Crescent Moon Fan Fiction ❯ Sublunary ❯ Mare Crisium ( Chapter 9 )
A walk through dark places.
Anime/Manga: Crescent Moon Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Psychological / Supernatural / Romance | Type: Continuation | Uploaded On: 11.15.2005 | Pages: 2 | Words: 3.3K | Visits: 396 | Status: Work In Progress
Disclaimers: see part one.
Mood music: Run to the Water (Live)
AN: Surreality ahead!
No-one else said anything, but he could feel their attention sharpening, the oh-so subtle way they leaned in to listen. He spared a humorless grin. "The Moon doesn't keep me from feeding, Akira. It doesn't stop me being a vampire, no matter the phase."
"I get that, but- -" Akira waved his hands in vague circles. "You're gonna be doing something... more than that. Right?"
It's an innocent question, Nozomu reminded himself, even as his jaw muscles tightened. And it's Akira. He doesn't get stuff like this.
"On the new moon," he said, "do you stop smelling things? Hearing better than others?"
"Huh? No, I- -oh. Okay. I get it. Sort of. But - -"
"A-ki-ra. Enough, already." He brushed aside further queries and went into the washroom. He locked the door and told himself he wasn't hiding from the others.
He'd told Akira the truth- -mostly. The tsuki no kage wouldn't keep him from feeding. Many vampires found their hunger strongest at the new moon. Moon-dark couldn't even blind him to the ties already between himself and Mahiru. It could confuse his senses, though. If she wrapped herself in the moon's shadow, his search would turn into a bizarre version of 'hot and cold,' without a referee.
The moon's shadow had affected him the least, though. He'd actually touched her for a moment before it threw him back. He had to believe she'd recognize him, that somewhere, she waited for him.
He ran the water as hot as the taps would allow. Bloodwarm, humans called it, as if they even knew. His hands trembled a little as he held them under the running water. A bonding for Need was the second-most ritualized tie in the five-fold knot. He had very little in the way of proper materials here- -he didn't even have Mahiru's consent. Bad omen.
Stop it, he told himself, flicking some water at the mirror above the sink to turn back ill-luck.
If he could not have proper ritual and privacy, he could at least go to her clean. He looked down at himself, noting his wrinkled, dirty clothing. They'd been in contact with wasted blood. Little flecks and spatters marred the fabric. Not a true pollutant as his kind saw things, but it wasn't respectful, even if the blood was hers. Perhaps especially because it was hers.
He stripped down with the quick efficiency of a stage performer. He couldn't take time for a proper shower, and he certainly didn't have the time to go searching for a body of clean, open water to immerse himself in. Rushed, too rushed, he thought.
The rituals survived for a reason. There was some leeway for personal preference and adaptation, but certain forms had to be obeyed. If he were a traditionalist, he'd have fasted for three days, keeping himself isolated from all contact. The idea was to express humility. Need should be about the inter-dependence of sentient creatures.
It wasn't supposed to be about desperation.
To petition a donor to fulfill a Need, one usually wore a plain gray cotton kimono and went barefoot. The vampire-women wore their hair down, free of any ornaments or scented oils. The males did the same, or had, when longer hair had been fashionable. The vampire went bare-faced, carrying nothing to hide the eyes or facial expression. Need was not about seduction or enticement, and all the props and trinkets associated with those acts were forbidden.
He wasn't prepared. He had nothing that tradition demanded for this petition. Will it even work, straying so far from the forms? he wondered. No mechanic worth the name ever expected a quick jury-rig to do the work of a proper repair. But I'm out of options. All he could do was make himself as presentable as possible.
The first was Opportunity, he reminded himself, drying his face and hands. The Blood of Blessing. All other weavings spun out from that core. He had to believe that. If he let his doubts master him, he would never find Mahiru again. A failed quest for Need could not be repeated while the other ties still held strong, and his people might not live long enough- -he might not live long enough to start afresh.
The only clothes he had with him were plain, serviceable street-clothes. He'd packed for a tour of Kyoto, to blend in among high schoolers, not- - He shied away from the thought, then forced himself to finish it dead-on: Not as a suitor paying court to his bride-to-be.
He combed his fingers through his thick blond hair. He remembered the shy way her fingers had curled into his hair, and shivered. This time, he didn't try to restrain the feeling, or his reaction. The more he felt now, the stronger the call he could send after her. What he felt and thought would have to make up for the lack of proper ritual and preparation. He'd have to find a way to make it work.
All of their hope hung suspended on this third skein he was about to attempt. Could it hold the weight of his world? Could it hold hers?
He opened the door and stepped out. At once, he found himself the focus of everyone's stare. Under normal circumstances, he liked being watched. It made for one more line he could cast into the sea of humanity, one more lure to draw in the donors he needed. This time, however, he resented those watchful eyes. He wanted only one person to see him now, and she was not there.
He started for Mahiru's room, speaking to no-one. Footsteps, muffled by the room's carpeting, followed after him. He didn't look back, but by the light, quick sound, accompanied by the soft whisk of a silken hem over the carpet, Katsura was right behind him. Just beyond those, he marked Misoka's firm, measured steps. Akira shuffled along the side, following the group but not comfortable about it. Mitsuru scuffed along at the very rear. He even walks obnoxiously, Nozomu thought in tired amusement.
He rested his hand against the door. Forgive me, if you can, he thought to his sleeping princess. He tried not think about what his father would say about this. His mother... His mother would turn away and raise her fan, never allowing her own son to see her face again. Necessity had made him a thief, taking back the gems to save his people. He had never stolen blood- -before now. Master's permission put a glaze of acceptability over the act- -but few of his own folk would see it that way.
To steal the blood of the Princess...
Misoka had accused him of the very crime he was about to commit. Either that damn fox is prescient along with all his other talents, or things really do turn along an endless wheel. He wasn't sure which option was the most alarming. He shook the distracting thoughts away and opened the connecting door. He took one step over the threshold, then stilled.
The drapes had not been drawn, and the last of the moonlight spilled in. It washed across the floor, onto Mahiru's bed. The white linens reflected the light, as if they'd been woven from moonbeams. The Tear, resting on the table on its bed of silken gauze, shone like Chang-o's lamp.
"Look at her," he breathed.
The mingled lights bathed Mahiru in their brilliance, giving her the look of a snow-maiden's child, cradled in the snowy wings of some heavenly beast. Unearthly, she seemed, yet sublimely human. And he thought he could weave a net to snare such a creature?
He paced forward, making a wide circle around the bed, not wanting to stain it with his shadow. He hesitated a moment, then settled beside her, perched on the very edge of the bed. From the corner of his eye, he saw the others bunched in a group by the door. Only Katsura lowered her eyes.
"What're we doing here?" Akira asked in a stage whisper.
Nozomu gritted his teeth. Prying eyes. Noise. All they needed now was for the damn phone to ring, or the fire alarm to go off, and the entire plan would collapse.
"Witnessing," Misoka answered, just a breath of sound. "Be still."
With great deliberation, he rolled up his left sleeve, baring most of his left forearm. Seeing the neat white gauze taped around her right wrist, he hesitated.
"This needs to be removed. And... one of the others."
"May this one offer aid?" Katsura asked. She'd switched over to formal speech, humbling herself in this place where both their Princess and a Tear of the Moon rested. She might not know the exact nature of the ritual about to be attempted here, but one could never hide such intensity from a dream-demon.
He didn't want anyone else near Mahiru, near them- - but Katsura could remove the bandages with as little pain as possible to Mahiru. He nodded, keeping his attention fixed on Mahiru's face. Katsura approached on near-silent feet. From the corner of his eye, he saw Katsura's slender fingers slide a blunt-nosed pair of paramedic's scissors under the gauze and trim it away. The inside of the bandage bore faint red streaks.
Nozomu pressed his lips together, feeling his fangs lengthen at even that small glimpse. Wasted. Not through injury or natural cause, but through malicious intent. He meant to make Koudokui account for every wasted drop. One day, one night, that miserable excuse of a human would learn what it mean to gain the anger of the Moon's Children.
"May this one continue?"
"Yes..." He felt the tension level spike as the others noted his change of voice as he hoovered at the very edge of a transformation. He brushed a fingertip against the bandage around Mahiru's throat. "This one, as well."
A prickly silence filled the room. He could feel the gazes of the others grow sharper, more questioning.
"It's required," he snapped, harsher than he meant to be. Bitterness twisted his next words. "And if I look like I'm turning into a beast, well, isn't a good thing you're all here to save her."
They shouldn't be here, he thought, his free hand fisted against his knee. They shouldn't be seeing this! Need left very specific marks, impossible to hide. That didn't mean a gaggle of outsiders should be gawking over his shoulder as he made them!
Without another word, Katsura removed the bandage and withdrew. He should thank her, he knew, show her the same courtesy and grace she displayed. He just couldn't get the feel of those eyes off his back. A vampire who needed outside help to make a five-fold knot wasn't fit to weave the ties.
"Nozomu." Disapproval turned Misoka's voice cool. "We will only interfere if it appears that the Princess is endangered. But we have little time."
"I know."
His awareness of Mahiru's injuries throbbed like a fresh bruise. He touched the side of her face, running his fingertips over the soft skin. You needed me to rescue you, he thought, watching her. I swear, I will find you, or I will not return. The darkness is no place for you, not alone.
His vow set, he reached across her body, to where her hand lay atop the blankets. He waited a moment. His sense of the Moon, of Mahiru herself, remained undiminished. Not even a flicker of the shadow rose between them. Nozomu waited the space of a breath, then another.
It seemed she wasn't going to fight him. Nozomu gripped her forearm. It reminded him of how he'd grabbed for her the night Mitsuru's winds had knocked her from the roof. He'd reached out to save her then, too. With great care, he adjusted his grip until their wrists touched, pulsepoint to pulsepoint. The feel of raw skin from the rope burns made him twitch, anger threatening to smash his concentration.
Focus, Nozomu told himself. You get one shot at this. One chance to find her, and save her. Just like on the rooftop. He closed his eyes, forced aside all knowledge of those watching. One by one, the distractions fell away, until he could sense her heartbeat through his skin.
Slow and steady, like the rise and fall of the sea. The Moon had a heartbeat too, he realized. Its blood ran in the tides that swept through the seas. Deep in the sea, creatures swam, following that pulse. Whales and dolphins, all the sleek, mysterious creatures she loved. All creatures that called out to her.
Nozomu slid his free hand under her neck, raising her head. Her throat arched in a smooth, clean curve, uncluttered by jewelry. Her soft hair tangled around his fingers. He forced himself to focus on her- -on their- -heartbeat.
Need. For blood, for the salvation she represented, for the sheer joy of their treasure returning to her rightful place. Because she needed rescue, because hatred's fangs bit deeper than any vampire's. Because she was a creature of the Sun, of the life-giving sea, and she did not belong in darkness. Need. Though he walked beneath the Sun, he was still born from darkness, a darkness that worshipped and adored light. He needed her, or all lights would fade to gray.
He cradled her in one arm and bit deeper than he had ever dared, shearing through flesh and the pulsing vein. Need had no delicacy, no finesse. Someone, somewhere in the room, made a small sound, a cross between a gasp and a whimper. Mahiru? Himself? Then the blood welled up under his lips, and everything else fell away.
Every instinct he hid behind his shiny playboy veneer burst free. He could taste the shadow in her now, a kind of rich smoky aftertaste, like the faint scent of fine spice powder. The Moon's eternal shadow, the current that ran below still-seeming water.
Thin red lines danced in his inner vision, glittering like strands of rubies. They stretched out, anchor lines for an internal web. Lines that would lead him to Mahiru.
He touched one, intending only to gauge its strength- - and got sucked in.
Darkness. Absolute darkness. Darkness of the place between the stars, of places that never knew light. Darkness that lurked in the depth of every living soul. The abyssal darkness of the Void.
This is where I am, now. Where I belong.
Mahiru's voice, as raw as her wounds, swirled around him. Nozomu had no sense of direction in this place. He lingered here as a thought-form in Mahiru's mind, granted admission by the ties between them, but he was not a welcome visitor.
This is where you left me. This is all I have left. You took all the light out of my world!
Nozomu struggled to find his voice- -no, he couldn't speak here, this wasn't a physical place. This was inside Mahiru's mind, in the shadow roused by Koudokui's spells. He shaped his thoughts with care. The darkness felt hot, smothering, a velvet pillow pressed over a sleeping face.
"Mahiru-chan...we never meant for this!"
Something in the darkness shifted, something distinctly unfriendly. Whatever you meant, this is what's left. You- -all of you!- -take what you want and leave! You left me! You all left me!
He heard the sickening screech of tires, of metal crumpling like paper. A softer sound, a child sobbing in endless heartbreak. The sly, snickering sounds of things that lived in the dark. Lived, waiting for just the right bite-size snack to come into reach...
She'll go mad if I can't find her- -if she isn't already! He saw no images here. An eerie cacophony of words and sounds whirled around him, offering no direction. Terrible sounds: shattering glass, the meaty sound of human bodies hitting the ground with deadly force and speed. A screaming wind, ugly whispers rasping just beneath it.
Absolute despair dragged at him, heavier than the darkness that had swallowed Mahiru. How could he find in this? After a whole day of this, was there anything left of Mahiru to find?
Something rolled in like a giant wave, like the steady rhythms Akira used to tie all their voices together. The darkness lightened the minutest fraction. Somewhere, Mahiru was still fighting.
'Like a whale...'
Nozomu listened, straining after that tiny sound, soft in all the clamor.
'Like a dolphin...'
Now that he knew what to listen for, he heard it all: the memory of music, the invocation of the great sea. A defensive song, wearing thin, as the singer's strength faded. She called, and he gave himself over to answer.
In his mind, he formed the image of a bottlenose dolphin, breaching. The spray of sea water scattered a liquid prism-burst in the sun. Dancing rainbows, faint and shivery as the ones cast by the Tear, like the one mirrored in his name. The sea, the rainbow, the watchful vigilance due one who was the true treasure of the Moon's People, the brilliance of the Moon that claimed her... All those things, captured in his name and reflected in her.
Mahiru-chan, he called, and in calling for her, he called for the other part of himself. Come back to me. Come back and take what is yours.
Deep in the darkness, he saw a glint of gold, like the glimmer of a sunbeam seen through a crack in tumbled rocks. He gave a fleeting thought to the others standing by, then dove deep into the smothering darkness.
Mahiru... if you can hear me, answer!
-tbc-
Oceanus Procellarum: Actual name of a crater on the Moon. It means 'Sea of Storms'.
Chang-O: the Chinese Moon Goddess, the most beautiful woman to walk the earth. There are many variations of her legend, including one that Matsuda-sensei may have used as a reference for the origin of Katsura's name.
The lyric fragments are, of course, from Paleozoic of the Flesh, the song Mahiru used to escape the influence of Koudokui's magic.