1. A Promise
The sun was setting over the battlefield of the gods and Yasha lay weeping blood in the clawlike embrace of the kekkai. Above him the still face of Ashura gazed down sightlessly, frozen in time.
There was no sound, no solace. Only pain.
Yasha did not move when he heard Kujaku alight nearby.
"Yasha-ou? Yasha-ou!"
He would not reply. Kujaku came nearer with a rustle of trailing wings and the sound irritated him. He lashed out suddenly like a provoked beast, his fist colliding with the air as Kujaku lightly dodged the blow. An agonizing flash of pain shot through the remnants of his right eye and he fell again to rest on his knees, clinging to a spike of icy chitin.
Kujaku dropped what sounded like a bundle and came round into his limited range of vision, kneeling before him. "Yasha-ou. Your wounds need attention immediately."
Yasha managed speech. "Why should you care?"
"Why shouldn't I?"
The old warrior had no answer to that.
"Would you have even the sight of Ashura lost to you forever?"
"Be silent!"
"Your eye, Yasha-ou. If you let it go, infection will set in and perhaps take both your eyes, perhaps even your life, and you will be left in darkness!"
"Darkness is my fate."
Kujaku shook his head vehemently. "If you intend to guard Ashura still, you must first help yourself. If you do not, you will not be able to protect him."
"There is no protecting Ashura now."
"Then why are you still here?!"
There was too much pain, too much vertigo. Yasha could not answer.
"Let me bring Dhanvantari. I think I can get the kekkai to let him through."
"No, damn you! If you are so concerned then do it yourself!"
"All right," said Kujaku after a moment. "I will."
A blanket made up most of Kujaku's bundle and he unfolded it and helped Yasha to sit down on it. "Dhanvantari told me how it's done. It's pretty simple, but he warned me there's nothing more painful." He fished a vial out of a small knapsack and unstoppered it, handing it to Yasha.
"What's this?"
"Poppy. Drink it."
Yasha drank. Kujaku sat nearby until the world became only a distant dream. Then he began his grim work.
* * *
When Yasha woke from his trance, his head was pounding worse, if possible, than before. He lay still, breathing carefully. His heart, broken forever, hurt the worst, but right now the eye came close. He found himself wanting to weep, and for once could not stop the tears from welling up.
"Don't!" Kujaku snapped. "Unless you want to hurt even more with salt in that wound," he finished more gently. "And be sure to keep your good eye shut." Yasha could hear a shakiness in the other's voice. Kujaku sat down by him with an exhausted sigh. "I bandaged your shoulder."
"Ashura..."
"I'll keep watch."
* * *
Yasha slept, deep and dark, a drugged sleep with flashes of scarlet. He woke, and food and drink were put in his hand. He gasped as cool ointment was carefully put into the vacant eye socket. Kujaku said little, but there was sympathy in his touch. Yasha turned away from it then and every day thereafter.
When the old god's wounds were well on their way to healing, Kujaku left him without a word, leaving behind the blanket and the knapsack which had provisions and clean bandages.
Yasha didn't feel like eating any more. But every now and then he took some bread and chewed on it slowly. Kujaku had been right, of course. Even if there were no hope, he would continue to protect his loved one. It was that or die, for Ashura had long ago become his life. But he could not afford to be this weak for long.
* * *
Dhanvantari's ashram was large and spotlessly clean. His wealth was incalculable, but he seemed oblivious to it. He had many students, but few servants, and he looked surprisingly young for such a very old god. His wife hastened to call him when Kujaku appeared on the threshold.
"Kujaku! Did Yasha-ou live?"
"And hello to you too. He needs more poppy."
Dhanvantari gestured him in and offered him a drink and a platter of fruit. Kujaku flopped down on a cushion and his host took a seat opposite him. "Dhanvantari, I still can't believe I took his eye out."
"It is simple enough to do."
"I threw up! Couldn't forget it for days!"
"It is not still paining him?"
"No." Kujaku looked away. "But he's hurting."
"Why?"
Kujaku was silent, forming the simple answer with care. Dhanvantari was best known for his bringing amrita, the Nectar of Immortality, to the gods-- before the Ashura clan had stolen it from out of his very hands. Higher gods had intervened and the amrita was restored, but Dhanvantari held no love for the Ashuras. It still amazed Kujaku that he had such concern for Yasha-ou, who had so desperately tried to protect the last scion of that demon race.
Kujaku opened his mouth to answer at the same moment Dhanvantari said it. "He is still grieving Ashura."
"Yes. He still grieves. He's mourning like I've never seen anyone mourn before. This is going to kill him."
Dhanvantari nodded slowly. "Those two were born for each other. Still... Yasha-ou was a good king. He needs a good companion." He nodded at his guest.
It was Dhanvantari's nature to talk plainly, but Kujaku's eyes still widened. "Wha--?! He wouldn't have me!"
"Why not? You two have a long friendship."
Kujaku squirmed. "I wouldn't call it a friendship--"
"I have heard you annoy him greatly."
"That's true!"
"Well--? What's more annoying than a friend?"
Kujaku grabbed a mango from the platter between them and bit into it with unnecessary force. The juice hit him in the eye and Dhanvantari laughed, tossing him a napkin. "I remember Yasha-ou. Even as a youth he was steady and calm. Battles blew past him like breezes. Nothing disturbed him. Yet you annoy him?" And he laughed again.
Kujaku finished cleaning up and threw down the napkin. "Okay, okay! So what?!"
"What's to keep you apart now? That's what!"
Kujaku leaned back against the cushions, arms behind head. "A promise," he said quietly.
He stayed at the ashram until evening; then he left with the poppy, winging his solitary way out over the vast forest until he found a great tree in which to spend the night; but he could not sleep. Dhanvantari's friendly laughter echoed in his mind.
He had not asked himself before why he thought it necessary to help Yasha- ou. Somehow, everything he had done had always been for Ashura. Ashura, who was so like himself...
But Ashura would never return.
The sun was setting over the battlefield of the gods and Yasha lay weeping blood in the clawlike embrace of the kekkai. Above him the still face of Ashura gazed down sightlessly, frozen in time.
There was no sound, no solace. Only pain.
Yasha did not move when he heard Kujaku alight nearby.
"Yasha-ou? Yasha-ou!"
He would not reply. Kujaku came nearer with a rustle of trailing wings and the sound irritated him. He lashed out suddenly like a provoked beast, his fist colliding with the air as Kujaku lightly dodged the blow. An agonizing flash of pain shot through the remnants of his right eye and he fell again to rest on his knees, clinging to a spike of icy chitin.
Kujaku dropped what sounded like a bundle and came round into his limited range of vision, kneeling before him. "Yasha-ou. Your wounds need attention immediately."
Yasha managed speech. "Why should you care?"
"Why shouldn't I?"
The old warrior had no answer to that.
"Would you have even the sight of Ashura lost to you forever?"
"Be silent!"
"Your eye, Yasha-ou. If you let it go, infection will set in and perhaps take both your eyes, perhaps even your life, and you will be left in darkness!"
"Darkness is my fate."
Kujaku shook his head vehemently. "If you intend to guard Ashura still, you must first help yourself. If you do not, you will not be able to protect him."
"There is no protecting Ashura now."
"Then why are you still here?!"
There was too much pain, too much vertigo. Yasha could not answer.
"Let me bring Dhanvantari. I think I can get the kekkai to let him through."
"No, damn you! If you are so concerned then do it yourself!"
"All right," said Kujaku after a moment. "I will."
A blanket made up most of Kujaku's bundle and he unfolded it and helped Yasha to sit down on it. "Dhanvantari told me how it's done. It's pretty simple, but he warned me there's nothing more painful." He fished a vial out of a small knapsack and unstoppered it, handing it to Yasha.
"What's this?"
"Poppy. Drink it."
Yasha drank. Kujaku sat nearby until the world became only a distant dream. Then he began his grim work.
* * *
When Yasha woke from his trance, his head was pounding worse, if possible, than before. He lay still, breathing carefully. His heart, broken forever, hurt the worst, but right now the eye came close. He found himself wanting to weep, and for once could not stop the tears from welling up.
"Don't!" Kujaku snapped. "Unless you want to hurt even more with salt in that wound," he finished more gently. "And be sure to keep your good eye shut." Yasha could hear a shakiness in the other's voice. Kujaku sat down by him with an exhausted sigh. "I bandaged your shoulder."
"Ashura..."
"I'll keep watch."
* * *
Yasha slept, deep and dark, a drugged sleep with flashes of scarlet. He woke, and food and drink were put in his hand. He gasped as cool ointment was carefully put into the vacant eye socket. Kujaku said little, but there was sympathy in his touch. Yasha turned away from it then and every day thereafter.
When the old god's wounds were well on their way to healing, Kujaku left him without a word, leaving behind the blanket and the knapsack which had provisions and clean bandages.
Yasha didn't feel like eating any more. But every now and then he took some bread and chewed on it slowly. Kujaku had been right, of course. Even if there were no hope, he would continue to protect his loved one. It was that or die, for Ashura had long ago become his life. But he could not afford to be this weak for long.
* * *
Dhanvantari's ashram was large and spotlessly clean. His wealth was incalculable, but he seemed oblivious to it. He had many students, but few servants, and he looked surprisingly young for such a very old god. His wife hastened to call him when Kujaku appeared on the threshold.
"Kujaku! Did Yasha-ou live?"
"And hello to you too. He needs more poppy."
Dhanvantari gestured him in and offered him a drink and a platter of fruit. Kujaku flopped down on a cushion and his host took a seat opposite him. "Dhanvantari, I still can't believe I took his eye out."
"It is simple enough to do."
"I threw up! Couldn't forget it for days!"
"It is not still paining him?"
"No." Kujaku looked away. "But he's hurting."
"Why?"
Kujaku was silent, forming the simple answer with care. Dhanvantari was best known for his bringing amrita, the Nectar of Immortality, to the gods-- before the Ashura clan had stolen it from out of his very hands. Higher gods had intervened and the amrita was restored, but Dhanvantari held no love for the Ashuras. It still amazed Kujaku that he had such concern for Yasha-ou, who had so desperately tried to protect the last scion of that demon race.
Kujaku opened his mouth to answer at the same moment Dhanvantari said it. "He is still grieving Ashura."
"Yes. He still grieves. He's mourning like I've never seen anyone mourn before. This is going to kill him."
Dhanvantari nodded slowly. "Those two were born for each other. Still... Yasha-ou was a good king. He needs a good companion." He nodded at his guest.
It was Dhanvantari's nature to talk plainly, but Kujaku's eyes still widened. "Wha--?! He wouldn't have me!"
"Why not? You two have a long friendship."
Kujaku squirmed. "I wouldn't call it a friendship--"
"I have heard you annoy him greatly."
"That's true!"
"Well--? What's more annoying than a friend?"
Kujaku grabbed a mango from the platter between them and bit into it with unnecessary force. The juice hit him in the eye and Dhanvantari laughed, tossing him a napkin. "I remember Yasha-ou. Even as a youth he was steady and calm. Battles blew past him like breezes. Nothing disturbed him. Yet you annoy him?" And he laughed again.
Kujaku finished cleaning up and threw down the napkin. "Okay, okay! So what?!"
"What's to keep you apart now? That's what!"
Kujaku leaned back against the cushions, arms behind head. "A promise," he said quietly.
He stayed at the ashram until evening; then he left with the poppy, winging his solitary way out over the vast forest until he found a great tree in which to spend the night; but he could not sleep. Dhanvantari's friendly laughter echoed in his mind.
He had not asked himself before why he thought it necessary to help Yasha- ou. Somehow, everything he had done had always been for Ashura. Ashura, who was so like himself...
But Ashura would never return.