Title: Requiem

Author: mswyrr

Rating: PG

Summary: Katsushirou POV. Post episode 16.

Author's Note: End quote is from The Shin's song "Saint Simon"

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It was still raining. Katsushirou's sensei had not spoken to him since returning. He had sent Katsushirou and the other men to rest. They had to sleep when they were told to; obedience in this was as important as following a command to attack, but Katsushirou couldn't make himself sleep.

It had been hours, but his battle fever wouldn't go away. Beneath his chilled skin, he could feel the same sickly heat and inner shaking he felt just before he cut a man down. He hadn't caught his breath since Gorobei-dono...

He had to become accustomed to death, but he hadn't thought the samurai could die. He hadn't even really thought that he could, though he was barely one of them. He had been more scared to kill than to die, even when he had made himself do it again and again.

If he didn't sleep he would make a mistake -- pass along the wrong information, mishear an order, or grow clumsy in the mud. If sleeping were a battle, he was sure he could fight, but it wasn't, it was the release of everything battle-like, and he was afraid he had forgotten how.

He saw Kirara-dono coming out of the corner of his eye. "Katsushirou-sama," she said, shivering in her white and red miko clothes. It was too dark to see her face.

"Kirara-dono, where are you going?" he said, and began to remove his cloak, "You're going to get sick if you walk in the rain."

She reached out, stilling his hand. "Baa-sama will have fresh clothes waiting for me. When I return," she said, "I will be leading the ceremony for the dead. Will you come?"

"I will walk with you there, but you will wear this cloak," he instructed, holding it out to her.

"I will take your cloak only if you agree to let baa-sama find you something dry when we arrive," she said firmly.

He settled the cloak over her shoulders. "Hai," he said, pulling the hood up around her face.

They made their way awkwardly across the mud. When she slipped, he caught her hand and didn't let go until they reached the shrine.

Inside, the air was heavy with incense. He heard the low hum of voices in prayer. Her baa-sama took them aside, hung his cloak up to dry, gave them fresh clothes and directed them toward changing screens.

When finished changing, he stood at the back of the shrine, and watched. The men who had been injured were being treated in a far corner. At the front of the room the dead were laid out in clean clothes. They had been bathed and dressed, their hair combed and their wounds hidden.

Gorobei-sama held a place of honor at the center of the group. His eyes were closed and his blank expression held nothing of his spirit.

Dressed in white, the lead mourners knelt beside the dead. They were all women, weeping over their brothers and speaking soft prayers to their husbands; holding a father's hand, smoothing a son's hair.

They shielded the men's spirits with their voices. Like kind hands, their prayers guided the them so they wouldn't be lost or frightened.

Katsushirou saw the empty space around Gorobei-dono; no one knelt beside him. It wasn't right that he should be alone.

Kirara-dono came to stand beside him. She must have understood the look on his face. "We will care for him, Katsushirou-sama," she said, reaching out to grasp his hand for a moment. "I will stand with him," she assured him, and moved up to the front.

Katsushirou stepped forward to the back of the group and knelt with them.

Kirara-dono stood facing the dead. She held her necklace before her and began to sing, swaying slightly in time with the swinging jewel. As the women around her gave voice, strengthening her song, he felt the air come alive with the spirits it held.

Kirara-dono's jewel glowed and flickered with the currents of the unseen world.

He admired her strength. She lead these people out of their own personal grief into unity. She was the power that moved over them and brought them together. She was beautiful.

Did the Nobuseri have a miko-sama? He didn't think they did, and almost pitied them. What happened to the men I killed? he wondered.If they had no one to care for their spirits. . .

Katsushirou bowed his head. He felt dizzy with the heat and the sweet smoke of the incense. He breathed in time with the smooth, slow rise and fall of the women's voices. It seemed to move forward endlessly, like the ocean's tide, protecting with the gentle, inexorable power of water and waves.

For the first time, he saw the peace in death. It was given by these women, honoring the dead with their voices and their tears. Gorobei-dono wasn't alone. These women didn't know him, but they held him in their hearts. They honored him.

If he or Gorobei-sama or any of the others had died in the city, their meager belongings would have been stripped from them, and they would have been thrown away like refuse.

If I died here, he thought, I would be cared for.

When he fell asleep, the women beside him covered him with her shawl.

He rested well.

-

Mercy's eyes are blue

When she places them in front of you

Nothing really holds a candle to

The solemn warmth you feel inside of you