Wayward Paths Converge

Chapter Two: The Nightmare and the Hum

Bellies full at long last, the four braves stood expectantly before a middle-aged woman, whose tightness of gaze was superseded only by the tight cruelty with which she had yanked her hair back into a harsh coil. She tucked her small ledger into the sleeve of her cotton kimono, eyes narrowing at Isanami's state of dress before skirting her gaze also to the three males.

She scrutinized them with equal distaste, "And what makes you think I'll rent my last rooms to a group of unkempt wanderers? I get enough of your kind here already . . . storming through our village, causing trouble."

Benmaru looked offended and turned to the tense shinobi beside him, "But we're not 'unkempt,' are we, Saizō?"

Temporarily, Saizō refrained from glaring at the woman. He looked down, rustled the boy's red mane. It was as reassuring as he knew how to be.

Kakei, after making a concerted effort to hide Saya behind his back, attempted to reason with the woman, "Please, we mean no harm, and it is our humble understanding that this inn belongs to Nakamura-san. I'm certain that if you would be so kind as to retrieve him, we can settle this matter quite calmly."

She only sneered, "I don't think so. Nakamura-sama is restocking on saké in the next village, so you two men had better get out of here . . . and take the child and this little hussy with you."

Isanami gasped. She was not the most worldly of young women, but she would bet her long mass of hair and her priestess garb—those were really all she owned, after all—that this woman had just insulted her. But then Saizō's strong hand clasped her shoulder and she felt at peace again, her ire receding like waves to their ocean world once more.

"Look, lady," snapped Saizō. Beside him, Isanami brightened instantly at the sound of his voice, and Kakei slapped a palm to his sweaty forehead in exasperation. The ninja, however, refused to be placated, "We just traveled all day to get to your shoddy little town; we are tired, and definitely not in the mood to deal with any more of your shi—"

"Saizō!"

Upset at being cut off, he glared at Kakei and snatched Yukimura's letter from the inside of his shoulder cloak. He threw the scroll to his left and crossed his arms in a huff just as Kakei reached out to catch it.

A plethora of dishes fell and broke apart somewhere in the back of the inn. Looking thoroughly chastised, a woman rushed out from behind a cloth banner, balancing two wooden trays of tea and dango. Isanami followed the food with hungry eyes, regardless of the fact that she had just eaten.

Noting the inn manager's impatience, Kakei sighed deeply in his chest and bowed low before her; in actuality, the position was solely meant, not to express gratitude or show that they would be leaving, but to hide the glimmer of mischief that had entered the samurai's normally serious face. He was going to try one more time, and employ those revered "skills in deception" that Yukimura had spoken so highly of. He had observed this terse woman carefully, and concluded that she merely did not have enough excitement in her life. Working in a crowded inn all day, instructed by her boss to be suspicious of all newcomers . . .

"I suppose we should leave now. Thank you for your kindness, and I do hope you will forgive my dear nephew for his most unsightly behavior," he sulked, looking quite put-out and as morose as a puppy stranded out in the rain.

"What do you mean by that, you old—" Saizō was cut off yet again when a heavy hand reached over Isanami and clapped him so hard on the back that he would have fallen into a nearby table, had his balance not been so honed.

"Yes, dear nephew," Kakei continued before turning again to the woman, who now looked both confused and irritated. "I apologize again, kind lady. Heartbreak does such things to an eager, young soul, I'm afraid. Now, if you will excuse us, we'll be leaving right away."

Her grating voice, now marked with the slightest tone of curiosity, reached them just as the samurai hoisted his matchlock over his shoulder and began to turn towards the entrance.

"What do you mean . . .?" her shrewd eyes moved uncertainly over Saizō's uncomfortable form. The rude little bastard certainly did not look heartbroken.

Kakei spun around to face her once more. His three companions gawked in ill-disguised wonderment, for the drenched-puppy look had returned almost immediately to his face. Amazed, Benmaru and Isanami watched as the magnificent drama unfolded right before them.

Saizō only blanched. For it was a most disgusting display.

Surprisingly, however, the woman appeared to be genuinely intrigued.

Shaking his head at the floor morosely, Kakei answered, "Oh, why must such perils stand in the way of young love? It's a crime, a cruel crime against happiness. Look at them," he moved to stand behind Saizō and Isanami, and roughly pushed the two close together despite his usual ravings about the moral benefits of personal space. Eager to play along—and never against hugging Saizō—Isanami was more than happy to wrap her arms about the young man's waist. And Saizō . . . Saizō looked eager to murder something. Eyes sad, Kakei crafted a sad grin to is mouth, "just look at them. What kind of heartless tyrant would keep such an innocent young couple apart?"

The innkeeper folded her arms across her heavy bosom. "Don't care. But I guess that you're going to tell me, huh?" she sighed, trying her utmost to sound bored. ". . . Very well. I suppose I have a few minutes before closing time.

"Yes," conceded Kakei. He paused briefly to build suspense. "Back in our village, their families conspired to tear their love asunder. Little Isanami's family even hired assassins to have my nephew—poor, lovelorn Saizō—captured and murdered," noticing the woman's eyes widen in alarm, Kakei nodded gloomily and continued on with his outrageous story. "However, so strong was their love, so tender and true—look, my nephew's blushing—that those heartless brutes could not succeed. Saizō is quite a skilled fighter. After all, I taught him everything he knows."

Saizō snorted, but if the innkeeper noticed she did not indicate so.

". . . Go on."

"Uh, yes. So, distressed and desperate to wed his lady-friend," Kakei stubbornly ignored the loud scoff at his right, and pressed onwards, "Saizō came to me for help. 'Oh, my knowledgeable uncle,' he pleaded to me, 'I am in love with an honora—eh . . . well, a lovely woman, but I cannot marry her here. Please, help me, for it is you who knows what is best for me.' So, naturally, I helped them run away, and we even took along Isanami's little brother, Benmaru. He's a very loyal little boy, you see."

Sniffling and trying to hide it, the woman looked down at Benmaru and then at Isanami and Saizō, whose usually focused eyes continued to dart towards anything but his comrades. The hand not crushed to his side by Isanami's body was clenching and unclenching into a fist, and the whole of his face and neck had turned an unhealthy shade of red.

He must be too embarrassed to hold her in public, the woman thought as she eyed the ninja carefully, the poor thing.

Kakei's voice brought her attention once again to his distraught face. Saizo cringed. The passionate tremble in his voice was disturbingly convincing, "And so we came here, alone with no one and nothing to help us except this letter from my master, hoping fervently for a place to stay, for the sake of these blushing newlyweds. But, apparently, we are unwanted here as well. So we will venture out once again, with nothing but our belief in true love to guide our heavy-laden steps. With no place to go, not even friends to offer a—"

"Alright, alright, that's enough," the woman snapped. She snatched the letter from Kakei's outstretched hand and ushered the four braves up the stairs. "I'll give this to Nakamura-sama once he gets back. Until then don't worry about paying, but don't eat too much and don't make any damned noise. I have enough complaints to deal with every night."

Once outside the two rooms, she left them alone to behold their new surroundings. Kakei shot Saizō a smug look. The Iga ninja glared back, upper lip twitching in anger.

"Look, Saizō," Isanami called from inside her room, "there's tea on the kotatsu. And there's a shogi board."

Saizō sighed. She was bound to break something whenever becoming that excited. Expression sobering, he rushed inside and slid the screen shut with a deft kick of his heel.

"Wait!" Kakei called worriedly from behind the rice paper screen. "There's more than one futon in there, right? . . . Right?"

Silence. No answer.

". . . Hey, nephew, I am speaking to you!"

Blocking out Kakei's bellows, Saizō leaned against the wall of his self-designated room. He looked on with relatively soft eyes as Isanami set up the shogi board and cooed excitedly at the top-notch manufacturing of each piece. It seemed as though nothing had changed; she made forgetting the violence of a few days ago appear effortless. The stress, the guilt, the sense of injustice.

But Saizō knew better. He knew, truly, that her mind was not dwelling on something as insignificant and juvenile as the quality of wood in a strategy game. Her lips smiled. Her svelte body moved in effortless excitement.

But her eyes revealed all. She was not the same. He was not the same.

And her apparent, new-found ability to hide her pain and worry concerned him. He could only hope that their short stint in this village, the relative safety and peace it provided, would restore some sense of harmony to her chaotic life.

As well as his own.

.

.

.

Blood. The blood was everywhere.

What was once a mere smattering of trauma spray had become a nauseating blanket of cerise-red. It all unfolded before golden eyes, eyes enlarged with pure fright and the most commanding of guilts.

The priestess sat frozen, not so much with fear alone as with disbelief and a grief so deep it rendered her body numb. Only her hands—how shaky they were—could register any feeling.

And they felt wet. Drawing in a stunted breath, she struggled for mobility, to look down at her hands—

And immediately wished she had not.

Red . . . red . . . they were so, so red. Almost as red as the matted, short hair threaded through her fingers; the shades varied, but still. Suddenly, all movement and sensation, unwelcome, returned to her. Her mouth quivered, hands following suit as her pulse pounded like war drums in her ears.

And she could finally feel the slight weight upon her lap.

It was Benmaru, young and sweet Benmaru now strewn cold, bloodied, and deaddeaddead across her lap. His eyes were frozen open, looking up at her with hatred and accusation. Because it was her fault. Nevertheless, her gaze refused to stray from his unmoving form. No matter how desperately she wished it so.

Her hands trembled like two red wings. A strained whimper dropped from her lips.

Then the pounding stopped. Only her scream resonating in shrill echoes across the landscape, terrain that had just become a field of slaughter, shattered the deafening state of soundlessness. Down her face, tears streamed from eyes wrenched tightly shut until the strain alone grew violent enough to make her cheeks ache.

"No, no, no . . ." she screamed into a stained hand. They were gone. Everyone was gone. And she knew it because she could smell it, smell the death and the blood and the putrid stench of flesh flayed mercilessly from bruised muscle and shattered bone.

It's my fault, she concluded, trying in vain to block out the wind and the eerie moans it carried to her upon its drafts and out of the darkness.

"Yes," a voice crooned softly against her ear. Hands cold as stone perched hungrily on the priestess' shoulders. Isanami quivered at the touch and shook her head, trying tenaciously not to listen as the blood-thirsty goddess within her manifested behind her bowed form, an apparition of pure malignance, "they all died to protect you, worthless as you are without me . . ."

"No, I won't listen to you," the young girl whispered brokenly. Tears caressed her skin. They slid slowly over the swell of her wan cheek and down her chin, fell into Benmaru's blood-stained hair, where her hand still stroked shakily.

Izanami, chuckling darkly, ran an inhuman hand down the shivering priestess' arm until it settled over her warm, smaller one. "You see? Even the little child," the goddess pulled blue hair away from her host's tear-stained face and tucked the locks behind her ear in an act of blatant mock-affection. "Who are you that you allowed a mere boy to die for you? . . . No matter. We must have vengeance, little vessel. Embrace my will and we shall have our retribution. . . . And it will be sweet—trust me. Very sweet."

Once, just once, the brave allowed her fortitude against the darkness to fall slightly from around her soul. But it was enough.

"No," she murmured weakly, watching as her hand left Benmaru's hair and reached for her Kushi-mitama against her volition. She screamed out into the night. She thrashed viciously against the cold arms holding her down as the homicidal will of the goddess began ripping away at the will of Isanami the priestess, making room for Izanami's own dark desires to take hold.

So near insanity was the young woman that she failed to notice when the cold arms about her fell away.

And were replaced by the warm, firm arms of a male.

She scratched at them blindly and begged her gasping lungs for air. And then a face, one painfully familiar image that was her only solace in a world of malice and enmity, consumed her mind, expanded her lungs, and allowed her to cry out.

"Saizō!"

.

.

.

Panting from the effort, the Iga ninja tightened his arms around Isanami. He had been wrestling with her on the floor for nearly ten minutes; it was difficult to keep her from lashing out without hurting her. Unexpectedly, she stilled altogether and stiffened onto her side.

A new tide of tears spilled down her face right before the anguish marring her features turned to panic, "Saizō!" The thrashing began again. An elbow caught Saizō square in the chin.

Despite the pain now running up his jaw, he merely pulled her to his side and fitted her head beneath his own. "I'm here," he whispered into her sweaty hair. His breathing remained labored and heavy, "I'm here, Isanami."

He could not guess how long she continued to cry and dream against him. Only a slight change in her breathing and the fading glow of her hair clip signified that the priestess had finally woken up. One small hand, hesitantly, as if its owner was unsure that Saizō himself was not an apparition, rose and clutched onto the fabric of his tight undershirt. But she did not move from his side. Milky moonlight filtered in through the burnt bamboo blinds.

From his lips Saizō expelled a weary sigh; the rush of air set several strands of sweaty blue locks aflutter. A soft murmur answered the disturbance.

". . . Why is it me, Saizō?"

The stoic young man remained silent for several moments. He had asked himself this very question many times during his varying bouts of insomnia and depression. Why was she, by no conscious choice of her own, the earthly manifestation of a truly dark being—and he, the supposedly strong heart to keep that very darkness at bay, to keep it from consuming her and bringing destruction to all the known world? And so, he had no choice but to answer her with the same conclusion this anomaly had forced him to settle upon each and every time. He was certain the frustration of it would never quite fade.

"I don't know, Isanami."

Later, when the priestess returned to her futon in hopes of finding restful sleep until morning, she forewent Saizō's offer of a blanket; the night was unforgivably warm and her damaged nerves refused to stop making her sweat. Saizō sighed without restraint and collapsed onto his own futon. He would have to make sure she drank plenty of fluids in the morning. It was unlikely that they would be found by the enemy in this insignificant town, as they had been extremely careful, but the last thing he needed was Isanami collapsing from dehydration; she caused enough trouble as it was.

The dull ache on his bruised jaw was adequate proof of that, Saizō grumped inwardly.

The ninja filled the passing minutes with listening to Isanami's breathing and blowing back an errant strand of dark hair that seemed intent on sticking to his nose. Nothing he did, however, could remove the recent memory from his mind: his normally life-lusty fellow brave cowering in the back of their room, paralyzed and tormented by sounds he could not hear and images he could not see. Only to her had they been known. If he was being honest with himself, it had scared the everlasting hell out of him.

Earlier that evening, the four travelers had been eating their final meal of the day at the inn when, quite alarmingly, Isanami had announced that she was not feeling very hungry and, without another word uttered, disappeared upstairs. Though as flummoxed as Saizo and Benmaru, Kakei had reasoned that she must be exhausted from the traveling, and so they had left Kakei to polish Saya in the tearoom and ventured outside despite the rain pounding harshly upon the roof.

Several hours later, when Saizō finally retired to his room, she had been there, crying inconsolably in the corner with those tiny hands of hers clasped over her ears. The panicked Iga ninja had first stormed about the room with his sword, paranoid that although he and Benmaru had just finished scouting the area surrounding the inn, an enemy had entered the room. And that was when he had realized that she was still asleep.

No enemies. No foreign ninja. Only nightmares.

A particularly uncomfortable line of sweat forced Saizō to remove his undershirt and turn fitfully . . . until he rested reclined on his side, watching a troubled, deceitfully delicate priestess sleeping an arm's length away. Another sigh, more contemplative and thoughtful than the last, escaped him. His previous concern on the road had been merely a waning suspicion in comparison to the extent of his current worry. It ate away at his insides, angered the cool exterior of his sensibilities until the urge to protect became overwhelming—and altogether far too discomfiting to the impersonal sentiments he was used to.

Saizō had been akin to foam dragged sporadically along the tides and currents of circumstance, allowing himself to be washed upon any shore with as much ceremony and care as a lost soul, however fate's oceans would have it. But in the past year, in the months of serving as Light to a petite young woman with the will of mountains, his newfound purpose spurred him, time after time to fight to fulfill that purpose. If he failed, he might as well drown. And Isanami, for all her obnoxious traits and affections, made Saizō, for the first and only time, afraid of drowning beneath the surface of that dark, dark aimlessness that had stalked his path all his life.

Without warning, the priestess smiled in her sleep. Unbidden, always unbidden, soft affection came upon the tired ninja as he watched her and wondered what she could be dreaming about now.

Then, shocking the night with sudden silence, the rain ceased to fall. And Saizō, brow arching accusingly at the slumbering female beside them, knew exactly why.

Only her joy could stop a storm in its tracks.

One week later

Warm air wafted over two sweaty faces as Isanami fanned Benmaru and herself. The majestic tree overhead covered them in shade as Saizō and Kakei sparred hand-to-hand in the small clearing behind the inn. It was quite an interesting spectacle to watch, as their fighting styles were extremely different and both men had grudgingly conceded to leave their weapons on the ground beside the other two braves.

Sighing bitterly, Isanami passed her grey fan to Benmaru.

"Isanami-neechan, what's wrong?"

The priestess looked down into his earnest gaze, but turned away to watch the others once more at the realization that she could not force even a semblance of her usual smile to her lips, ". . . I can't fight."

The boy's brow furrowed in understanding, "Well, you shouldn't have to—I mean, well . . . you have the strongest abilities of all. You're plenty strong." He blushed. Much to his despair, however, Isanami's expression only soured further, before completely falling.

"Thanks, Benmaru. You're such a sweetheart," smiling sadly, she leaned down and kissed him on the head, which only worsened the redness in his cheeks.

But, she thought to herself as she watched Saizō leap nimbly up into the treetops, causing Kakei to retreat back towards the clearing, muttering grumpily about "ninja cowardice" all the while, what good is my power if I can't ever control it?

Depressed once more, the young woman ushered Benmaru back into the inn to claim a table before the kitchen began serving the afternoon meal. She glanced back, her milky azure hair flowing freely over her bare shoulders, just as Saizō reemerged from the forest. Her gaze, longing and uncharacteristically mature in its intensity, seemed to attract his attention instantly and the two made piercing eye-contact from across the clearing. Swallowing, the priestess looked away, outwardly giggling at the image of Kakei pointing his matchlock at the Iga ninja out of frustration.

But she could only wonder inwardly at the quivering hum Saizō's eyes had just brought to life in her lower abdomen.

She had never felt anything like that before. . . . What was it?

Her previous depression, however, quickly overshadowed this first taste of pure, yet passionate, wonder.

It was not fair. It was not fair that all her powers were capable of was complete destruction—when all she wanted to do was protect.

.

.

.

"I want to practice controlling my powers."

Kakei promptly spit a mouthful of miso soup across the table. Glowering, Saizō wiped the broth splatter from his cheek, "Watch it, you slobbering boar."

The samurai ignored him and leaned across the table in earnest, "I-Isanami! That's too dangerous and you know it. Besides, we're not supposed to draw attention to ourselves. That's the reason we came here in the first place. We have to maintain appearances until Yukimura-sama says otherwise."

Her excited expression vanished, but light returned to her eyes when she felt the warmth of Saizō's palm gently soothing atop her head, "I just want to be more useful to everyone. I'm not a brave; I'm only a burden."

"No you're not!" Benmaru reached over and took the young woman's hand. She still did not look convinced.

"Useful?"

Saizō's voice dropped like an anvil. All three looked to him in shock. Sometimes it was just alarming to hear him intercede so suddenly upon a conversation. It was a tone unlike any they had heard from him before—stern but understanding, reprimanding but soft as a murmur. He removed his hand from Isanami's hair, dropped it to settle upon her shoulder, "Useful . . . being helpful is one thing, but being used, being 'useful,' is a subservient hell you don't want to be familiar with. You're a person, not a tool. Usefulness is for vassals who can't think a damned thing for themselves. Don't confuse it with worth."

Isanami blinked, stunned. She grasped his wrist gently in her own, unaware of the presence of anyone else in Kakei and Benmaru's room. Saizō peered into her eyes carefully. Behind them he saw realization. Satisfied, he murmured, "Practice if you want, so you can do what you think you need to," a soft, reassuring smile turned his normally serious features. "Just make sure I'm there before you start destroying everything in sight."

Isanami, teetering between holding back happy tears, for she was grateful for his understanding, and laughing, returned Saizō's smile with her own watery but poignant rendition. "Thank you, Saizō. Goodnight," she placed a chase kiss upon his cheek and exited the room.

Saizō's hand jumped to his face in shock, and he froze.

"I'll go try and cheer her up," Benmaru jumped to his feet, picking up a shogi set from its place by the screen.

Once the adjoining door slid shut, the Iga ninja removed his hand from his cheek and turned back to his food, only to discover Kakei staring at him, mouth agape. Saizō scoffed, "You should eat. And try not to spit all over me this time."

Both men continued their meal in respectful silence. But Kakei was thinking so loudly that Saizō could scarcely form his own thoughts. Finally, he sighed and set down his chopsticks, "Alright. Say it."

Kakei blinked owlishly and cleared his throat, "It's amazing—how you are with her, I mean. Yukimura-sama spoke of it before but, I've never seen her so easily swayed before," he trailed off slightly, absently adjusting his matchlock over one knee. "What you said before, about being used . . . is that why you hate the idea of serving a lord like my master?"

Saizō only nodded once.

"You know, you can serve as a warrior without allowing yourself to become a pawn. . . . Well, anyway, I think I understand you somewhat better now, Saizō."

The Iga ninja continued idly tracing the rim of his bowl with a scarred finger. He expelled a sound somewhere between a huff and hum, "You seem so certain," dark eyes flicked up to catch the samurai's gaze. "Don't be."

Kakei made narrow his eyes, "Sometimes I think that if it weren't for her staying, you would have left long ago."

Saizō remained silent. There was no need to speak.

After all, one can only elaborate so much on the truth.

The two men fell into silence for the rest of the evening, allowed the crooning of crickets to fill the space their voices had occupied. Soft laughter filtered in from next door, accompanied by the patterned clicks of tiles on a shogi board. All was surprisingly peaceful, and it seemed unlikely that anything could go wrong.

That night, however, Isanami sleepwalks.

A/N:

So, what were your favorite parts?

Personally, I loved writing this chapter. I know that stories for this series don't garner that many reviews—especially for this pairing, for some strange reason—but it's just too much fun to not write for Brave 10.

I hope you guys are enjoying it as much as I am. And feel free to tell me what you think is going to happen. A major battle? Drama? Character conflict? I may or may not be flexible (hint hint), seeing as this is a much more easygoing project than "Atrophy." I'm afraid I can't make any promises, though; I just want you to know that your opinions matter to me.

Please, do review.