made to suffer this way, was an agony that propelled Toho from his kneeling position and out of the room. He slid the shoji quietly closed behind him. Best simply to let Aoki rest for now. Sleep in and of itself was a healing force.

  Aoki’s serving maid offered him a meal of rice, pickles, and tea. Although his stomach felt too tight for food, he thought it better to eat and keep up his energy. Anything to help Aoki-san. Gratefully he accepted her offering and seated himself in the small room that had served as his bedchamber, that is, until Sozaemon had returned. Peony returned moments later with the tray of food, which she set down for him before retreating quietly, her pretty face creased with obvious concern for her master.

  The nutty aroma of the rice enticed Toho to eat. He took up the delicate bowl and chopsticks and began to eat. There was nothing else to do now but wait, either for Aoki-san to awaken, or for his fathers’ arrival. Whichever came first.

  Sounds at the door hours later told Toho that his fathers’ arrival came first. Toho, who’d kept vigil by Aoki’s door, rose quickly and went to greet them. Relief overcame him at the sight of the two men, the samurai and the anma, who’d devoted their lives to his well-being and education. He greeted them each with a tight embrace.

  “How is Aoki-san?” Sho asked.

  Toho sighed. “Bruised and sore. And very distraught. But thankfully, not in any danger for his life, as his pulses will attest. His damaged rib has been plastered and bound, just as you instructed when you trained me.”

  Sho nodded. “We would go to him now.”

  “He’s been sleeping.”

  “Sho-sama? Is that you?” Aoki’s voice came from behind the shoji. “I’m awake now.”

  Sho hastened toward Aoki’s bedchamber. “I should get there before he tries to rise and play the host.” He had Aoki’s door open seconds later, stopping Aoki from rising, as he’d guessed the injured man would. Immediately he knelt and picked up Aoki’s hand. “Aoki-san, my dear friend.” Sho’s voice was heavy. “Forgive me for being away so long.”

  Tears immediately ran from Aoki’s eyes. “I’ve missed you so much. How I wish you hadn’t been forced to come under these circumstances.”

  “How I wish I’d been a better friend, as to come before this.”

  “Where is Hirata-san?”

  “Here I am, Aoki-san.”

  Toho watched his father cross the small room to Aoki’s bedside and kneel down to receive Aoki’s grateful, though tearful, smile.

  “How overjoyed I am to see you both.”

  “The feeling is mutual, Aoki-san,” Hirata said.

  “Now I need quiet,” Sho interjected. “I wish to feel your pulses.” Moments passed with him listening intently, feeling with his fingertips for the internal activity of organs and blood flow that no human eye could see. Finally he nodded and released Aoki’s hand. He proceeded to check the bindings around Aoki’s ribcage and also nodded approvingly. “Toho, you’ve done well. Exactly no more or less than I would have done.”

  “Thank you, Father.”

  “Toho has been absolutely the most wonderful friend and doctor,” Aoki said.

  Toho’s cheeks warmed. “Thank you, Aoki-san.”

  “We must let you rest some more now,” Sho told him. “We will come back in once you’re up.”

  Aoki nodded, visibly disappointed but not voicing his obvious desire for his friends to remain in the room with him.

  Sho took up Aoki’s hand once more and held it a few moments. “We will be only a few feet away. Don’t fret. You need only call out and we will come immediately.”

  This assurance obviously soothed Aoki, who nodded. “Thank you, Sho-sama. Just knowing you are all here with me, I can rest.”

  Sho set Aoki’s hand down and patted it. When Sho turned to rise, his cane with its hidden sword in hand, his face was dark and creased.

  Toho resisted the urge to gasp. Had his father sensed something in Aoki that his own limited experience had missed? Something he wouldn’t voice to Aoki? Silently he followed his two fathers from the room, to the front entrance where they slipped their sandals back on, and out into the small garden.

  Sho led them to the stone bench where he sat, Toho next to him, Hirata standing in front of them both. Daisuke, who had been guarding the entrance at the gate, discreetly slipped onto the side street, where no doubt he would continue his patrol, keeping vigil in case Sozaemon should return. “Toho, tell us exactly what happened.”

  Toho took a deep breath. “Aoki has had this… ronin… courting him. But Sozaemon had been away when I arrived here.”

  A tiny noise met Toho’s ear. By the time his mind had registered the sound—a small, unintentional gasp from Hirata, Sho had already heard, sensed, and processed the association between the utterance of the ronin’s name and Hirata’s response.

  Sho’s face snapped up. “Hirata? You know Sozaemon?”

  Hirata glanced away, as if Sho were staring into his eyes. “Yes,” he murmured. “He was once a student of my father’s. Briefly.”

  Sho’s lip curled in a snarl. “Long enough for him to have done to you what he just did to Aoki.” It wasn’t a question. The truth fluttered all around them, like a cloud of butterflies released from imprisonment in a jar.

  Toho waited in the tense silence, watched as a jagged vein arose in Sho’s temple. His father’s normally clear tanned skin had reddened. The demons of the underworld were about to be unleashed.

  “Sozaemon must die. You realize that. Do you not?”

  Hirata took a step toward him. “Sho—”

  “You will not stop me from taking vengeance, Hirata, now I know who he is. And now he has violated not only you, the life of my heart, but our dear Aoki-san. Would you let his crimes go unpunished?” Sho rose from the bench and faced Hirata. As always, it was easy to forget his blindness, the direct way his gaze seemed to penetrate his soul mate’s. “Do you believe for a second that Sozaemon has lain dormant all these years? How many lives in between yours and Aoki’s do you think he’s shattered? Had you let me avenge you years ago, not only Aoki’s violation but the gods only know wh
o else’s would have been prevented.”

  Hirata heaved a deep breath. He bore Sho’s speech in silence, head bowed. Toho, watching, could not begin to understand his father’s reluctance to allow justice.

  “Give me one good reason you’ve allowed a monster to continue to roam this world,” Sho said, his voice tight.

  “You’ve not seen his skill with a sword.” Hirata raised his voice. “I would not have anyone, loved or otherwise, go up against a swordsman like him with his madness. I would be afraid for no less a human weapon than Zatoichi himself.”

  “Hirata, you’re not making sense! You and I slew all five of—” Sho stopped in midsentence. He continued to stare at Hirata as if he could see his lover’s face. His chiseled features tightened, and a shadow passed over them. But the fiery way he addressed the other man left him, like a wind dying down. Instead, he lifted his free hand and cupped the side of Hirata’s neck. He rested there, his eyes closed. When he opened them, his hand remained where it was and he sighed deeply. “Again, I’ve failed you,” he murmured. “I failed you all those years ago and I have done so again now. As I have failed our dear friend, Aoki.”

  “No, you have not.”

  “Hirata, don’t argue.” His hand dropped away and he squared his shoulders. “I must go now. This task is the needful thing. And it must be done swiftly.”

  “Sho, I can’t let you.” Hirata tried to step in front of Sho’s path, but Sho pushed him aside with a firm hand.

  “Stay with our son, Hirata. Watch over him and Aoki. I will return as quickly as I can.”

  “He’s a spy, Father.” Toho stepped toward his father, silently praying he could convince Sho away from this course. Even such a powerful swordsman as his father surely was no match for one of the shogun’s own spies.

  Sho turned to him. “That is of no consequence. Listen to me. There is no more effective network of spies than the ones like me. The ones the sighted world dismisses as crippled because our eyes don’t see. But we know more of what’s going on in this world than anyone else. Don’t we, Hirata? Remember as children how we would sit by a roomful of our parents and guests or near your father’s students and what I told you of them just from listening and gathering in their sounds and odors? Was I ever wrong?”