Fushigi Yuugi Fan Fiction ❯ Bridge Over the Abyss ❯ Waves of forgiveness, waves of regret ( Chapter 6 )

Disclaimer: The characters from Fushigi Yuugi are the creations and property of Yuu Watase and related enterprises. The character of Doctor Who is the property of the British Broadcasting Corporation (BBC). I do not own them and do not make any profit from this fiction except for my own enjoyment in spending time with them.

 

However, the original plotline, as well as all original characters in this story, do belong to me and may not be used elsewhere without my permission.

 

Musical selection: "Greenwaves" by Secret Garden from their CD "Once in a Red Moon, " copyright 2002, Universal Music AS, Norway; Composed by Rolf Lovland, Lyrics by Anne Hampton Callaway

 

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Chapter 6. Waves of forgiveness, waves of regret…

 

He felt himself drifting, falling through the darkness and the cold. He was weightless, spinning as effortlessly through the currents of water as a bird spins on currents of air. The chill seeped into every part of his body, but he didn't care, because with it came a blanket of peace, wrapping him in a cocoon of silence. There were no tears here, no pain--only silence and darkness and peace...

 

Suddenly, his body was wrenched violently upward, as something caught his arm and pulled at him. He pulled back weakly, but the iron grip refused to release him, dragging him inexorably against the current. The waters grew more violent as they approached the surface, tossing him around. He tried to pull back once again, but the arm just moved to grip him more firmly around the chest...and then they burst out into the open air.

 

Gods, it was so cold and loud, the rushing waters roaring in his ears. And now the pain began, a searing, burning pain in his chest. He would have cried out, but for some reason he could not find his voice, so he just moaned in misery. Why couldn't he just be left alone—he was happy in the darkness! He struck out in anger at the person who was dragging him through this hell of pain and cold, but the person was incredibly strong and just gripped him more firmly, dragging him out into the icy, gusting wind. He felt his body scrape painfully over the sharp-edged rocks on the riverbank, then he was pushed onto his back, a hand pulling off his mask.

 

Hands pressed on his chest, pushing down hard, and suddenly water was flowing over his lips, and there was an agonizing vacuum in his lungs, and he couldn't breathe! He opened his mouth, helplessly seeking air, water, something…and soft, cool lips pressed against his, gentle fingers holding his nose shut as warm, sweet air was blown into his lungs. His lungs expanded, then contracted, and he was once again choking in pain. Hands pressed on his chest again, and the cycle was repeated: the water forced out of him, the gentle kiss bringing air back to him. Over and over again, until finally his weakened, battered lungs responded, and he drew in a trembling, sobbing breath of his own.

 

Sensation returned to his body, and suddenly he was so cold, shuddering uncontrollably in the icy air. He felt himself scooped up into the same strong arms that had dragged him out--and he felt a moment's pity for this person who had worked so hard to save him, because it was all for nothing. He simply couldn't take the pain of this existence any longer, and he was tired of fighting. Letting his head fall back, he allowed the darkness to carry him away once again...

 

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Brief flashes of consciousness intruded into the darkness, then quickly disappeared, leaving odd visions and sensations in their wake.

 

Looking up at a dome of strange material, lit by a golden glow, as his skin was rubbed briskly with some soft, thick cloth; still cold, he was still so cold...

 

Feeling himself pushed into a soft cocoon of padded silken material, strange metal lamp-like objects brought close to him. He could feel heat radiating off the objects, but it couldn't penetrate the coating of ice that seemed to hold him in his grip. He was frozen in place, unable to even shiver.

 

A hand reaching in to touch his icy skin. A muttered oath in some language he didn't recognize.

 

Being pushed to one side in his cocoon as a body slid in behind him. The scent of ozone and sandalwood. Smooth skin, cool at first but soon radiating more and more heat. The warmth penetrating his icy prison. The sudden pain of sensation flowing back into his frozen limbs. The shivering starting, growing in intensity until he was shuddering violently. Arms wrapping around him from behind, soothing him, warming him.

 

The need for yet more warmth... Turning around in his cocoon to face the warmth at his back, burrowing deeper into its soothing embrace... Feeling the body before him tense briefly, then relax, letting out a long, silent breath. Sandalwood and ozone... Leaning his cheek against smooth warm skin, hearing a strange rhythmic beat; a pattern of four beats together. Thump-thump, thump-thump. Thump-thump, thump-thump.

 

The soothing rhythm lulling him into peaceful darkness, stirring up memories of the last time he had rested on someone's heart; softer, rounder arms surrounding him back then, a gentle hand caressing his hair. "`Kaa-san..." he murmured, a tear trickling from his eye...then all was darkness once again.

 

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Light, golden and gentle. Warmth, surrounding him, caressing him. Softness, beneath his cheek, in the silken covers in which he rested. Music, warm, mellow, crooning in the distance... Music?

 

He opened his eye slowly, gradually focusing on his surroundings. The curved dome of a tent arched above him, golden light filtering through mesh window-like panels. He lay in a cocoon of padded silk, the soft, smooth material caressing his bare skin. Bare skin... He touched his fingers to his face, realizing that his mask was gone. Sitting up, he looked around for his clothes, then realized that they probably lay wet and muddy somewhere. Before him lay a silk robe folded neatly in a bundle. All the while, the music flowed around him, the voice of an instrument he had never heard before. It was warm and mellow, its deep tones approximating the human voice in range and timbre, but richer, swelling with vibrant emotion. The notes it played were also unfamiliar in their chord structure; not atonal like the stringed instruments of his home village, but flowing, blending smoothly together.

 

His ever-present curiosity piqued, he pulled on the robe and stepped over to the tent flap, pulling it open.

 

Sunlight streamed into his eye, blinding him for a moment. All around him, the air practically vibrated with freshness and the fragrance of green, growing things. The monsoon had passed, leaving all of nature bursting with life, thrusting up new green shoots nourished by the rain. He inhaled deeply, remembering that this was his favorite month of the year, the month of his birth--the month in which the last remnants of winter were shaken from the landscape, falling before blankets of wildflowers and the happy gamboling of newborn creatures.

 

The music changed, remaining sweet but adding notes of gentle longing and wistfulness. Suddenly, a lilting tenor voice joined in, the accent strange but musical, drawing out the words so that they sang out as vibrantly as the notes of the instrument.

 

I remember a meadow one morning in May,

With a sky full of dreams that sailed in that day.

I was dancing through green waves of grass like the sea

For a moment in time I could feel

I was free…

 

The young magician looked out into the distance--and there he was, the singer/musician, seated on a stool near the woods, cradling a strange wooden instrument next to his body. The instrument was large, the bottom edge of its curved body sitting on the ground while its slender neck extended past the musician's shoulder. The musician bent his head towards the neck, his golden-brown locks veiling his face as the fingers of his left hand pressed and vibrated on the strings that ran along the neck. He held a long stick in his right hand, drawing it across the strings that extended down the curved wooden body, pulling the mellow notes from the instrument. His voice rose in perfect accompaniment to the dreamy wistfulness of the melody.

 

There are waves of forgiveness and waves of regret,

And the first waves of true love I'll never forget

In the meadow that morning as I wandered alone

There were green waves of yearning for life

still unknown

 

Ri Houjun suddenly choked on his grief. The words--had they been written for him? His life full of tragic mistakes, his eternal longing for forgiveness...and love? The man who sang to him so serenely--did he hold the answers to all of his tormented questions? Did he offer the forgiveness that Houjun so desperately needed?

 

Houjun stared at the figure of the musician through an eye blurred with tears. What had he ever done to deserve this person in his life? His memories of the previous night returned: the cold waters of the river, his ardent wish for eternal darkness; the hand that pulled him from the river, the body that held him and warmed him. Once again, he felt the love of a parent in his life--and that brought back the loss of the one who had loved him before, the one who had loved him without question and without fail; the one he had not permitted himself to mourn or even think about, for fear that he would not be able to bear life without her. Grief suddenly overcame him, turning him away to stumble back into the tent, the haunting words and melody following him.

 

Take me home to the meadow that cradles my heart

Where the waves reach as far as you can see

Take me home to the meadow - we've been too long apart,

I can still hear you calling for me

 

For the first time in eighteen months, he allowed himself to remember her warm mahogany eyes so like his own, her gentle smile and easy laugh which masked an indomitable will. She was soft-spoken and delicate in appearance but as tenacious and unyielding as a stone wall when it came to his welfare. How else had she negotiated the terms of marriage for him, a poor fatherless boy, to the girl of his heart?

 

Fatherless boy... When he was very young, she had held him against her heart, wiping away his tears and whispering to him of his marvelous destiny, soothing him for the mockery he suffered at the hands of the village lads. Later, as he grew, he learned to hold his head high before that taunt. She taught him how to stand up to those who would bully him, how to act like a man: avoiding conflict if possible but fighting to the finish if necessary. She encouraged his friendship with Hikou and Kouran, knowing that each would contribute in their own way towards making him a man.

 

The music continued to play outside, although the singer had paused. Houjun still knelt at his bedroll, overcome by long-suppressed memories.

 

She had also been the one who encouraged his love of nature, teaching him about plants and animals and medicinal herbs. Not only practical knowledge, but the deeper love of the earth for its own sake. She opened his heart to the beauty of the world around him: the wonder of a sunrise, the music of the rain...

 

In the end, it was the rain that took her from him, took her and everyone else he loved, in one violent, raging swell. Had he run to her in his raging grief instead of seeking vengeance against his best friend, she might still be alive--he might have saved her, and...they might all still be alive.

 

The pain flooded through him, the sorrow and grief pulling him back into the past, so that he sobbed uncontrollably like a bereft child, like an orphan tossed out into the storm.

 

"Okaa-san!" he wept, mourning her at last. "`Kaa-san, `Kaa-san!" grasping at the silk coverlet, weeping into its soft folds as he had once wept into her silk robes. He was racked with grief, missing her so badly, missing her so much! He was caught once again in his world of guilt and regret, never noticing that the music had stopped. He was lost and alone without her, his life spiraling downward into ever more disastrous mistakes. When would this pain ever end? When would he ever feel her gentle touch again?

 

He could almost feel that touch now, smoothing his hair as it had long ago. He wept into the lap that now held him, leaning into the gentle hand on his hair as it stroked him, soothing him. The aura of compassion that surrounded him allowed him to let go of the last barriers between himself and his past, allowing him to mourn her fully at last, as she deserved to be mourned. "Kaa-san," he sobbed one last time—then the music started up again. Not the instrument, but the lilting voice, singing with vibrant longing of love lost, of love remembered...

 

Take me home to the meadow that cradles my heart

Where the waves reach as far as you can see

Take me home to the meadow - we've been too long apart,

I can still hear you calling for me.

 

The voice softened, singing wistfully yet hopefully, promising happiness in the end.

 

What I'd give to remember that heavenly state

Just a moment in time - all mine to create.

As I'm taking my last breath I know what I will see

There'll be green waves forever out there

waiting for me

 

The singer trailed off, humming the chorus softly, still stroking the loose silvery-blue strands in time with the melody. Houjun felt himself calming under the gentle touch, his fierce pain abating, fading slowly away. His heart still ached, but it was a bearable ache, because he was no longer alone in his grief. There was someone to hold him at last, someone to give him the comfort and understanding he had needed for so long.

 

He lay very quietly, resting his head in his savior's lap, savoring the feeling of peace that cradled him as gently as his friend. He let himself drift in a state of semi-consciousness. Peace--he had forgotten how it felt to truly be at peace.

 

The gentle voice spoke at last. "It's time," he urged softly. "Time to tell your story."

 

Houjun grew very still. "I'm afraid," he admitted, surprised at the raspiness of his voice, his throat still raw from the river water--and tears.

 

The hand stroked his hair again. "If you cannot bring yourself to say the words, then the words will always hold power over you. The story will control you and hold you in the past, instead of you controlling it. You must learn to live for the future, Ri Houjun--that is your destined path."

 

Houjun was not surprised that the Doctor knew his true name; after last night, he had come to believe that the Doctor knew everything. Was he a guardian spirit sent by the gods to watch over him—or just a mysterious and powerful foreigner with the ability to see into men's hearts? It didn't matter; he was the answer to the unspoken prayer of his heart, to the inarticulate plea that he had presented to his god. The Doctor was right. If Houjun could not face his past in the compassionate embrace of his friend, then he was doomed to forever flee himself, never learning from his mistakes, thus being condemned to tragically repeat them.

 

He drew a deep breath, taking his courage firmly in hand, and rose up into a seated position, facing his friend. He knew that his scarred and deformed features were now fully exposed to the Doctor's view in the bright light of day. He lifted his gaze hesitantly…only to meet a warm and approving smile. Supported once again by his friend's compassion, he began to speak, in a halting, raspy voice, of the events of the previous day…and of a stormy day over eighteen months before...

 

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"So you say that you felt another power joining with yours."

 

"Yes—but I allowed myself to become distracted. I was the one who lost control, and so I…I destroyed him, body and soul! He trusted me…" A ragged breath. "He trusted me—and I killed him!"" Lips clamped shut, he fought to suppress a cry of despair.

 

A reflective voice. "I wouldn't be so certain of the destruction of his soul. It is no easy task to destroy a soul across planes of existence, especially when the spellcaster is distracted." The voice darkened. "And psychic rape is a highly effective means of distraction."

 

"Psychic rape?"

 

"That's what I would call it from your description. The violation of the very center of your being, breaking your concentration and control at a critical point in the exorcism."

 

"But who…why?"

 

"I will explain all that I know to you later. But for now, my young friend, we must continue with your story."

 

 

More words, more painful images; a day full of rage and pain and loss.

 

 

"So you see, Doctor, I tried to kill him...so it was by my hand that he died."

 

"Not exactly by your hand; you tried to save him, didn't you?"

 

"Tried...and failed. I had him by the hand...but let go." A sob escaped him. "I let him go!"

 

"You couldn't help it. You were struck in the eye, blinded and in agony."

 

"What difference does that make? He still died because of me; he never would have fallen in the first place if it hadn't been for me! If I regretted what I had done, if I did my best to save him—he still ended up dying, so it makes no difference what I felt!"

 

A gentle voice, soft with compassion. "It makes all the difference, Houjun. The fact that you tried to save him, that you didn't want him to die--that makes all the difference, in your heart and in who you are as a person."

 

The young magician's voice was choked with grief. "You don't understand, Doctor; Hikou was not the only one who died because of my rashness. There were others..."

 

 

The story continued, dredging up the truth from the murky waters of the past.

 

 

"I didn't know how long I had been unconscious, or how I had found my way to the highest ground, one of the only places that rose above the river's final surge. All I knew was that when I stumbled back into the village, the floodwaters were already receding but were still waist-high. I was mostly blind, but I fought my way to my home by instinct. I pulled open the door--and all this water rushed out, knocking me down. I finally forced my way back into my home...and then I saw..." His voice broke off as he gasped and sobbed. He could feel it building in his chest again: that keening wail that he had let out on that long-ago day. Two hands gripped his, strong and warm, lending him their strength. He fought down the agonized cry, wanting to finish this story, needing to put this image to rest once and for all.

 

"I saw them...together." His voice was a desolate whisper, trembling but controlled. "Okaa-san...and Kouran." He gave a strangled choke that was almost a bitter laugh. "Okaa-san held Kouran in her arms. Their hair had fallen loose, tangling with one another's. They looked so...peaceful, almost like they were asleep, as if they were two sisters who had drifted off while confiding secrets." His voice darkened. "But I had the ability to detect the weakest or faintest life force—and there was nothing there. Nothing."

 

The tears streamed from his eye as he clutched at his friend's hands. His words tumbled out in a rush, as confused and jumbled as his thoughts that day. "I didn't know what Kouran was doing there! Her father had money, he had boats and land and holdings away from the river; she was supposed to be with him, not with my mother! Anyway, she had just broken off our engagement, so I don't know what she had to say to Okaa-san." His voice softened. "Of course, Okaa-san had always loved her like a daughter, and Kouran loved her just as much. More than she loved me, as it turned out..."

 

The words slowed, cold with desolation. "It didn't matter in the end. I loved them both—and I wasn't there for either of them. When the floodwaters crested, I wasn't there to save them, and so they died."

 

His voice hardened. "There was nothing special about their deaths; no one to pay them the proper respect except for me. There were too many dead in the village, so the dead just became a problem to be dealt with. The survivors were piling up the bodies in one area, mixing everyone together without noting their names, getting ready to burn them in one huge funeral pyre. I didn't want that for Okaa-san and Kouran; they were special, they deserved more than to become a nameless pile of ashes mixed in with everyone else. The survivors tried to get me to give up their bodies, but I stood guard outside my home, threatening anyone who approached with my spells."

 

He gave another bitter laugh. "There I was, half-blind and raving, barely able to stand—yet they still believed that I could work spells! Or maybe they just didn't care. In any case, they finally left me alone. I waited there for the next two days, waiting for the rain to let up enough for me to do...what I had to do. And all the while, I knew that they lay in the house, but I didn't dare look inside again. I didn't want to see what my other senses were telling me..." His voice trailed off, then started up again. He was determined to finish this story.

 

"The rain finally slowed, so I went to the shrine of Suzaku at the edge of the village—and I stole all the oil from the lamps." Yet another half-laugh, half-sob. "There's a bitter irony in me stealing from Suzaku, which someday I'll tell you, if you don't already know." His eye remained downcast, so he didn't see the brief flash in the Doctor's eyes. "I took the oil and spread it all around the outside of my home, praying to Suzaku to help me." Another bitter laugh. "And then I used the last of my strength and all of my magic to cast one last spell. The spell worked, or Suzaku answered the thief's prayers, or both: the house went up in flames and burned throughout the entire night. The survivors drew close, just for the warmth, and I thought, `Thank you, Okaa-san, for giving us your warmth one last time.'" He sobbed once again. "And when it was finished, I sat down in the ashes of everything and everyone I loved...and I waited to die."

 

His control finally broke and he began to weep bitterly. "And I wonder why Suzaku didn't take me then! I wondered why he allowed me to survive so that I could go on and make yet more mistakes and destroy yet more lives!"

 

Strong arms pulled him into a tight embrace, and he felt his cheek once more pressed against the Doctor's chest. Through his pain, he dimly noted the strange four-part heartbeat of last night.

 

"Shhhhhhhhhh," the gentle voice crooned. "It's over now, it's all over...you mustn't hate yourself any longer."

 

Houjun wept harder at the compassion given to him.

 

The compassionate voice darkened. "Any one of us can make a mistake—mistakes fatal to others. It needn't even be in the heat of passion. All you need is a slip of judgment, a momentary blindness if you will, in which you see only one side of a situation without considering all outcomes." A deep sigh. "You must learn to forgive yourself, so that you can move forward and do some good in this universe. Otherwise, the final victims of your terrible mistake will be the people you could have helped but didn't, because you were too busy wallowing in self-hatred." Another sigh, softer this time. "We cannot bring back the dead; we can only honor them by giving their deaths meaning, in the way we live our lives."

 

Houjun finally understood. The peace that the Doctor offered—it was not the nothingness that he had sought in place of his pain nor the suppression of his past that Magus had encouraged. No, this genuine peace required acceptance of reality, of all of his mistakes and sins, of his youthful rage that never meant to kill. It required him to acknowledge and remember those who had died and to make his life a living memorial to them, to honor them. He felt his heart clench in pain again. He was not there yet—it would take him a long time before he could think of them without overwhelming grief—but at least he now knew the path he must walk.

 

He felt the Doctor lift him away from his chest, giving his shoulders one last squeeze. "We must get ready to leave, Houjun. We are on the other side of the river, which continues to rage, and I have a shield up, blocking our ki—but we mustn't linger any longer than necessary." He lifted a small silver wand and pressed on something on the side, nodding in satisfaction at whatever he detected with the strange instrument. He rose and moved around the tent, opening a satchel and pulling out some clothes. "As far as they know, Shouryuu died in the river last night...and his traveling friend, the night before, in the woods. We mustn't let them know any differently; at least, not for the time being."

 

The young magician stared in shock, the Doctor's sudden energetic reversal and cryptic statements throwing him completely off balance. "They?"

 

"No time to natter on now; I'll explain it all to you on the way to...where we're going. You have just enough time for a quick dip in a hot spring I found near here." He pushed the garments and a towel into Houjun's arms and steered him towards the tent flap. "Come now," he ordered cheerfully. "Time to wash that river water out of your hair!"

 

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She woke slowly, annoyed by the bright light pulsing behind her closed eyelids. "Forgot to pull the shades down again," she muttered to herself. But that didn't explain why she felt so cold and stiff and...damp. Damp? "Gaaaaaaahhh!" she cried out, sitting up in panic--and stared in shock at the verdant landscape spread out before her eyes.

 

She seemed to be in a small open area in a forest, the early sunbeams breaking through the canopy of green leaves to illuminate her in a natural spotlight. Her jeans and knit shirt were damp with dew or rainwater. She stared off into space for a moment, trying to get her brain to click in and tell her where she was. It seemed that she was lost on a camping trip…but she loathed camping, thinking of it as an activity for those demented people who wanted to spend their leisure time working harder than they did in their actual jobs. Her idea of a good time usually involved curling up somewhere with a good book, exploring new libraries...

 

"Gaaaaaahhh!" she screamed again, her memory flooding back. It was morning—far too late for her to do anything to save the young magician! She leaped to her feet and dashed around in aimless circles, not knowing what to do. "Damn you, Suzaku!" she cursed. "What the hell are you trying to pull? What's the point of bringing me into the book if you were just going to let him die, anyway?" She sobbed in grief as she pulled at her short wavy hair.

 

Eventually, she calmed, catching her breath. "Maybe he's not dead," she prayed. "Maybe he washed up on shore somewhere... I have to get to the river!" She ran in one direction—then reversed and ran in the other. All she could see in any direction were trees rising up before her, blocking her view. "Damn it!" she cursed again. "I have no idea where the river is…or where I am, for that matter." She raised her voice, addressing the ether sarcastically. "Would it be too much trouble to provide me with a map of this area, preferably one with a 'You Are Here' arrow?" Her only answer was the trembling warble of a finch and the sigh of branches in the breeze.

 

But wait! Was that running water that she heard in the distance? She moved towards the sound, adjusting her path so that the burbling of the water grew louder with each step. Mist began to drift over her feet; she must be approaching the river. Something made her move quietly, holding her breath. She crept around a thick stand of lilac bushes, stopping and staring at the sight that met her eyes.

 

Her initial feeling was one of disappointment; this was no river. Instead, it was an isolated pool in the woods, a large outcropping of rocks standing in the center. The mist rolling off the surface of the water told her that it was a natural hot spring; she had visited one just recently on her trip to Japan. She nearly turned away in disappointment, but then a figure moved in the mist, appearing from behind the rocky island in the spring.

 

At first, she thought it was a woman, the long hair trailing halfway down the figure's back. But as the figure moved closer, parting the mists, she realized that the shoulders were not those of a woman. She shrank back behind the lilacs, not wishing to disturb him at his bath...but why then did she part the branches, keeping her line of vision clear?

 

He bent and tossed his hair over his right shoulder, gently squeezing the water from the long strands, brushing his trailing, dripping bangs from his face. He gripped a cloth in his hand, squeezing water from it, then passing it over his face. She could see only his right profile, but that was enough. His features were fine and handsome, with high sculpted cheekbones and a straight, delicate nose. His mouth, however...perhaps that was his best feature. The lips just hinted at fullness, softness—but more than that, they trembled with life and feeling. She touched a finger to her own lips, wondering briefly what it would be like...

 

He continued to clean himself, running the cloth across his shoulders and down his chest...then down further, under the waterline. His silent witness flushed. 'Pervert!' she scolded herself silently. 'Voyeur!' However, no amount of mental scolding could make her turn away. Finished with his bath, he moved up out of the spring. She gaped at the strongly defined muscles in his shoulders and chest, tapering into a slender waist, narrow hips and... God, she had never seen such a beautiful man in all her life! He was only of medium height, maybe five-foot-eight, or five-foot-nine—but he was perfectly, exquisitely proportioned.

 

He suddenly turned in the direction of the lilacs, reaching for a bundle that rested perhaps twenty feet away from her hiding place, exposing his full face to her view for the first time. Her mouth dropped open in shock at the scar that slashed across his closed left eye, extending to the bridge of his nose--and she finally realized who she had been spying upon.

 

Her heart leaped up in joy; he was alive, thank Suzaku, he was still alive! But her mind still vibrated in shock. He wasn't what she had expected! She had pictured him as a frail, scrawny boy-man, still straddling the line between adolescence and manhood. She hadn't expected this fully-grown, heart-stoppingly beautiful man, now toweling himself off. "Every inch a man..." she thought to herself--then stopped and blushed again.

 

He was still unaware of her presence, lost in his own thoughts as he pulled on his trousers and tightened the drawstring. For some reason, her heart pounded harder at the sight of him half-dressed; it was somehow erotic, the gradual covering of his beauty with the plain, simple clothes. "Get control of yourself, wench!" she scolded herself. She felt shy, hesitant in the face of his unexpected masculinity. She couldn't step out into the open and reveal herself to him…not until she rid herself of the flush that heated her face.

 

"Houjun!" a musical voice called in the distance. The young magician's face broke into a smile. He finished dressing, pulling on his slippers hurriedly. Snatching up his hair ties and towel, he walked swiftly in the direction of the voice. The girl felt her heart lift at the familiar lilting British tones; so the Doctor had made it, too! Thank Suzaku for that! She made a silent abashed apology to the phoenix-god for her earlier curses against him.

 

She saw the velvet-clad figure of the Doctor step out of the woods on the other side of the hot spring. "We must be leaving now," he informed his young companion, their figures obscured by the mist. The girl's eyes widened as she realized that she was about to be left behind. She surged forward, intending to break free of the shelter of the lilacs, but suddenly felt herself dragged back, a hand clamped over her mouth.

 

She struggled and fought, but there were too many arms restraining her, grasping at her body and limbs. The hand over her mouth slipped, now covering her nose, too. She pulled at the hand, hearing the blood pound in her ears, but her captors paid no attention, merely dragging her deeper into the woods. The edges of her vision grew dark, and she felt herself falling...

 

Back at the hot spring, the Doctor looked up, his gaze troubled. Houjun, too, looked around, detecting the disturbance in the ki in the area. The Doctor touched his companion's arm. "We'd best hurry," he murmured. "Things seem to be moving quicker than I anticipated." They turned and headed swiftly back towards their small encampment, unaware of the girl they had left behind.

 

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The Doctor ducked into the tent, Houjun following closely behind him. "Let's see now; the first thing we need to do is to alter our appearances. It won't do to travel in our usual guise. We're sufficiently out of the ordinary, shall we say, that it won't take them long to pick up our trail if we don't assume different outward appearances." The Doctor paused for breath, pulling long swathes of material from yet another satchel.

 

Houjun took advantage of the brief pause to leap in with the questions he had been pondering in the hot spring. "Doctor, I realize that you're in a hurry—and I can see that you intend for me to accompany you—but you haven't yet explained who 'they' are, and why we are in danger from them...especially if they believe we are dead, as you mentioned before."

 

The Doctor removed the diamond stickpin from his cravat, then pulled the cravat from his neck, folding it and tucking it into his coat pocket. "You know," he mused, removing his velvet frock coat and placing it in the satchel, "over the years, I've enjoyed explaining everything to my companions. Only recently have I come to realize that I may have been doing them a disservice by doing all the thinking for them. So I'm turning over a new leaf and restraining my overbearing tendency to be the only one with the answers. In other words, Houjun, I am challenging you to use that rather fine brain you were gifted with, and tell me what you have deduced about the events of the past three days."

 

Houjun frowned as he tried to focus on the events of the recent past without becoming lost in the pain and trauma. He firmly pushed away the feelings of jealousy that had surfaced when the Doctor referred to his other "companions." 'So you're nothing special to him,' whispered the evil voice inside his head. 'He's had companions on his journeys before; you're just filling in a temporary opening in his life.' 'Shut up!' he mentally instructed the voice, disgusted with the childish pettiness of the thought. He brought his mind back to the problem at hand, forcing himself to think logically.

 

Three days…three days ago, Maboroshi had discovered his secret friendship with the Doctor. Later that same day, he had met Kurayami for the first time—and disliked her on sight. Not the friendliest of responses, but maybe he should trust his instincts. Two days ago, the Doctor invited him to travel with him. Later that same evening, Magus-sensei had brought him back to a sense of responsibility—or was it guilt?—regarding the school and his path in life. Also on that same day, he noticed the absence of Maboroshi tagging along at his heels.

 

And yesterday…yesterday presented the unusual circumstances of the exorcism. Magus-sensei sending him off alone with only Kurayami as assistant; the demand for the most dangerous type of exorcism combined with the reduced capacity of the victim… Houjun choked down a lump in his throat at the memory of Toumo's innocent and trusting gaze, forcing his brain to re-enter its logical path. He had not wanted to proceed under those circumstances, but Kurayami had insisted. Both Kurayami and Magus-sensei were aware of the risky nature of this exorcism days in advance, but still sent him out to deal with it essentially alone. Houjun's eye suddenly flashed.

 

The Doctor looked up from where he had been folding away his waistcoat. He unbuttoned the wing collar of his silk shirt. "Do you sense a set-up?" he inquired pleasantly.

 

The keen eye of the magician was suddenly focused on his friend. "I need more information, Doctor. You had said that 'they' believed that you died in the woods two days ago. What exactly happened after I left you that afternoon?" His gaze sharpened. "You seemed on edge that day, as if you sensed something, and you were fairly eager to get me out of there... You knew that someone was watching us!"

 

"Bravo!" applauded the Doctor, pulling off his silk shirt and pulling on a simpler, collarless shirt similar to the one worn by Houjun. "Gathering all the facts: essential to the deduction process. Since you ask so politely, I'll fill you in on the events that I was embroiled in since we last spoke."

 

Tying his hair back into a ponytail, the Doctor enlightened Houjun as to the attack on his campsite that night and his observation of Kurayami as the perpetrator.

 

Houjun grew pale with shock. "But how did you escape the demon creatures?"

 

"It wasn't easy. I had quite an active night, running, hiding, being flushed out, running again... Aerobics are supposed to be good for the heart, but unfortunately, this type of exercise was somewhat detrimental to the nerves. In the end, it was the basic nature of the beasts that finished them. They had a mindless urge to kill; mindless because they were unnatural creatures, not truly alive. All I needed to do was to entrap them in an enclosed area; say, a cesspit at the edge of an abandoned village," he wrinkled his nose at the memory, "and then it was just the calico cat and the gingham dog all over again."

 

"The calico cat and the gingham dog?"

 

"They ate each other up. The reference is to a lovely little poem that inspired nightmares in children about their stuffed toys getting into bloodthirsty battles to the death when the child's back is turned."

 

Houjun gave up on trying to follow that particular train of thought, and returned to the Doctor's story. "So how did you know that I...? Did you hear me...?" He trailed off, the desolation of that moment slipping past his defenses and holding him in its dark grip once more.

 

The Doctor looked up from twisting a long swathe of material in his hands. Blue eyes warm with compassion met Houjun's grief-stricken gaze. "Yes, I heard you," he replied softly. "But I was just making my way back to that area, and I was a little too far away..." His voice trailed off. "I was almost too late." Unexpectedly, his voice caught in his throat.

 

Houjun was startled at the emotion in the Doctor's voice. Did he really mean that much to the man? He looked into the blue eyes that were shading into green and caught his breath at the sheer weight of the sadness and grief held in their depths. Not since their first meeting had he felt the vastness of eternity in the Doctor's gaze--but there it was again, the green-blue eyes holding a millennium's worth of pain and regret, speaking eloquently of people loved and people lost...

 

Houjun's voice trembled in sympathy for the sheer scale of his friend's pain. "So you've been too late before?" he asked gently.

 

"Yes." The reply was soft but filled with a universe of grief. Houjun was transfixed by a sudden flash of insight. All those other companions of the Doctor--not all of them survived their adventures with him. He felt the compelling need to offer comfort to the man who had so gently comforted him.

 

"But you weren't too late this time. I'm standing here now because you saved my life. I owe everything to you, Doctor, and although I may not have seemed grateful earlier, please believe me when I tell you that I can never sufficiently repay you for what you have done for me!"

 

The emerald gaze shifted to his face, the cloudiness of past memories giving way to the sharp focus of the present. The Doctor's eyes softened at his words, shading back to their customary blue. "Just keep breathing," he advised his young friend with a gentle smile. "That's repayment enough for me." He suddenly looked away, slightly embarrassed at his own vulnerability.

 

Houjun smiled to himself; the Doctor may have decided to let his companion think for himself, but he still wanted to be the one in emotional control. Yet all the same, Houjun felt closer to him now; almost protective of his older, wiser friend.

 

The Doctor placed the swathe of light cotton material on his head, twisting it around into a turban reminiscent of those worn by the mountain bandits. He frowned in concentration. "The one thing that troubles me about your experience last night was the vision of your friend that drew you into the river. I can't find an explanation for that. Neither Kurayami nor Magus were anywhere in the area, so it was not a spell-induced illusion."

 

Houjun sighed. "As I said before, Doctor, it was just my mind playing tricks on me."

 

"Yet you saw his circlet reflect the lightning; memories from the past are not usually that detailed." The Doctor shrugged, dismissing the question for the time being. "We may never know the answer to that riddle, so there's no point in belaboring it. Here…" he approached his young friend with another swathe of sheer cotton material, twisting it into a turban that matched his own. "This will be how we mask our true appearances. We now look like nomadic wanderers, possibly from an offshoot tribe of the Kel Tagelmousse."

 

"Kel Tagelmousse?"

 

"The People of the Veil. They are a nomadic people who live primarily in the deserts of Sairo, but occasionally enter Konan to trade and do business, particularly in high summer, when the desert is dangerously hot."

 

Houjun smiled at the thought of all the different peoples out in the wide world, just waiting for him to discover them and the mysteries of their cultures. He suddenly realized that the Doctor was skillfully diverting his thoughts from his recent problems and betrayal by his former mentor. Determined to face all of his fears and grief, he firmly brought up the subject again.

 

"So Magus, Kurayami and Maboroshi are all in a conspiracy together to do what? Other than destroying you and me, that is. It seems a complicated effort for such an insignificant goal. After all, Magus could have eliminated me at any time over the past eighteen months; why bring in all these others now?"

 

"First of all, Houjun, you may not be as insignificant as you think. Secondly, I'm not certain that Kurayami is in league with Magus; her agenda may be different than his. For one thing, I believe that Magus is at this moment in a state of extreme distress over losing you--killing you was never his intention. As for Maboroshi…" The Doctor sighed. "I'm not certain that he's part of any of this, except maybe as an unwilling tool to inform against you. The boy seemed confused and unsure of himself when we met, hardly possessing the steely nerve required to play in the same arena as the other two. Yet all the same, we must not underestimate him or the motives of the other two; it is always best to assume that your opponents are much smarter than they appear. That is why we must assume that they will attempt to confirm our deaths, and when they fail to do so, that they will begin searching for us. So, as of this day, Shouryuu no longer exists--nor his mystical, easily recognizable mask."

 

Houjun raised a finger to his scar. "But Doctor, this scar…is as distinctive as your other clothes. And Magus is well aware of how I look without my mask."

 

The Doctor moved towards Houjun, lifting the trailing edge of the material from the turban and pulled it across his scarred left eye and nose, fastening it over his right ear. "There!" he said in satisfaction. "Now you look a proper member of the Kel. The men go about veiled at all times. It is quite indecent for them to remove their face veils in public, so we should be fine for awhile. At least until I procure a new mask for you" He frowned into the young man's eye. "Not that there's anything wrong with the way you look; it's just that, as you pointed out, we cannot afford to be recognized as yet."

 

Houjun sighed. "I understand, Doctor. And to tell the truth, I am much more comfortable being masked or veiled in public. But what is our overall goal? Do we just keep running and hiding until they lose interest in us?" His expression darkened. "I can't feel that there is any justice in letting them get away with murder—for the death of poor Toumo or anyone else."

 

The Doctor placed a hand on his shoulder. "There will be a reckoning for all of their crimes, I promise you." His voice was dark and ominous. "But for now, we must retreat in self-defense. There is yet another concern that I had mentioned to you two days ago. There are others that need us, and we must make our way to them as swiftly as possible.To accomplish that, we need to call upon higher powers for help."

 

"Higher powers?"

 

"Yes, that is where we are going now. To Mount Taikyoku." The traveler sighed as he pulled a flowing cotton robe over his shirt and trousers. "My major problem is—how am I going to fit that cello onto our little horse?"

 

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Glossary of Japanese Terms

 

Okaa-san, 'Kaa-san - Mother

 

Author's note: (11-5-04) First of all, a very warm thank you to all of you readers and reviewers.

 

Next, the poem that the Doctor refers to is called "The Duel" by Eugene Field and details the battle between two stuffed toys at midnight. Yeah, instead of entertaining me when I was a kid, it really gave me the creeps, especially when they "ate each other up." Didja ever notice how violent and dark a lot of nursery rhymes and children's stories are? Like I have room to talk…but my stuff isn't supposed to be for kids.

 

Thanks again for reading. See you next time!

 

Ja ne!

 

Roku