DESCRIPTION: In 1743, the two surviving Gold Saints bury the dead, receive their new orders, and heal their wounds as they spend an evening talking about life, duty, friendship, love and desire.
Disclaimer: St. Seiya is copyright Kurumada Masami and Toei. No infringement or disrespect is intended by this non-profit work of fan fiction. This is a work of noncommercial amateur fan fiction; it is not published for profit or material gain. The author and the posters have no intent to infringe any intellectual property rights held by the owners of existing copyrights in Saint Seiya or its derivative works. The author retains copyright to original / non-copyrighted aspects of this work.
Author's Note: This story was written two years before Next Dimension or Lost Canvas were announced, and so includes non-canon names and characterizations for the 18th century Saints and their Masters.
This story, which is primarily a character story and backstory, contains light shonen ai overtones throughout.
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~ : Air : ~ : Earth : ~ : Water : ~ : Fire : ~ : Gold : ~
~ : Death : ~ : Life : ~
~ : Amethyst : ~ : Salt : ~ : Blood : ~ : Stone : ~
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Legacy
by Silverr
:
Death
.
It may have started as soon as he stepped outside of the aegis of Sanctuary – or perhaps the night before, at the moment he had accepted his role of guardian – but he hadn't noticed. As he traveled north, the miles flying under his feet, the wind tossing the clouds, the daylight rippling like a guttering candle all he was aware of was that the pain of parting from a friend was far preferable to walking away from a stranger. He found himself unable to stop smiling as his mind's eye replayed every conversation and action of that morning: it seemed that they had finally begun to exorcise the demons that stood between them. A warm, contented glow radiated through him as he thought of his friend – his friend – Shion, and he already looked forward to the Aries Saint's future visits to Rozan.
And then the tree jumped in front of him.
His fast reflexes kept him from falling over it, but as he stood staring at the strangely iridescent trunk the world shuddered, swayed, blurred, and then came back into focus. There was sudden birdsong.
He closed his eyes against a wave of queasiness, breathing deeply. When he opened them again he noticed that the leaves on the fallen tree were withered, shriveled like hundreds of grey-green talons. Had they been that way before? Of course. They must have been. The tree had fallen because it was diseased, was dead before it toppled into his path.
He leapt over the trunk and continued on his way, his mind completely denying what his eyes had taken in, that the sun that had been setting to his left as the tree fell was now rising on his right.
~ : ~
To his astonishment (had he really walked from Greece to China in just a few hours? Athena must have sped his way) he soon reached a spot he remembered from his earliest years, the bank of a stream at the edge of a clearing in the foothills below the Five Ancient Peaks. The stream, a narrow trickle as it descended the mountain, wove through the massive boulders of the mountainside to widen in this meadow, holding a shimmering mirror to the sky.
Dohko, humbled by the scene, now understood the guilt that tormented Shion: here he was, surrounded by beauty, with a duty lighter than the tiniest feather, no, lighter than a breath of wind, alive when so many others were dead, newly reconciled with the friend who was the other half of his soul.
For the first time he realized that happiness could feel like a burden.
~ :: ~
Master Basho's house was as he remembered it, tiny but well-built. Dohko ran his fingers over what looked to be recently-applied red lacquer on the door, a traditional caretaking by the nearby villagers for the Old Teacher of Rozan Peak. Inside, the long-confined air had a somber grayish smell, as if mourning the loss of its previous occupant. How sad everyone would be to learn that the master of the house would never return.
And then it occurred to him: he was the Master of Rozan now. It was a thought that sat uncomfortably, stiff and heavy and unwelcome; to avoid it he reached out with his mind until he sensed them at the edges of his perception – the the 108 malevolent spirits he was here to guard. They were stirring at his presence like vipers roiling under the surface of a marsh.
He pulled up water from the well and chopped wood, put some water to boil for rice and tea, then unpacked his traveling bag, placing the mementos from Sanctuary (including the vial of mysterious green liquid that Shion had given him) into an ancient painted trunk that Master Basho had told him had been made centuries ago by the Libra Saint Damonides of Constantinople. Afterwards he went outside to where ancient cherry and apples trees nestled between the house and the towering pines of the hillside. The cherry trees had been picked clean by the birds, but the gnarled apple trees still dangled a few treasures. The fruit looked so cheerful on the table, glowing in the gray light like carnelian and yellow jade, that he decided to save it for later.
It was time to go visit his prisoners. As he approached the waterfall the currents of hatred from the dark stars made his skin prickle.
Ah, a Gold Saint! they jeered. The odds are in our favor. Five score and eight to one!
"I'm not here to fight you."
Oh? What are you here to do then, little Gold Saint?
"Watch. Listen."
We'll break our bonds and crush you! As we did all your comrades.
"We will see," Dohko replied. He sat on the smooth stone ledge and closed his eyes.
As a Saint, he had learned mediation early, of course, although his ability to shut out distraction and enter the Timeless Moment was not the best in Sanctuary. That distinction went to Anathasius, who many years before had once sat for eighteen days without moving or speaking, taking neither food nor water. (Dohko had not lasted so long: despite his efforts thirst broke his concentration. For months he had to endure Shion's constant jibes about "Belly Saint Dohko.")
But that was years ago, when he was a child. Now it was as simple as breathing to set aside the Now. At first indifferently aware of his surroundings and the passage of hours, of slight alternations of warmth and cold, and of faint, occasional drops of rain, after a while even these receded: all that was left was the sluggish malevolence of the Spectres and a calm pride that he was serving Athena's command … and then suddenly a familiar, blazing cosmo, quite close. He opened his eyes.
Whatever he had intended to say was silenced by astonishment. Had he not recognized the energy as Shion's before he saw him, he would not have known his friend. When last seen Shion had been dressed in plain linen robes; now he wore a gaudy brocade jacket and breeches with a ruffled lace shirt and shoes with polished buckles. His hair, now shoulder-length and black, was pulled back and tied with a velvet ribbon, and he had acquired eyebrows to match his hair.
"Truly," Dohko said. After the hours of silence his voice seemed raspy and much too loud. "Truly, now you display the peacock fully." He stood slowly. "Have you brought a Cloth for blood already? Or were you just eager to spar with me?"
Shion was looking at him strangely. "How long have you been thus?"
"Thus? Meditating, you mean? The greater part of the day," Dohko said, squinting at the bright sunlight. Odd, day should have been waning by now. "You know how the Eternal Moment plays tricks with the hours."
Shion grimaced. "Hours? What a quaint jokester you are. Even a child would see that you delayed repairs until your faithful slave arrived."
"Repairs?" Dohko echoed. His throat was sore.
Shion was unbuttoning his jacket. "I had hoped to spend the night, but it appears that will be impossible – unless you will share the secret place you must have been sleeping all this time." He started walking away from the waterfall toward the house.
Several questions swirled in Dohko's head as he followed Shion's long-legged stride toward the house: Why is your hair black? Why are you dressed like that? Why have you come to visit so soon? but all thoughts fled when Basho's house came into view.
One of the ancient pine trees – its needles as brown as rust – had fallen onto the roof, breaking its spine and knocking out so many tiles that the rafters were exposed.
"Fortunately the walls remain," Shion said.
Dohko was dimly aware as he stepped across the lintel that the lacquer of the door, hours before a bright red, was now faded and dull. Inside, the apples which earlier had glowed like jewels now were desiccated, worm-eaten husks. Seeds littered the table, tiny blackened tongues.
Shion muttered, "Had I known there would be all this to do, I would have worn other than this fragile apparel."
Dohko asked, dread blooming, "How … It is no more than a few days. A week at most, since I left Sanctuary, is it not?" And yet – arriving at Rozan in a day? The withered tree? The sun rising on his right?
"No, a score of months, and then some." Shion pulled at the corner of the mattress, which was sodden and carpeted with mold.
"No. It cannot be."
Shion turned, a curious look on his face. "And what of your appearance?"
Dohko looked down. His red woolen tunic, new when he left Sanctuary, was now barely more than rotted threads, bleached almost bone-white – as if by long exposure to the elements of sun and wind and rain.
It had been many, many years since Dohko felt fear. "Have I gone mad?"
Shion looked at him speculatively. "No, I do not believe that to be so. If you say it was to you only days … then accept that as true for Dohko."
"What mean you, 'true for Dohko' ?"
"For Shion," Shion said, poking at the remains of the apples, "almost two years have passed since we parted. However much it strains the limits of our comprehension we must accept both of those truths."
"How can this be?"
Shion folded his arms. "Since we last met I have devoted much study to the Chronicles of the Saints. Four times a millennium dark forces rise and Athena and her Saints wage Holy War to defeat them. In times past there have always been enough Saints and Masters and students at war's conclusion to rebuild Sanctuary, guard the Seals, and train the next generation, but this cycle only we two remained. Because your people are mayflies in comparison to mine, who live centuries long if not felled by violence, I posit that Athena somehow made Rozan a place outside of Time for you, so that you could safely live the equivalent of many lifetimes guarding Hades' army."
This explanation, outrageous as it was, seemed almost sensible when delivered in Shion's characteristically confident tone. Dohko nodded slowly. "I like your new scholarly air even better than the frippery. Have you a theory for the eyebrows?"
Shion put a hand to his forehead and grimaced. "Ah, I have become so accustomed to my disguise … I forget it is not my true self." He shook his head; the eyebrows disappeared and his dots faded back in.
"And the black hair?"
"Dye, alas, and not so easily undone." Shion removed his jacket and laid it across the back of the chair. "Now, we have need of a grocer and carpenter's tools if we are to dine and sleep in the comfort my rank requires. Let us get to it."
~ : ~
And that is how Shion's first visit began. As Dohko went through the rubble, taking everything salvageable outside, Shion teleported away, returning moments later with a large, elegant tray of silver-domed plates. He watched, bemused, as the suddenly ravenous Dohko investigated the covered dishes. He left again, this time returning with an adze, a saw, two pairs of sailcloth work breeches and canvas boots, and clay roof tiles and pegs.
They accomplished repairs with a mixture of physical labor and psychokinesis, Shion answering Dohko's eager questions about his travels. When, after several hours of work, Shion announced that they would take a short break from their labors, he teleported to Sanctuary to retrieve a huge world map which he spread out and weighted with a rock at each corner. "Sit," he commanded. "Listen. Learn." Dohko, for his part, played the part of attentive schoolboy, his chin on his fist, absorbing Shion's explanation of how geography and human nature drove the complex alliances and private intrigues of the countries and courts he had begun to visit and observe. (He also fondly thought that Shion of Aries did love to hear himself talk.)
"So how did you begin to move in these circles of power," Dohko asked as they returned to the roof-work. "It seems as though it would be impossible for one not born into that world of nobility."
"I also feared that at first," Shion said, eying a beam. "but as I am content with the periphery rather than the center, I can take advantage of the propensity of your race to be dazzled by surfaces and seduced by wealth."
"Surfaces? You mean the clothes?"
Shion nodded. "If I look the part of the scion of a noble family – sent abroad for worldly education – and have a loose purse, few question me closely. I have," Shion said with a snort, "very rarely been asked my country of origin. I do expect that to change as I come in contact with shrewder, more powerful men and women."
"And when you are asked? What will you say?"
"What I say now, perhaps. That my family is an very old one with few heirs. That we were once very powerful but are now expatriate, in hiding."
"And is such vagueness accepted?"
"The best lies, it seems, are closest to the truth."
"As well as being easier to remember."
"And now you talk like a courtier," Shion said. "Although you smell better than most."
"What, do they not bathe?"
Shion, his mouth now full of pegs as he began attaching roof tiles, shook his head. Dohko laughed.
They finished the roof shortly before sunset. As they carried the furniture that had survived – the table, three chairs, and Damonides' chest – back inside the house Dohko, mindful of Shion's comments (and not sure how well rain and snow had substituted for bathing) said, "I will not be long." Pulling off the tattered remains of his tunic, he hopped out of his breeches then dove into the pool below the falls. The icy water was a shock, but refreshing. As he surfaced he glimpsed Shion's outline, black against the rosy sky, high in the clifftop above him: then there was a splash, and Shion was in the water next to him.
"I thought you were too dignified for swimming?"
Shion pushed him under the water, growling. "I am not so pompous as I once was."
"Nay, moreso!" Dohko laughed, retaliating.
Ten minutes later, cold and wet and tired and very happy, they climbed from the water to hike back to the still-warm stone of the cliff top where they lay shoulder to shoulder listening to the enraged spirits within the mountain as they watched the sun set. When the night air started to make them shiver they snatched up their clothes and ran inside.
As Shion built a fire Dohko asked, "How long will you be here?"
"For a number of weeks I have been a guest at a country estate," Shion said, dusting off his hands as he stood. He pointed to the tray. "That was my dinner, which it is my custom to often take in my rooms." He pulled on his breeches, poured himself some wine, then sprawled in a chair. "I will explain my absence by saying that I was amorously occupied and didn't wish to be disturbed."
"Oh?"
Shion nodded, yawning. "I predict that a certain lady will henceforth claim she bedded me, because to admit I nightly lock my door to her scratching would be a smirch on her reputation."
"Why associate with her if she irritates you so?"
"Her roster of lovers includes many of the princes and nobles I mentioned before. Not to mention – although this is rumor only – the Archbishop of a certain German city. These are circles I must continue to infiltrate if I am to monitor the currents of power."
"And?" Dohko didn't see the connection.
"To be chosen as her paramour would be a sign that I am seen as – not insignificant."
"Succumbing to seduction is an achievement to be proud of, then?" Dohko asked.
Shion shrugged, then jerked his head up at the ceiling, "Truly, I'm prouder of that."
"We'll see if your pride holds when it rains."
Shion laughed as Dohko had never heard him laugh before, boisterous, full-throated. "Oh, I have missed you these two years, old woman."
"I would say I missed you as well, but a day or two is barely enough time for the sting from your barbs to subside."
"True, true, you took much abuse from me in years past," Shion stretched as he yawned again, and stood. He disappeared from sight, then returned moments later with a large feather mattress and a coverlet – brought, it was likely, from the previously-mentioned locked room in Russia. "Nights here are cold, I am told." He dropped the mattress on the bedframe, kicked off his shoes, then lay on his side, his back to the wall. "Your place is here in front of me, so that you can be devoured first if your famous Chinese demons appear in the night."
As Dohko banked the fire he thought Here we are again, lying in front of a fire just as we did – well, to him it was just a night or two ago, yet it seemed that so much had changed already. "It is 1745, you say?"
"Aye, the month of August. I cannot now recall the day. Ah, this will be pleasant," Shion said. "As I have never learned to be tolerable company to myself, it is good to be with an old friend, away from strangers and idiots."
Shion's expression of affection was undeniable proof that two years had indeed passed, for only such a length of time could have blurred their previous estrangement enough for Shion to act so relaxed. "Rozan will be open to you always," Dohko said as he spread the coverlet over Shion, then hesitated: the bed was narrow …
Shion read his expression and understood. "Dohko, there is no – "
"I know," Dohko said, then quickly slipped under the coverlet. "You hate the cold."
"It is not – " Shion began again, but Dohko cut him off. "Although I do not know any archbishops, I can at least keep a good friend warm. Now, let us cease talking."
His final reflection as he drifted off to sleep that perhaps happiness needn't be a burden all of the time.
~ : ~
Dohko had dozed for barely a moment when he felt Shion sit up with a cry, his cosmo agitated.
"What's wrong?"
Shion stared at him, choked out, "You are not – ?" He put one hand on Dohko's throat, then jumped from the bed and strode out of the house.
Dohko followed and found Shion sitting under the ancient apple tree, his head in his hands.
"Shion?"
Minutes went by before he muttered, his head still bowed, "I am a fool."
Dohko waited patiently.
"I am swifter than you in all things, Dohko," Shion began, his tone bitter, "and my pride as well has always been greater."
Dohko knew better than to agree aloud.
"Yesterday, when I thought to travel here, my spirit gave a leap at the idea of seeing you."
There was silence after this admission. Dohko had just determined to make some mitigating comment when Shion raised his head. He looked as Dohko had never seen him, miserable and uncertain. "Then, last night as you fell asleep, I felt such happiness being here that I resolved to no longer deny myself that which brings me joy … even if it could be, as you have put it, only the half and not the whole. I lay awake as you slept, determined to breathe deep of every moment I had here with you. But, as the night went on," Shion's voice became oddly hoarse, "I felt the rhythm of your heart slow and slow and slow until at last it stopped."
Dohko's eyes widened.
"What could I think then but that you had died?" Shion asked.
"Shion – "
"Then!" Shion slammed his fist against his leg. "Then, when I was brimful of misery you – you miraculously resurrect! Love is truly the most artful poison devised," Shion said with bitterly, "Undetectable until one attempts an antidote."
"How could you think I was dead?" Dohko heard himself ask. "Did my body become cold? Did my cosmo fade?"
Shion glared at him. "It seems you prefer science to poetry after all."
"And poetry is now your tutor," Dohko said, amused. " 'Love is an artful poison' ?"
"I spoke with too much flourish," Shion said firmly. "An effect of my alarm that, if you were to die, my duties then would be doubled."
"I see."
"Now, if you are done with your magic tricks," Shion said as he stood and took a deep breath, "I need to sleep. Unlike you, my duties tomorrow will require more of me than dozing on a rock."
~ : ~
Shion's first suggestion was to call Dohko's meditation state "Old Woman's Corpse," but Dohko convinced him that a gift from Athena deserved a more respectful name. They finally decided on Misopesaminos, "half-death" – because because because even though the sands of time flowed for him as before and he breathed and felt his blood course in his veins, to Shion he appeared to transform to a statue, unbreathing, unmoving, unblinking, his heart beating only ten times an hour.
"Such a bother you are," Shion mock-grumbled after they had cut down the few trees close enough to threaten the house. "I see I must visit every year or two from now on to make sure you are fed."
"And each time I will pay dearly with my ears," Dohko said, holding out Shion's map and courtly clothes, "and my eyes."
"You will," Shion said, snatching them with a fleeting half-smile, "be the death of me."
. : .
~ to be continued ~
(91) 29 Mar 2010