by Renee Ahdieh
Kenshin leveled the tip of his katana at the boy’s throat. “Who are you?” he demanded. “Tell me who you are, and you will die quickly. Painlessly. With a measure of honor.”
The boy’s laughter was harsh. Almost maniacal.
Kenshin pressed his foot down even harder. The boy cried out, then gritted his teeth.
“What kind of loathsome, dishonorable men are you?” Kenshin yelled into the blackness. “That you would allow your man to suffer while you stand by watching, idle?”
Sinister laughter emanated from beneath the awning of the granary.
“I suppose that would make us nearly as loathsome as you, Hattori Kenshin. A noble samurai who tortures a wounded, helpless boy in an effort to provoke a reaction.”
Kenshin flinched. “You drove me to this.”
“I expected nothing less from you. The Dragon of Kai . . .” Kenshin could almost picture the faceless sneer accompanying the words. “That you would blame others for your own actions. As though you did not have a choice. Yet you claim to honor bushidō.”
The fury ignited once more beneath Kenshin’s skin. “How dare you speak to me in this fashion? Who are you to dare?”
Another voice tore through the night, this one softer.
And yet infinitely more dangerous.
“We are nothing. We are no one . . .” Footsteps trudged through the darkness. A low hum began to form in the air around him. Strange and full of malice.
“And we are everywhere.”
From one side, a beast growled. Yellow eyes materialized in the shadows.
The hum grew louder.
Then—as if a giant fist had punched through the center of the earth—an explosion rocketed the entrance of the granary.
And a wall of fire and earth rained down upon them.
—
She’d done it to save Kenshin. Done it to spare her brother.
Mariko did not care what happened to Ōkami. Did not care at all about Ranmaru.
Did not care that Ren lay wounded at her brother’s feet.
When she lit the firegourd. When she rolled to the ground and tossed it before the entrance of the granary. When she provided a distraction enabling the Black Clan to escape.
She had done it for Kenshin.
Mariko shook herself into consciousness. Her head throbbed. She touched her ear and discovered a trail of warm blood trickling from its edge. Then she crawled on her hands and knees toward the safety of a toppled cart filled with chipped porcelain bowls. The explosion from the firegourd had ripped the entrance off the front of the granary. Since the members of the Black Clan had been positioned along the back of the roof and against the sides, they had not been killed by the blast. But several of them had been knocked unconscious, just like Mariko.
Screams echoed into the night as the granary caught flame.
An arrow whistled by her, startling her into full awareness. Sharpening the drone in her ears. Through the fire, she saw Kenshin swing his sword at a black blur.
Her pulse thundered; her throat went dry.
The black blur flashed to a sudden halt. Kenshin brandished his katana as Ōkami angled his bō to one side, ready to strike.
“Get Ren!” Yoshi cried out from behind Mariko.
Her family’s servants barreled into the night, frantically searching for buckets, for bowls, for anything to stanch the rising flames.
Mariko stood rigid, watching her brother make a decision.
Watching Ōkami make a choice.
Kenshin moved to attack as Ōkami hurtled into motion. Then—from her place beside the cart—Mariko saw Ren vanish in a smudge of darkness.
Ōkami had rescued Ren instead of attacking Kenshin.
In that moment, Mariko knew she, too, could not just sit here and watch others suffer.
As she stood to help put out the fire, one of her family’s foot soldiers caught sight of her. In this young man’s eyes, she must look to be just another boy dressed in black. The soldier promptly nocked an arrow to his bow. Before she could think to do anything else, Mariko smashed a smokeshield at her feet, then dashed behind a cart. She unsheathed her tantō, her pulse on a tearing rampage.
The arrow missed her, but the soldier barreled through the smoke, intent on cornering her.
He raised his sword, and Mariko knew she had to fight. Had to stop him from firing any more arrows her way. Without hesitation, she tore from behind the cart and flew into his knees. He toppled to the ground, and Mariko raised her tantō, brandishing it in a threat. With a look of hatred, the soldier punched her in the face.
Needles of light stabbed at her vision. Mariko grabbed her cheek as one eye welled with tears.
The young soldier tried to stand. Mariko drove the tip of her tantō into his hand, pinning it to the earth, the sound of bone grinding against metal causing her to cringe. He screamed hoarsely, then grabbed her ankle when she attempted to run, knocking her back to the ground. They wrestled for his blade, and the soldier reached for the back of her kosode, trying to force her into submission. The fabric tore open, just enough for him to see the muslin bindings around her breasts.
His eyes widened in shock. Then cut in unmitigated fury. “You . . . bitch!” He tried to throttle her with his unpinned hand. “What kind of whore fights alongside murderers and thieves? Are you the Black Clan’s whore? What kind of woman are you?”
Mariko coughed. Scratched at his face. The fingers of her other hand scrabbled across the ground, wrapping around smooth, cool porcelain. In one motion, she slammed a bowl into the soldier’s head. He called her another filthy name as she sat astride him.
He’d struck her. Her cheek felt shattered. This boy had tried to shoot her with an arrow. Tried to strangle her. Mariko could kill him, as he wished to kill her. She could kill him, as she had that man in the forest.
This soldier deserved to reap what he’d sown.
Mariko drew back a fist and punched him in the face.
When he spat at her, she punched him again.
For all those times a man had caused her to feel fear. For all those times she’d been made to think something was wrong with her. For all those times she’d been forced to believe a girl was somehow less than a boy.
She struck him again. He called her another filthy name, and her knuckles met his face once more. Soon she felt nothing in her fist.
“M-Mariko?” a voice stuttered to her right.
Just as she met the eyes of her brother, the roof of the granary collapsed on itself in a flurry of smoke and ash.
And a dark shadow grabbed her and whirled into the night sky.
—
“Kenshin!” Amaya yelled through a haze of smoke and a shower of sparks.
It couldn’t have been his sister.
That scrawny boy with a face covered in a spray of crimson—beating one of his men to a bloody pulp—was not Hattori Mariko. Kenshin shook his head, trying to clear his vision.
“Kenshin!” Amaya yelled again.
He whirled around to see her splashing pails of water toward the burning granary.
“There are workers trapped inside,” she implored. “They were trying to save some of our stores. If we don’t rescue them, they will be burned alive!”
Kenshin’s father stumbled to a halt nearby. “Get our men out,” he ordered, smoothing the folds of his fine silk kimono while he spoke.
Usually Kenshin was the first to follow any order Hattori Kano doled out, without question. But in this instant, a part of Kenshin could barely register his father’s words. He was still lost in the sight of only a moment ago. And he desperately wanted to seek out the crazed young man with a face so similar to that of his sister.
Amaya shoved her hair from her damp forehead and barreled toward the granary.
“What are you doing?” his father demanded.
The fire blazed in Amaya’s beautiful grey eyes. “Our men are in there.”
“And several servants.” His father’s face became stern. “Do not risk yourself for the servants. Try to save our soldiers. If you cannot, so be it.”
Her lip curled in disgust before she turned toward the burning granary, her head held high. Kenshin raced toward the fire, pushing his way through the smoke.
“Amaya!” he called out.
She was dragging a man from the flames. The sweat was already dripping from her forehead, drenching the collar of her kimono. Kenshin saw from the man’s clothing that he was a servant. Amaya was working in express defiance of Hattori Kano’s directive.
In the corner, Kenshin caught sight of one of his father’s samurai. The man was unconscious, with a wound to his head and a leg stuck beneath a splintered beam. He turned toward the samurai to help.
Amaya called out. “Help me, Kenshin!”
“Leave the servant,” Kenshin replied. “Help me with Fumio-sama.”
“Don’t argue with me!” Amaya said.
“My father wants—”
“I don’t care what your father wants. Help me save this man. Help me save this life.”
Kenshin heaved a breath, his eyes wild. Then he grabbed hold of the servant’s shoulders and stumbled away from the blaze. His father waited outside, every part of his body tense with fury. Before Hattori Kano could say a word, Kenshin and Amaya fended off the blaze once more and—together—managed to lift the splintered beam and pull Fumio-sama to safety.
Another side of the granary bowed inward, consumed by flames. “That’s enough, Amaya,” Kenshin said, his voice coarse from the smoke.
“There are still two more people inside—a woman and a young boy who works in the granary. We have to help them. They became trapped because they were trying to put out the fire!” She spun to make her way back toward the blaze, undeterred.
“No.” Kenshin grabbed her by the wrist.
Amaya’s eyes were pleading. “We have to save them.”
“Do not risk yourself,” his father argued. “The entire structure will collapse at any moment.”
Kenshin hesitated. “Amaya—”
With a look of pure revulsion, she returned to the fire.
Kenshin’s father took hold of his shoulder, keeping him still. Keeping him beyond the reach of any danger. Again Kenshin hesitated before firming his resolve. He could not leave Amaya to fight through the blaze herself. The moment he tore himself free from his father’s grasp, the walls of the granary buckled.
Without a second thought, Kenshin sprinted toward the roaring fire.
It took three of his father’s soldiers to hold him back.
“She’s gone,” Hattori Kano yelled.
Kenshin stared at the blaze until his eyes burned.
“What a foolish waste of life,” his father said before walking away.
MY NAME IS MARIKO
Okami let himself be sick. Let himself empty his stomach until there was nothing left. And still the shaking did not stop. Still he felt the cold sweat sliding down his back.
He’d never flown this far before. Never carried a burden like this before.
In the distance behind him, he could see the flames. Hear the shouts. The burning granary and its many victims. Ōkami could only hope the Black Clan had vanished back into the woods, letting the thick veil of night conceal them from prying eyes.
He hoped Ranmaru had been able to take Ren with him. Hoped all his brothers in the Black Clan were spared the effects of that sudden explosion.
When Ōkami had finished emptying his stomach, he wiped his mouth. Though he continued to tremble, he heaved his unconscious burden across his shoulders again.
This girl. This wretched, wretched girl.
This wicked liar.
Mariko. Her name was Mariko.
Ōkami had watched the Dragon of Kai see her. Heard Hattori Kenshin call to her with a familiarity that could not be mistaken for anything else.
In truth Ōkami was glad she’d passed out from the force of being hurled through the sky, carried by nothing but wind and smoke. Or perhaps it was a combination of several elements—the explosion this wretched girl had undoubtedly caused, along with being heaved beneath the clouds. Whatever the case, Ōkami could not bear to speak to her. To watch more lies fall from her rosebud lips.
He had to figure out what to do first.
Hattori Kenshin knew who this girl was. There was only one way that could be possible. Ranmaru had told him that Hattori Kenshin had a twin sister.
Her name was Mariko.
Therefore this strange and imaginative girl—this girl who had captured Ōkami’s attention with her radiant eyes, who had confused him beyond compare, who had fearlessly sparred with him using words as well as swords, who had befuddled his senses as no one ever had before—was the sister of the Dragon of Kai.
Ōkami almost laughed at himself, even while he choked through the last of his pain. The last of the burden that came with his power. A burden he’d willingly chosen.
In all his life Ōkami had never thought to find love. Because he’d never sought it. Love was a burden he did not want. When others had described it to be like an arrow or a bolt of lightning, he’d sneered inwardly. Both were things that could kill. Love to him was not a shot to the heart. It was not a sudden, unpredictable thing.
Love was a sunrise. A welter of crimson that rose much like a warning. Slowly and almost in secret.
A secret Ōkami did not welcome.
The girl who’d stolen Ōkami’s heart with her lies and her clever, clever mind.
Was the sister of the Dragon of Kai.
Hattori Mariko.
—
Mariko’s head was pounding.
Over and over, she heard her brother’s voice. Saw the look on his face.
Mariko?
When she opened her eyes, the first thing she did was cough. Her hand moved toward her lips as she cringed in pain. Her fingers were wrapped tightly in muslin bindings. The room around her was beautiful. Dark wood and silk-screened sliding doors. The scent infusing the air was familiar. Sweet plum and honeysuckle.
Mariko was in the teahouse in Hanami. Her bandaged hands rustled across the elegant covers as she tried to sit upright.
And found Ōkami positioned nearby.
She smiled tentatively. He did not return the gesture.
“Did I pass out?” she asked him.
His features were not cool. Nor were they tinged in amusement. They were filled with . . . nothing. “No.”
“Why did I sleep for so long?”
“You were badly injured.”
“Well—”
“I drugged you.”
Her lips pursed. “Why would you—”
“I told you I owed you an injury. Now we’re even.”
She blinked sluggishly. “What?”
“I’m leaving you here with Yumi. Your hands need time to heal. Don’t try to return to the forest. If by some miracle no one saw you that night, it still won’t be possible to keep your secret from them for much longer.”
“But . . . I wish to go back,” she said. “I—I don’t want to leave.” As soon as she said the words, Mariko was startled to grasp their truth.
“I don’t care what you want.”
The coldness of his words cut through Mariko’s skin, down to the marrow of her bones.
“Ōkami—”
“Ren might die of his wounds. And we lost two of our men in the fight.”
Mariko’s eyes widened.
His dark gaze remained heavy-lidded as Ōkami stared at her unfeelingly. “You could have stopped this from happening.”
In all the times the Wolf had spoken to her—revealed small glimpses of his truth—s
he’d never once found him to be grim. And to find him speaking in such a manner about her? It only unnerved Mariko more. “I don’t understand what you mean. How could I have stopped this from happening?”
“Don’t lie to me anymore, Mariko.”
Nothing could drown out the roar in her ears. “What?” she stammered.
“I heard the Dragon of Kai call you by name. Hattori Kano had a daughter. We heard she was killed in Jukai forest. Don’t tell me you are not she. Don’t deny who you are when confronted with the truth. Names have untold power.”
“You heard?” Mariko stood, fury imbuing her with sudden strength. “You heard she was killed? Don’t you mean you were responsible for killing her?”
Ōkami remained so still that Mariko almost reached out to see if time had frozen around her.
“Is that why you’re forcing me to stay here?” she continued, her voice beginning to tremble. She should have felt ashamed, but she did not. “Because if Ranmaru learns who I truly am, he will try to finish the job he failed to complete a month ago?”
Ōkami unfolded to his feet. “This is the last thing I can do for you. Stay here until you are healed. Then go on your way.”
“Answer me!” Mariko stumbled across the covers. She grabbed him by the front of his kosode, trying to hold him still. To force him to answer. “Did you kill my father’s men? Did you try to kill me?”
Ōkami pried her hands from his collar, gently pushing her away. “When I return to the forest, I will tell the men everything. If they see you again, they will kill you. Don’t look for us. The Black Clan is dead to you.”
“Tell me!” she cried.
“Tell me your name first. Say your name. Admit who you are!” His eyes glittered. The first sign of uncontrolled feeling Mariko had seen since she gained consciousness.
She stood tall. “My name is Hattori Mariko.”
Ōkami nodded. “If there ever comes a day I try to kill you, Hattori Mariko, you will know it.” With that, he left, the doors sliding shut behind him with a final snick.
It was always possible—however unlikely—that Mariko had been wrong about the Black Clan. But now that she was confronted with the reality of it, she was not sure what to do.
