3. One Love
Kujaku struggled toward the Old Zenmijou on unsteady wings. It was a weary flight at the best of times, and he wondered if he would make it now.
He was still amazed that Taishakuten had said nothing about his origins. Tenou had not spoken of it... Or else the Raijin didn't care?
His wings faltered as he lost the thermal that had carried him so far. It was all he could do to managed a controlled fall and when he hit the desert sand it felt like hitting solid rock. He lay there in the sun for a long time, sheltering under his feathers, wondering if he were going to die out here alone. His black wings absorbed the heat.
Nightfall came and he fought his way up and started walking. His mouth was dry, his limbs shaking. His wings dragged in the sand. The pain was harsh and relentless.
Not far now. Hold on.
Taishakuten. Kujaku's feelings were still ambivalent, despite all the Raijin's crimes and even despite his own fresh wounds, for deep in his heart he somehow felt he had deserved what he'd gotten. But the pain in those eyes-- like Yasha's pain, transcending time. He would never forget Taishakuten's look.
There was no denying that the Emporer was mad... but love could do that.
Why had Taishakuten let him live? Kujaku stumbled and groaned. He was bleeding again. He had to rest.
No-- he needed someone's help. Someone's care. Someone who might care.
* * *
Sometime in the night he crossed the final barrier of Ashura's monumental kekkai and stood swaying at the edge of a cliff, looking up and into the rooted tangle that loomed beyond his reach. There was no way in but flight.
He fought his way up into the air, his wings becoming claws in a struggle. Somehow he made the leap across that chasm in the dark. Then his bare feet slapped smooth chitin and he was down with a feathery rush that echoed briefly through the cavernous structure.
Yasha was awake and headed immediately for the sound, half-drawing Yamato. By its light he saw the figure writhing on the floor like a wounded dragon. "Kujaku!" He drew the sword fully and propped it against a stalagmite. Then he went to Kujaku and lifted him up, noting the coldness of his skin. "What happened?!"
Kujaku's smile was twisted into a grimace. "It seems I was... an unwanted guest. Glad I made it here." He gulped. "I'm thirsty."
Yasha moved quickly to bring him water. "Who did this to you?"
Kujaku drank greedily. "Wrong place, wrong time..."
Suddenly the world went black.
* * *
When he came to, he was wrapped in a blanket he had brought to Yasha a long time ago. Yasha was nearby, pouring more water over his clothes.
Kujaku drew a deep, experimental breath. Everything seemed to be more or less in working order. Leave it to Taishakuten to know how to torture without inflicting permanent damage. He was no longer cold or trembling, just very, very weak.
"Who did it?" Yasha asked bluntly as he wrung out the freshly washed clothes with deft, brutal twists.
Kujaku flinched and looked away. "What does it matter?"
The tone of his voice must have told Yasha what he needed to know. Spreading Kujaku's clothes out to dry, he turned. "Were I not guarding Ashura, I would leave here and finish the Raijin."
"Don't be too hasty on my account." Kujaku's lip curled ironically. Taishakuten's cruelty had been beneficial after all. Yasha was visibly furious and that was an improvement. As the Emporer had planned, he had been frightened.
But this fear and anger implied... concern. The thought made him exhausted somehow; he wanted to believe, and he wanted away from it. He managed to roll over, facing away from Yasha-ou, and closed his eyes.
* * *
He woke again, and this time he was alone. Sitting up slowly, he saw Yasha standing before Ashura's frozen form, speaking softly, then leaning to tenderly kiss the pale cheek. The kiss was so heartfelt, so worshipful, that Kujaku felt tears brimming and silently cursed his weakness. Now Yasha was praying with bowed head before his loved one as he had done without fail every morning for centuries. Kujaku did not have to hear his wish to know what it was.
Then he knew fully that a barrier had indeed been broken, that Taishakuten had in truth not been unkind, for Yasha was letting him witness his love. Kujaku had never felt so privileged... or so confused. He had never anticipated this, Yasha letting his guard down so. Yasha trusting him. No one had ever trusted him like that except for Ashura.
Witness to the sacred, Kujaku bowed his head and prayed for Ashura too.
* * *
It took days for Kujaku to be whole again. During that time Yasha tended him with great care, and Kujaku took in the changes in his manner, in his touch.
When Kujaku was strong enough to walk again they wandered slowly together around the vast caverns of the kekkai. Sometimes Yasha would support him on one arm when he tired.
Ashura's slender figure could still be made out, locked in the chitin. They stood before it often. The armor was gone now, reabsorbed. Kujaku noticed Ashura's hair was still growing. The pain in Yasha's gaze as he looked upon his loved one had not dimmed whatsoever over the centuries. It was the very echo of the Emporer's pain, Kujaku thought. Taishakuten did understand the old warrior.
Kujaku reached out, touched Ashura's cold smooth forehead, traced the fine lines of the eyebrows. "So beautiful..." he said sadly.
Yasha said nothing.
Somehow feeling that he had permission, Kujaku kissed Ashura's brow.
Now Yasha spoke. "You have always loved Ashura." The unspoken question-- Why?-- floated silently on the air.
It wasn't hard to answer. "Ashura was an unwanted child. So was I. I needed to see Ashura wanted... to be wanted." Kujaku felt naked as he stood there shivering. He almost wept.
Then Yasha suddenly did something wonderful and utterly unexpected. He bent slightly to place a chaste kiss back upon Kujaku's own brow. "Ashura thanks you," he said softly.
"Yasha-ou..."
"Yasha." The god-king's voice was kind. Kujaku stared at him.
Yasha nodded, opening his arms, offering rare shelter. Kujaku took it immediately. The only sign of his tears was the spreading warmth in the hollow of Yasha's left shoulder. Silently they remained before Ashura and Yasha's eye never left that form, frozen in time.
At last, after many minutes, Kujaku gently pulled away. Yasha released him, steadying him.
"Thank you, Yasha."
"Do not thank me. This is what Ashura would have done." Still kind, but now more enigmatic, Yasha nodded to Ashura as if his ward could see him and faded away into the dark, leaving Kujaku standing there alone.
Kujaku struggled toward the Old Zenmijou on unsteady wings. It was a weary flight at the best of times, and he wondered if he would make it now.
He was still amazed that Taishakuten had said nothing about his origins. Tenou had not spoken of it... Or else the Raijin didn't care?
His wings faltered as he lost the thermal that had carried him so far. It was all he could do to managed a controlled fall and when he hit the desert sand it felt like hitting solid rock. He lay there in the sun for a long time, sheltering under his feathers, wondering if he were going to die out here alone. His black wings absorbed the heat.
Nightfall came and he fought his way up and started walking. His mouth was dry, his limbs shaking. His wings dragged in the sand. The pain was harsh and relentless.
Not far now. Hold on.
Taishakuten. Kujaku's feelings were still ambivalent, despite all the Raijin's crimes and even despite his own fresh wounds, for deep in his heart he somehow felt he had deserved what he'd gotten. But the pain in those eyes-- like Yasha's pain, transcending time. He would never forget Taishakuten's look.
There was no denying that the Emporer was mad... but love could do that.
Why had Taishakuten let him live? Kujaku stumbled and groaned. He was bleeding again. He had to rest.
No-- he needed someone's help. Someone's care. Someone who might care.
* * *
Sometime in the night he crossed the final barrier of Ashura's monumental kekkai and stood swaying at the edge of a cliff, looking up and into the rooted tangle that loomed beyond his reach. There was no way in but flight.
He fought his way up into the air, his wings becoming claws in a struggle. Somehow he made the leap across that chasm in the dark. Then his bare feet slapped smooth chitin and he was down with a feathery rush that echoed briefly through the cavernous structure.
Yasha was awake and headed immediately for the sound, half-drawing Yamato. By its light he saw the figure writhing on the floor like a wounded dragon. "Kujaku!" He drew the sword fully and propped it against a stalagmite. Then he went to Kujaku and lifted him up, noting the coldness of his skin. "What happened?!"
Kujaku's smile was twisted into a grimace. "It seems I was... an unwanted guest. Glad I made it here." He gulped. "I'm thirsty."
Yasha moved quickly to bring him water. "Who did this to you?"
Kujaku drank greedily. "Wrong place, wrong time..."
Suddenly the world went black.
* * *
When he came to, he was wrapped in a blanket he had brought to Yasha a long time ago. Yasha was nearby, pouring more water over his clothes.
Kujaku drew a deep, experimental breath. Everything seemed to be more or less in working order. Leave it to Taishakuten to know how to torture without inflicting permanent damage. He was no longer cold or trembling, just very, very weak.
"Who did it?" Yasha asked bluntly as he wrung out the freshly washed clothes with deft, brutal twists.
Kujaku flinched and looked away. "What does it matter?"
The tone of his voice must have told Yasha what he needed to know. Spreading Kujaku's clothes out to dry, he turned. "Were I not guarding Ashura, I would leave here and finish the Raijin."
"Don't be too hasty on my account." Kujaku's lip curled ironically. Taishakuten's cruelty had been beneficial after all. Yasha was visibly furious and that was an improvement. As the Emporer had planned, he had been frightened.
But this fear and anger implied... concern. The thought made him exhausted somehow; he wanted to believe, and he wanted away from it. He managed to roll over, facing away from Yasha-ou, and closed his eyes.
* * *
He woke again, and this time he was alone. Sitting up slowly, he saw Yasha standing before Ashura's frozen form, speaking softly, then leaning to tenderly kiss the pale cheek. The kiss was so heartfelt, so worshipful, that Kujaku felt tears brimming and silently cursed his weakness. Now Yasha was praying with bowed head before his loved one as he had done without fail every morning for centuries. Kujaku did not have to hear his wish to know what it was.
Then he knew fully that a barrier had indeed been broken, that Taishakuten had in truth not been unkind, for Yasha was letting him witness his love. Kujaku had never felt so privileged... or so confused. He had never anticipated this, Yasha letting his guard down so. Yasha trusting him. No one had ever trusted him like that except for Ashura.
Witness to the sacred, Kujaku bowed his head and prayed for Ashura too.
* * *
It took days for Kujaku to be whole again. During that time Yasha tended him with great care, and Kujaku took in the changes in his manner, in his touch.
When Kujaku was strong enough to walk again they wandered slowly together around the vast caverns of the kekkai. Sometimes Yasha would support him on one arm when he tired.
Ashura's slender figure could still be made out, locked in the chitin. They stood before it often. The armor was gone now, reabsorbed. Kujaku noticed Ashura's hair was still growing. The pain in Yasha's gaze as he looked upon his loved one had not dimmed whatsoever over the centuries. It was the very echo of the Emporer's pain, Kujaku thought. Taishakuten did understand the old warrior.
Kujaku reached out, touched Ashura's cold smooth forehead, traced the fine lines of the eyebrows. "So beautiful..." he said sadly.
Yasha said nothing.
Somehow feeling that he had permission, Kujaku kissed Ashura's brow.
Now Yasha spoke. "You have always loved Ashura." The unspoken question-- Why?-- floated silently on the air.
It wasn't hard to answer. "Ashura was an unwanted child. So was I. I needed to see Ashura wanted... to be wanted." Kujaku felt naked as he stood there shivering. He almost wept.
Then Yasha suddenly did something wonderful and utterly unexpected. He bent slightly to place a chaste kiss back upon Kujaku's own brow. "Ashura thanks you," he said softly.
"Yasha-ou..."
"Yasha." The god-king's voice was kind. Kujaku stared at him.
Yasha nodded, opening his arms, offering rare shelter. Kujaku took it immediately. The only sign of his tears was the spreading warmth in the hollow of Yasha's left shoulder. Silently they remained before Ashura and Yasha's eye never left that form, frozen in time.
At last, after many minutes, Kujaku gently pulled away. Yasha released him, steadying him.
"Thank you, Yasha."
"Do not thank me. This is what Ashura would have done." Still kind, but now more enigmatic, Yasha nodded to Ashura as if his ward could see him and faded away into the dark, leaving Kujaku standing there alone.