AmongHeroesBut it was the moment he nearly stumbled over the splayed body of a Takahiro henchman, an obvious gunshot wound sprouting like a small crimson blossom in his forehead, that Yury realized whatever was happening at this moment? It had not a single thing to do with his little sister or her dealings with Takahiro Souma. Yury could not know the how, or the why - it simply did not matter. His first and only thought was for Galina who, at this very moment, could be caught in a vise with enemies on all sides.
Yury's amber eyes narrowed as he scanned the compound, every tree and rock and roofline, the Cossack soldier instinctually knowing to take what cover he could before sprinting forward to the next, skirting the walls and the lees of the house as he moved, as swiftly as he dared. There were ten cartridges in the Winchester rifle he carried, a treasured gift from Galina when she returned from America, and Yury knew the Takahiro men well enough by sight - there would be no 'friendly fire' by the exquisitely, ruthlessly trained Cossack.
His lips pulled back over bared teeth, a feral growl in his throat as movement flashed at the edge of his sight, dark blue and swift, crouched and running low over the peaked roofline. Yury never stopped moving as he raised the rifle, noting many things about the intruder: the strange garb of the man above and the deadly assurance with which he moved, his assuredly non-Japanese sword and dagger and rifle, an American-made rifle - and that he was certainly not a member of the Takahiro household - all in the same instant he fired. The assailant dropped silently, toppling over the far side of the roof as Yury cocked the lever-action, ejecting the casing, and chambering another round in one fluid movement. Yury never missed a beat as he sprinted for the lee of the compound's wall.
There were nine cartridges in the Winchester rifle he carried...
Galina fell from Souma’s grip, the sudden agony in her broken ribs a white hot starburst that sucked away her breath. Dark eyes opened to a world that, only seconds before, she never thought to see again. She gasped, coughed as she felt his hand on her throat, Souma’s face coming into focus faster than his voice, or the sense of what he was saying – or even the gunshots and shouts that were far too close, and coming closer.
“What did… I… ?“ her voice was raspy, choked off as she shook her head. She did not understand at all for those first moments, what Souma was saying. Galina could make no sense of the terror or the fury etched on his face, not when he had been so close to finally ending their twisted, tangled rivalry. She could understand triumph, joyous victory even, but not this rage, not this horror.
Another gunshot in the distance, cries of pain and anger and fear wafting like an acrid smoke, and realization finally rushed like the roaring blood in her head.
“No… No!” Galina winced as she snatched at Souma’s wrist, wresting his fingers from her neck almost too easily and rolling away with a small, muffled cry of pain as the cracked edges of broken ribs grated and ground together. She hiked herself to her hands and knees, her head swinging toward Souma. “This is not… No! No, this is not... Not me! Not us… Would not let… Not let this happen… No one hurt. No one dies… “ Some small whisper of a doubt hovered at the back of her thoughts, but...No. No, her father would not do this, not with her here with her brother, still in harm's way.
’Yury…’ Her brother’s face shot like a lightning flash through her thoughts, lifted her to her feet as she recovered the kindjal and the Souma’s dagger. Galina shook her head, using the throbbing ache of her broken cheekbone to snap her out of the fog her pain-addled mind wanted to fall back into again. She would not let it drag her back.
“This is not me, not my people,” she breathed softly, dark eyes flickering through the trees of this small, cultivated forest. Souma was bleeding heavily, too heavily now. Galina could see that. She had always meant for him to be found, long before there had been any permanent damage. But now, in the midst of whatever the hell was happening now during this attack on the Takahiro compound, she could not be so sure…
Galina groaned in the back of her throat, every part of her wanting to sprint from this place, to find her brother – but she could not leave Souma like this. Swiftly she knelt beside him where he remained against the small statue, warily. Galina knew all too well that however injured he might seem, this would likely only make him doubly dangerous.
Slowly she tucked her kindjal back into the folds of her obi. “I have to find my brother, Souma. But please… “ She held her empty hand up, a wordless plea to tell him she meant him no further harm. “Let me bind that quickly, before you bleed to death.”
Galina did not let her thoughts linger on the strange, almost surreal juxtaposition of her desire to help a man who, but for this unexpected reprieve in gunfire, would have gladly killed her seconds before. “I will just cut some strips off – “
A flicker of dark movement, a living shadow rustling like the leaves overhead, and Galina’s head snapped toward the trunk of a nearby tree, to the man garbed in dark blue, his rifle raising to his shoulder.
There was no thought, only instinct as she threw Souma’s knife with an unerring trajectory from where she knelt beside him. The blade was buried to the hilt in the intruder's throat, blue eyes wide with shock, as if he simply could not believe he would drown in his own blood in the next minute. She recognized too that whoever these men were, they were not Russians, not Cossack brothers sent by her father - and the realization both relieved and terrified her in equal measure.
Galina leapt to her feet with a snarl, her dark eyes narrowed as the kindjal appeared in her hand once more. “Souma!” she hissed, “Can you get up – “
She might never know why these men were here, now, or why they wanted the Takahiro clan dead. It did not matter. Another man in dark blue appeared from the forest, his brow furrowed with an undisguised fury as his eyes flicked toward his fallen, still-gurgling comrade. A decision was made somewhere behind those hazel eyes, a sudden start of recognition as he whirled toward the man and woman, raising his Colt revolver, its barrel aimed directly at Souma.
Galina ran. She sprinted those few short yards between herself and this new assailant, a blur of rose and crimson red as she leapt.
The impact of the bullet dropped her mid-flight.
Galina’s chest was on fire. Her vision swam as sky and the canopy of leaves above faded, grew fuzzy about the edges even as the colors began to meld into strange and terrible shapes. Long, nimble fingers wrapped tightly about the hilt of her kindjal. ’God, give me strength. Do not let me fall here. Not now - this cannot be the end! Guide my hand, Lord… In the name of the Father, and the Son, and - “
She moved with a grace not entirely own, rolling up from the ground the very second the shooter tried to take aim once more, launching herself at him. Galina felt nothing, any more than the wind does as it moves through all the corners of the Earth. She thought of nothing at all when she landed atop the shooter, their two bodies falling backward as Galina rode her attacker to the ground. Endless hours of training saw the tendons in his strong arm cleaved by the kindjal’s razor edge before he could shoot her, or bash her skull with the heavy butt of the pistol. It was muscle memory that saw the return stroke bury the blade to its hilt through the tender flesh beneath his jaw, deep into his brain.
Galina tore her blade from his skull and stood with a painful slowness over the dead man. The vitality that animated her attack dissipated like morning fog now she had done all that was needful in this moment, staggering to her feet as she stepped away from the body and turned toward Souma. The once cherry blossom pink kimono was marred with the spreading stain of crimson that continued its slow relentless flow down her chest, toward her belly and the earth below. She could not know there was a bloody twin to that stain that widened and crept down her back.
No matter. She cradled the bloody kindjal to her chest with one hand, a talisman of sorts as she lurched back toward the small statue where she had left Souma only seconds before. Galina managed four, then five faltering steps before the strength leaked from her legs, just as the blood and breath had from her body. The lovely soft grasses rushed up to meet her as she dropped to her knees. Galina hadn’t even the strength to remain upright anymore, the rest of her battered body careening to the ground. She managed to stop her fall for only a moment by the strength of one arm before it too collapsed beneath her, and she crumpled completely to her side.
For a moment Galina smiled through the growing purple welt spreading over her cheek and her eye socket, and she thought how beautiful a green the grass was in this cultivated forest garden. Beautiful, and so very soft, the back of one outstretched hand cradled by the gentle greenery.
