FicWad

Warning: Swearing and foul language alert. If you're offended by cussing and four-letter words, it's not too late to turn back.


One and a half months ago

In the port city of Mizaka, a gray, wet dawn was only beginning to shake off its stupor and crawl out into the streets. In a dingy alley near the pier, however, three men were about to be reacquainted with the soothing comfort of unconsciousness.

"Akkan curse this weather," one of them grumbled as he hunched deeper into his coat. The three of them were huddled against the back door of an all-night tavern, watching water stream down from the sky. "Rainin' day and night like this, it can't be natural."

There was a brief flare as the second one lit a cigarette. "Be glad the wind's stopped. Rain's good, if we're careful. I can work with rain, but not with a fuckin' typhoon."

"All this damned rain's useless now that they've closed the eastern gate," the first one retorted. "The central gate's lousy with guards. We ain't gonna get through."

"Izzo, quit worryin'. The rats'll come through for us."

"Huh?"

"He means the march." The third man, who'd been silently watching the alley, spoke up. "The gov's thinkin' of executing the two captured rebels, and there's talk of the Outers marching to central market and storming the gates. The guards'll have their hands full just keepin' 'em from swarming in. And while they're at it-"

"We go in, do the job, and get the hell out," the second man finished with satisfaction.

Izzo looked confused. "What happened to waiting until the Sun Festival?"

"What's the matter with you?" the third man asked irritably. "The gov's not gonna open the gates this year, Festival or no Festival. If you got your head out from between your new wench's legs long enough, you'd know this."

The second man smirked, while Izzo flushed and scowled at him. "Ikamura'll be at the council meeting," the third man went on. "His family'll be at the temple. There'll be no one left at the mansion but a bunch of servants. Miho'll put them to sleep, then unlock-/what's that/?"

The three snapped to narrow-eyed alertness. Sure enough, they could hear the faint, measured sound of footsteps over the patter of rain. Izzo and the second man tensed, then leaped at the shadows. After a brief scuffle, they reappeared, dragging a limp figure in a black hooded coat between them. "It's one of 'em juvenile dele-delik-teenage gangsters," the second man spat. "He's been listening to us, I know it."

The hood was pulled off the stranger's head, and the man found himself looking into cool gray eyes in a smooth face topped with spiky white hair that turned black at the back of his head. The boy was wearing black all over, with only the silver chains hanging around his neck providing a contrast. Even his boots were black and tipped with steel. The man gave the boots an odd look. With boots like that, they should have heard this guy clanking noisily a long while back. He frowned. There was something strange about the boy, but damned if he knew what it was. He looked up, and noted with a prickle of unease, that the boy's lips were curved in a small smile.

"Which one's your boss, huh?" Izzo snarled into the boy's face. "Who sent you?"

"Nobody," the boy replied calmly. "I was just passing through."

"How much did you hear?"

"Nothing."

"He's lying," the second man put in. "Gods know how long he's been skulking around back there. He's gonna talk, I tell you."

Izzo slammed the boy against the wall. As if by magic, a knife appeared in his hand, right in front of the boy's face. "Well, we'll just have to make sure he can't talk now, won't we?"

The third man watched carefully. The boy's head had snapped back when he hit the wall, but when he looked at them, his eyes were more silver now than gray, with only the barest hint of pupil in them. The man had seen eyes like that before. There was that hag back in his village. Wasn't right in the head, that old bitch. She went about all harmless and peaceful-like, then the kids would throw one too many stones at her, and something would snap and she'd just go /crazy/. Thrashing and kicking and hollering, and no one would dare go near her unless they were itching to have an ear bitten off or an arm wrenched out of its socket. The hag's eyes, the man realized, looked the way the boy's eyes looked now, just before she started rampaging. The prickle of unease suddenly became a full-blown spasm of dread.

Izzo was drawing his arm back, preparing to bury the knife in the boy's stomach, when the third man shouted: "Get away from him!"

Too late. The knife flying toward the boy never made it to its target as the boy grabbed Izzo's arm, turned and twisted it behind his back so high the joint popped. Izzo's screech of pain was abruptly cut off when the boy threw him against the wall. Izzo's companion made a clumsy attempt to wrestle the boy to the ground, but the boy stepped aside and punched him in the throat. The man turned a ghastly white and clutched at his neck. Another punch, and he collapsed face first into a puddle beside Izzo.

The third man gaped at his fallen companions. The boy laughed, his face a mask of sadistic enjoyment. "So, thieving scum like you are trying to tell me what I can or can't do, huh? Any more of your shithead friends hanging around? It's going to take a lot more than this to take me down."

The man was frozen to the spot, mesmerized by the change in the boy's entire demeanor. "H-here, you're a fuckin' Inner! You can't-"

The boy kicked him so hard he went flying backward out onto the street, right in front of a drunken sailor, who took one look at the black specter coming out of the alley, decided he wasn't drunk enough for this, and quickly fled the scene. The boy stood over the prone figure of the would-be thief and shook his head. "What did I just tell you, asshole?"

Then he pulled his hood back on, stuck his hands in his pockets, and vanished in the rain.

- - *

The room was a mess. Papers lay scattered across the desk, one corner of which bristled with quills and brushes and ink boxes. A lamp sat nearby, glowing cheerfully against the weak light slanting in through the window. The walls were covered from floor to ceiling with bookshelves, except for a patch above a small table. An ancient heraldic banner, faded with age, was mounted upon this place of honor, and beneath it, an onyx sculpture of a wolf, with its ears pricked forward and muzzle regally high, sat beside vase of daisies somebody had lovingly arranged. More books were stacked around the floor, and if one viewed the room from above, one could see lines of bare carpet winding around the piles, the way a path is cut through a jungle by constant use.

Once, Shigure Sohma had gazed upon the chaos around him and considered accepting Tohru's offer to help him clean up the place. That was, what? Months ago, as he recalled. But now, as he leaned back in his chair and stared out the window, contemplating the falling rain, the problem of a messy study was the farthest thing on his mind.

The rain was a pathetic finale for the succession of the storms that had battered the city. Being so close to the sea, Mizaka was no stranger to erratic weather and sudden squalls; still, week after week of howling winds and pouring rains took its toll on the trading city. Ships were grounded, roofs, window panes and even entire walls were blown off houses, trees were uprooted and flung into the streets. Friends and acquaintances complained to Shigure about how much gold they were losing each day the storms raged, and Shigure had to admit, even the Sohma family's business had taken a blow, although it wasn't as bad as the others. But it wasn't the losses that disturbed him. It was the fact that it was raining at all.

In the middle of summer, mere days before the Sun Festival. Traditionally the hottest, driest season, and the rains came down as if they fully intended to be a permanent fixture in Mizaka.

He'd heard comments about how odd the weather was, but too many things were happening for anyone to take note of its significance. He doubted he'd be any different, if it weren't for a strange restlessness that had been plaguing him for weeks, as if some forgotten but immeasurably important thing was tugging at his mind. A deep-seated instinct was telling him that something else was behind these storms, but what it was he couldn't begin to imagine. Sometimes he'd wake up in the middle of the night and he could almost feel it. The back of his neck would be tingling and every breath would leave a bitter tang. Even now, there was a heaviness in the air, as if the slack in the storms was only a pause for breath before the start of another onslaught.

It didn't help that he hadn't been sleeping well lately. For the past few weeks his dreams had been...disquieting. They always ended the same way, with the horrifying sensation of being submerged in water and rock and he was either drowning or being crushed. The gods only knew what that meant. Maybe it was all this living by the sea; he was getting sun sickness without the inconvenience of having to stay on deck under the glaring sun all day long. The thought amused him. He already had a reputation as an eccentric character, but wouldn't people be surprised to find out just how eccentric he really was? Certain factions within the Council would wet their pants at the chance to cut down the Sohma family's power, and he doubted his uncle Amano would appreciate getting booted out of Takei's circle of confidants because of his, Shigure's, alarming turn toward the delusional.

Maa/, but would that be so terrible?/ came the disloyal thought. Too many small-minded graybeards were getting their way with the governor. Perhaps Shigure would be doing the city a favor by causing his uncle to fall out of favor.

Not that Shigure would be all that effective as moderating influence over the conservatives. Disgust welled up in him as he thought about Governor Takei's latest exploit. Closing the eastern gate. He wondered which paranoid old fool Makoto had gotten that idea from. As if the waves of protest that swept through the Inner City at the closing of the three other gates hadn't made it clear enough how unpopular the idea was, to say nothing of the howling in the Outer City. The Reformation Party nearly went into collective seizures as their numbers were swelled by young idealists, who believed Mizaka was choking from too many laws. As long as the conservatives ruled the Council, however, the Reformation Party would have to content themselves with shouting in the streets and hanging streamers from every tree and lamppost still left standing.

Makoto Takei, as infuriatingly unpredictable as he was, was right about one thing. For all their marches and noise and fondness of red paint, the real danger didn't lie in the Inners. It was in the swelling, heaving masses in the Outer City, beyond the massive stone wall dividing Mizaka in two. The foreign exiles, immigrants, drifters, stowaways, traders, sailors, prostitutes, orphans, smugglers and criminal gangs-in short, everyone who failed to live up to the Inner City's stringent standards of pedigree, prosperity and politics. The Outers, who had never had too much respect for the law imposed upon them by the Inners to begin with, had their own freedom fighters now in that tribe of refugees turned bandits, adopting the bandits' cause as their own. Robbery, kidnapping, extortion, murder-every sort of crime the human race could commit had always run rampant in the Outer City, but now, for perhaps the first time in the history of the city, it was /organized /crime.

Only Akkan knew what kind of storm was brewing out there.

Bizarre weather patterns. The governor plucking decrees from out of thin air. The city up in arms. And in the middle of it all was a desperate band of refugees driven out of their home by the flames of revolution.

"No, that wasn't it," he muttered, shaking his head. Ashamed as he was to admit it, even he had found it convenient to blame the miserable Ashari for Mizaka's present ills, but that same instinct was screaming at him to rethink his theory. It wasn't the Ashari. He had a feeling the refugees were as much a victim in this as the city was. There was something bigger at work here than a simple case of a misunderstanding blown up to justify rebellion.

And if he doubted the truth of this, then here was the proof right before his eyes.

His gaze lowered to the much-folded piece of paper in his hand. Kana had written it; her handwriting was easier to read than Hatori's chicken scratches. But her usually neat, loopy script was jerky and uneven, as if she'd scrawled off the letter in a hurry, and a spot was blurred where a drop of liquid had fallen on the paper. Kana was deeply distressed, and no wonder.

"Our daughter, Kisa, is very ill," she'd written. "The fever began a month ago, but it never lasted long and she'd been sick with the flu before that, so we thought it was simply a relapse. But she grew worse and worse. She collapsed a week ago and hasn't left her bed since. The fever brings on a kind of delirium, and whatever it is she sees in that state frightens her. The doctors can find no reason for her illness. We've tried every cure we know, but nothing works. All we can do is fight off the fever and be with her. Hiro-kun hasn't left her room for days. The helplessness is eating into Hatori's soul. He doesn't speak of it, not even to me, but I see it in his eyes. I'm so afraid, Shigure-san, for both my daughter and my husband. I don't know what to do anymore.

"Hatori doesn't know I'm writing to you. Even now, word is coming in of demon attacks on the outlying villages, and he and the others have gone to reinforce the villages' defenses and find out what is causing the attacks. He won't give up searching for a cure for Kisa, but he is still the Duke of Ryuukama after all. He may write to you himself, but I find I cannot wait until he does.

"Shigure-san, I beg you, please consider my urgent request."

Shigure grimaced. The idea of demon attacks was as alien to him as the concept of sea sickness was to Hatori and Kana. Then again, just because magic was forbidden in Mizaka didn't mean it was the same everywhere else. Obviously, some people regarded magical ability as a blessing instead of a curse, and some regions in the West were highly charged with magic. Ryuukama was well known even in Mizaka as a center of learning where talents in magic and the healing arts were nurtured and trained. Hatori himself was one of the strongest mages Shigure knew of, and a gifted healer as well. How it must cut him to be unable to help his own daughter.

Demon attacks in a place protected by magic. Poor Kisa stricken by a fever that brought on nightmares. Shigure sensed a pattern beginning to emerge. It was impossible, really. Even to someone like him, whose knowledge of sorcery was sketchy at best, the idea was ridiculous. His gaze shifted toward the onyx wolf, who regarded him with sad, wise eyes. /Why should it be ridiculous/, the wolf seemed to say, when something like it has happened two hundred years ago?

"All right, I can see how that can happen," he conceded. "But it still doesn't explain Kana's request, and you're not giving anything away."

His conversation with the wolf was interrupted by a knock on the door. "/Anoo/, Shigure-san? May I come in?"

Shigure found himself smiling at the sound of her voice. Pulling his reading glasses off, he tucked Kana's letter into his pocket and called out: "Of course, Tohru-kun. Come in."

The door opened, and a girl peeked in shyly. "Good morning, Shigure-san. I don't mean to intrude, but I just came to tell you that breakfast will be ready in a few minutes. Oh! And I came to give you this." She stepped inside, carrying a tray with a steaming cup of coffee and a small flower pot full of purple geraniums. She looked around for an empty space to put the tray on and settled for a small stack of books on the side of the desk. "You were up so early this morning," she explained. "I thought you might like a cup of coffee to warm you up a bit."

Shigure glanced at the cup, then at the girl who was standing beside him. The lamplight illuminated her heart-shaped face, reflecting in her soft, sea-blue eyes. She was dressed simply in an old blue house dress, the blue ribbons holding her long chestnut hair back at the sides and her charm necklace with its little animal charms her only ornamentation. She was not, perhaps, as stunning or exotic as the young ladies Shigure constantly surrounded himself with at social events, but her kindness and innocence and complete unawareness of her own attractiveness combined to make her one of the most refreshingly beautiful girls he'd ever met. She smiled at him, a bright, happy smile that filled the room with warmth. Shigure's heart instantly grew lighter, and his own smile widened. "Ah, Tohru-kun, you bring joy to this poor old man's life. My tired and lonely soul will be healed by this coffee you offer with all your love," he declaimed, clutching the cup as if it contained all the treasures of the world.

Tohru laughed, having grown accustomed to his passionate outbursts. "You're not old or tired or poor or lonely, Shigure-san. Hmm?" She glanced around the room, puzzled. "I thought I heard you talking to someone a while ago."

He twitched. "No, actually I was just, ah, thinking out loud. Trying out a few sentences before I wrote them down. You know how we brilliant but eccentric novelists can be."

"Eh? You're writing again? How wonderful!" she said delightedly. "I can't wait until your next book comes out. I've always loved stories like yours, with lots of adventure and romance and happy endings. In fact, the only sad story I'd ever liked was the one about-" She stopped suddenly, and blushed. "I'm sorry. I got a bit excited over your new book. What's it about?"

"Hmm, well, it's-" Shigure glanced down at the papers on his desk, conscious of the slight lump of Kana's letter in his pocket. "To tell you the truth, I'm still trying to find out myself. This particular story is taking longer than expected to reveal itself to me," he added cryptically.

"Oh." She gave him a sympathetic look. "I guess it's because you've been too busy to write lately. But Mit-chan-san could always ask the printers to give you an extension like she did before," she said, then trailed off at his amused look. They both knew that Mit-chan, Shigure's much-harried private secretary cum literary agent, was more likely to lock him in his study until he coughed up the manuscript or expired, whichever came first. Tohru grew flustered as honesty warred with the need to make him feel better. "Well, ah-maybe Mit-chan-san would, um-"

He chuckled at the look on her face. "Tohru-kun, I only wish Mit-chan shared your faith in me."

Tohru smiled, then turned to glance out the window. "Look, Shigure-san, the rain's stopped. I think I can even see the sun peeking out." He followed her gaze. The sky looked as dismal as ever, but if he looked closely, he could almost see the glimpse of sun she was talking about. "I hope the storms have passed," she went on as her eyes clouded. "I hope Hatsuharu-san comes home. It's been four days. He's never been lost this long before, and in such weather, too."

Shigure flapped a hand. "/Maa/, don't worry about Ha-kun. He can take care of himself."

"But-"

"Tooooohruuu-kun." He wagged a finger at her playfully. "You don't think I'd let my cousin wander off into danger without my knowing, do you?" Her eyes widened as understanding sank in. Shigure preferred a low-key lifestyle, but power and wealth had certain benefits that were terribly useful at times. Shigure's "agents" were out there in the city, storm or no storm, and if anything happened to Haru, Shigure would be the first to know.

He leaned back, smiling. "Good girl."

She sighed. "I'm sorry. I'll try not to worry anymore, and-oh! I almost forgot!" She took the pot of geraniums from the tray and picked her way toward the heraldic shrine. "The daisies needed to be changed," she said over her shoulder before turning to the onyx wolf. "Good morning, Pochie!" she greeted it as she set the geraniums beside it. "I thought you might like looking at something alive for a change, although the daisies were lovely, weren't they?"

"'Pochie'?" Shigure murmured, lifting one eyebrow.

She turned to him. "Oh yes. The name suits him, I think. He's such a cute dog, but he looks a little sad, so I talk to him sometimes. I don't know why, but talking to him always makes me feel better. Ah!" She blinked suddenly and covered her cheeks with her hands. "That sounds so strange, me talking to your dog statue. It's just this silly thing I do."

"'Silly thing?'" he echoed, torn between indignation and laughter. "Tohru-kun, this 'cute dog' is Oukami, the Black Wolf of the North, once the symbol of our family's might. He was my great-great-grandfather's most prized possession, which he in turn inherited from his grandfather." He came to stand beside her, reverentially picking up the onyx wolf. "If you feel comfortable talking to him, it's because he's had a lot of experience in listening. Everyone in my line, from my great-great-grandfather down, has done it one time or another. People have even worshipped him once. It sounds a bit pagan, but Oukami is our family's guardian spirit of sorts."

Tohru's eyes had grown rounder and rounder during his speech. "Eh?!" she gasped in horror. "I'm sorry, Shigure-san! I had no idea he was such an important dog-"

"Wolf."

"Ack! I mean wolf!" She bowed her head, her face aflame. "I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to be disrespectful when I named him Pochie, I'll never call him that again, I-"

"Tohru-kun." Shigure laid a hand on the top of her head, effectively shutting her up. She looked up, and found him grinning down at her. "Between you and me," he went on, unable to keep the laughter out of his voice, "I think Oukami likes being called 'Pochie.'" She blinked at him, then at the wolf, and her smile grew until she ended up giggling herself. He ruffled her hair and returned Oukami-Pochie!-to his spot. "Now, did I hear you mention something about break-"

"Toooooohhhruuuu!"

The door flew open and a golden-haired, golden-eyed boy who looked to be around ten years old, dressed in a frilly pink shirt, brown shorts and a pink beret, bounded into the room. He stopped short at the sight of Shigure and Tohru standing together. "Heeeh? Shi-chan, you're not flirting with Tohru again, are you?" he demanded.

Shigure's face was incandescent with innocence. "Momiji-kun, you know I always flirt with beautiful young girls. Why would I be any different toward our Tohru-kun?" When her mouth dropped open in shock, he winked at her.

Tohru shook her head at Shigure's antics and turned toward the boy. "Good morning, Momiji-kun. What's that you're holding in your arms?"

Momiji skipped around the stacks of books to show her. A small white and brown rabbit was nestled comfortably in his arms. "Look, look! Isn't he adorable?"

"Waaaah! How cute!" she squealed, rubbing the bunny's soft, furry head with a finger.

"Another rabbit, Momiji?" Shigure said. "How many have you adopted already?"

"Eleven," Momiji replied cheerfully. "I found him hiding outside my bedroom window. Ne, ne, isn't he cute, Tohru? I think the bunnies really like me."

"They certainly do." Tohru laughed as Momiji danced the rabbit around the room, singing to himself. "It's amazing," she said to Shigure. "Even wild rabbits aren't afraid to hop close to him. I guess they can sense that Momiji-kun has a kind heart."

"Mmm, yes. I've seen it, too. No wonder we could never keep a garden." Shigure watched Momiji dart about until his eyes watered. "Um, Tohru-kun? About breakfast..."

Tohru jumped. "Ah! I'm sorry, I forgot! I'll go put the buns out now!" She hurried out of the room, with Momiji following behind her. The study suddenly seemed colder and Shigure felt the tension creep back in, now that Tohru and Momiji weren't there to hold it back with their warmth and energy. He thought about Kana's request and sighed. He didn't understand any of it. The certainty that something big was about to happen nagged at him, but trying to make sense of it was like trying to draw pictures in the sand at high tide.

"Then I'll just have to draw faster," he muttered, and glanced down at Oukami. "Don't you agree, 'Pochie'?"

Chuckling, he left the room, certain he'd just seen a tiny drop of sweat trickle down the back of the onyx wolf's head.