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.