Tenth Month, Twenty-Seventh Day
Hiromasa woke to see daylight pouring through the open door of the hut. He shifted in the fur, blinking and disoriented. Seimei appeared in the doorway, the cook-pot in his hands. He smiled.
Confused, Hiromasa sat up and rubbed his head. Since the day at the hot springs, he'd made sure to stay in bed until Seimei woke beside him. He knew himself to be a creature of routine, and so it felt wrong that Seimei was already awake and dressed – especially as Seimei wore his white hunting-costume over layered robes of fallen-leaf ochre and deep violet silks.
Hiromasa frowned. The hunting-costume looked pristine. No torn sleeve, no stains from mud or animal blood or moss or semen. It appeared as perfect as if it had been taken from a clothes chest that very morning. And the under-robes… he couldn't remember those particular colours being amongst the garments Seimei had brought with him into the forest.
Hiromasa reminded himself he should not be surprised by anything Seimei said or did. But he was surprised all the same.
"Seimei… what's happening?"
"The forty days are up. The ox-cart will be waiting for us."
Hiromasa stared as Seimei began to pile items in haphazard fashion into the cook-pot. Conscious of a feeling of disappointment, Hiromasa said, "Already? But… we don't have to go right now, do we?"
Seimei leaned over and tugged at the wolf-pelt, an unspoken instruction for Hiromasa to get out of bed. "The Chancellor's incense contest takes place tomorrow."
"The Empress' contest." Hiromasa shoved the fur aside and caught his breath at the feel of the cold morning air on his naked chest. "The Empress, not the Chancellor. You never listen to a word I say."
Seimei made no response, apparently lost in contemplation of Hiromasa's body. Still embarrassed by such frank appreciation, Hiromasa gathered his clothes and held them against his chest. "Seimei!"
"Did you say something?" Seimei tilted his head, his eyes shining with mischief.
Hiromasa growled at him.
They hadn't brought much with them. They took even less when they left. The two earthenware jars had seemed bottomless, providing enough sake for the whole forty days. Hiromasa remembered they still felt full last night, yet this morning, when Seimei broke them on the frost-bitten ground, not even a trickle of liquid remained.
They'd eaten all the rice and vegetables. Seimei packed the two wine cups along with a cluster of bright-hued pheasant tail feathers. Hiromasa had lost three arrows during their hunts, but had gained a set of antlers.
The deer had been young, perhaps only in its first full year of maturity. Hiromasa remembered the thrill he'd felt on stalking the animal and his amazement at getting so close to it. Seimei had whispered in his ear, instructing him on the kill, but the stretch of the bow, the fluid motion of the arrow, had been his doing.
Hiromasa lifted the antlers, weighing them in his hands. The velvet felt soft, peeling away at the edges like dried moss on a stone. He wondered what his mother and his ladies would say if he kept the antlers as a prize. It was a sinful thing to take the life of an animal for food. Doubtless the women would chant sutras for him and encourage him to atone for his guilt, but Hiromasa couldn't find it in himself to feel guilty.
He placed the antlers in the cook-pot then walked around the clearing a final time. The forest, so frightening when they'd first arrived here, was now familiar and welcoming. Even in the grip of winter, it seemed more like home than his house in Heian-Kyo or his quarters within the imperial palace.
Seimei stood over the box and the cook-pot, waiting for him. He said nothing when Hiromasa took his flute from within his cloak and played one last tune of farewell.
They walked out of the forest, taking with them the smell of wet loam and cold pine. Accustomed to a surrounding of trees, Hiromasa was startled by the expanse of open ground that led to the road. The cracked red earth and dried stream had transformed in their absence to frosted stems of grass and a muddy, burbling ribble. Seimei waded through the water, laughing at the cold, leaving the trailing hem of his hunting-costume sodden and dirty as he walked towards the road.
Hiromasa jumped across the stream. Once on the other side, he stopped and looked back at the forest. It seemed grey and distant, no longer a place of interest or fear. The thought depressed him. He shivered and hurried after Seimei, determined to look only forwards from now on.
The cart, with the white ox in its traces, waited for them. Hiromasa sped his footsteps. "How do we know if our scent has changed?"
Seimei continued at the same gentle pace. "It has."
Hiromasa waited for him to catch up. "You told me it was difficult for a man to detect his own scent. If our scent has changed, then we'll be used to it after all this time. So how do we know?"
"Trust me," Seimei said, and smiled.
They reached the road a little upwind from the cart. Seimei shifted the cook-pot in his grasp and walked with slow deliberation towards the ox. The animal raised its head from its grazing and looked at them.
"It's because you're half-fox, isn't it?" Hiromasa persisted. "You smell things differently."
Seimei sighed. "Hiromasa."
"If not, then how do you know?"
"Watch."
He put down the cook-pot and advanced towards the ox. The beast's eyes widened to show the whites, and it tossed its head. It lowed, the sound rising in panic, and its nostrils flared. It snorted puffs of steam and backed away, its flanks striking the traces that held it in place.
Hiromasa hurried forward. "It's afraid. Why is it afraid?"
"Because it doesn't recognise us." Seimei caught the ox's halter and pulled down the animal's head. He whispered in its twitching ears, calming it. The ox snuffled, pushing its wet nose against Seimei's neck and chest. It nodded, apparently satisfied, and whisked its tail.
Seimei turned to Hiromasa with a curving, satisfied smile. "Before we went into the forest, I asked the ox to remember our scent. Animals are far better judges of scent than humans. His reaction of alarm and distrust rather than recognition proves unequivocally that our scent has changed."
He patted the ox on the nose. "Even a slight change will suffice. The ox's response suggests more than a slight change. I'd say our little experiment was a success."
"Little experiment. Yes." With a sigh, Hiromasa placed the box on the back of the cart and went back for the cook-pot.
By the time he clambered inside the ox-cart, Seimei had arranged the scented cushions in heaps. He'd reclined upon them and held a wave-patterned fan open to hide the lower part of his face.
The sight of the fan gave Hiromasa pause. He couldn't recall Seimei using it in the forest. In fact, he was certain Seimei hadn't had the fan with him at all.
Hiromasa sat and smoothed out his damaged, dirtied brocades. He felt sure he looked like a peasant. Perhaps his servants wouldn't even recognise him when he returned home. He looked at Seimei's brilliant white hunting-costume and noticed that even the mud from the stream had vanished. The sight annoyed him, and he sighed.
Seimei moved the fan, half-closing it. He rested it against his cheek and regarded Hiromasa with wariness in his eyes. "You seem surprised by today."
"Yes."
Seimei's expression softened. "Why?"
Hiromasa shrugged. "I suppose…" He paused, afraid of his words. In the forest, he'd felt able to speak freely. Here in the confines of the ox-cart, the strictures of their other life – their real life – seemed to close around him.
"These past few weeks, I almost forgot what you are; who you are." Hiromasa sat forward, fixing Seimei with his gaze. "Abe no Seimei, the yin yang master. The son of a fox-woman. The eccentric who disobeys orders from the Bureau of Divination. The courtier who doesn't care about rank or social convention. I forgot all of this. Instead, I saw you as a man. As my lover."
Seimei lowered his gaze, becoming pale and silent.
"I forgot about magic and demons and being the Guardians of the City. It was different. We were just… us. Together. And we were happy. And now we're going back. It's… I don't know what it is, but I fear it." Hiromasa lifted his hands in a helpless gesture. "Is it so foolish to want to protect something precious?"
"Perhaps." Seimei closed his fan and examined the way the folds lay one on top of the other. "Things will change. That is the nature of life."
"I don't want that!" The words burst from him. Hiromasa reached across the space between them and seized Seimei's sleeve. "I want – I want…"
Seimei loosened Hiromasa's fingers from his arm and drew back. "You of all people cannot stay in a hermit's hut in the forest. You only did it from duty. You did it to save the city."
"I did it because you asked me to do it."
"As I recall, I told you to do it." Seimei smiled slightly. "You cannot always do what I tell you."
Hiromasa exhaled. "I am not one of your shikigami. You don't command me."
Another smile.
"Seimei!" Anger leapt inside him. He knew what Seimei was trying to do. Hiromasa wouldn't allow it. Not when they both had so much to lose. "Don't be cruel. Don't go away from me just because we're returning to the city. Don't give me your haughty courtier's face. I will still want you. Nothing will change between us."
"The court has many distractions for a young man." Seimei flicked open his fan. He glanced at him across it, a brief flash of brilliant eyes quickly hidden. "I will not ask anything of you."
"Why must you be so stubborn?"
Hiromasa sat back on his cushions and folded his arms. He refused to look at Seimei. In the silence that followed, he became aware of the familiar sickly scent of lavender and late autumn roses. With a cry of irritation, he pulled the cushion from beneath his knees and hurled it from the ox-cart.
Seimei hid behind his fan, his shoulders shaking.
Hiromasa glared at him. "It's not funny, Seimei. None of this is funny!"
Silence fell again, longer this time. It stretched out, tightening around them. Hiromasa wriggled amongst the cushions, aware of the growing tension but unwilling to be the one to break it. He was conscious of the plodding of the ox and the dry squeak of the wheels. The curtains fluttered with each jolt. Every action repeated again and again, shredding Hiromasa's nerves.
Seimei seemed unconcerned. He lay curled on his side, the fan clasped loosely in one hand as he gazed at the floorboards of the ox-cart.
Hiromasa fidgeted. Seimei always managed to remain so still. It was inhuman. Hiromasa thought of a fox in bracken, stealthy and cunning, waiting for the kill. He frowned. Maybe he was confused. Cats hunted like that. Did foxes? His thoughts turned elsewhere as he followed the shape of Seimei's body beneath the concealing robes. He remembered how Seimei always offered his nape and throat, like an animal in heat.
Like a fox.
He was appalled by how much the thought aroused him. Hiromasa could smell his desire. On the other side of the cart, Seimei sat up and looked at him. Hiromasa drew in a breath. He had more self-restraint than to make love in an ox-cart. Such an act would be unbecoming and wanton, and with the poor conditions of the road, no doubt it would also be awkward and painful.
He coughed and forced himself to speak. "I find myself thinking of scents all the time. Even now, I'm aware of it: the ox, the dust, the fields, you…"
Seimei lifted his fan, turning and angling it to catch the light. "You will forget. Little by little, it will cease to be so important."
"What if I don't forget?"
He smiled. "You will."
His certainty was a comfort Hiromasa didn't want. "You wouldn't forget."
"No. But then, a yin yang master can't forget. We must remember everything."
"Even though it may bring you pain?"
Seimei closed the fan with a snap. "Pain reminds us we're alive. It reminds us of our mistakes."
Hiromasa lurched across the floor, scattering cushions out of his way. He pulled Seimei into his arms and lowered his head until his lips brushed Seimei's cheek. He breathed in his scent. "This isn't a mistake. I love you."
Seimei tapped his fan against Hiromasa's chest. "You should let me go."
"No."
"Ah." Seimei sighed. "Why must you be so stubborn?"
Hiromasa chuckled. He put a finger beneath Seimei's chin and tilted back his head. Their gazes met, then Seimei closed his eyes. His mouth was soft, inviting. Hiromasa kissed him. If he'd learned nothing else from their time in the forest, now he knew how to kiss. He knew how to render Seimei helpless. It seemed like a dangerous sort of power, to know the weaknesses of a yin yang master, but Hiromasa treasured the knowledge as a mark of Seimei's trust in him.
The ox-cart rumbled through the city gates. Aching with desire, Hiromasa pulled away from Seimei at the first familiar sounds around them. Market traders called out their wares; a temple bell tolled; a dog barked.
Seimei shivered at the last sound. Hiromasa looked at him. "Seimei…"
"You will be home soon." Seimei sat up and adjusted his lacquered hat. He parted the curtains to look out at the busy street. Hiromasa watched the light play over the curves and planes of his face. As if aware of his attention, Seimei said, "Here's your house." He sat back and allowed the curtain to fall.
The ox-cart halted. Hiromasa gazed at Seimei. He heard his servants run out to greet him, but he made no move towards the back of the cart.
Seimei lowered his gaze. "Hiromasa. We must say goodbye now."
"Wait." An idea came to him. He scrambled out of the ox-cart, turning back to clutch the curtains. "Wait for me, Seimei. I'm coming with you."
He didn't stop to hear Seimei's response. Hiromasa rushed inside his house, ignoring the startled cries of his servants. They exclaimed over his absence and the state of his clothing, and directed his attention to the pile of messages awaiting his replies. Hiromasa stopped, momentarily disconcerted by the number of letters heaped on his writing desk. Paper in all hues lay folded, twisted and knotted with flowers. He counted twenty-six letters before he saw the small wooden box placed on the floor beneath his desk.
He picked it up, only half aware of a servant telling him that an unkempt blind woman accompanied by a ragged child had delivered the box only the day before. Hiromasa wrenched open the lid and stared down at the ball of greyish-brown incense resting on a wad of cheap paper.
Lifting it, he sniffed the incense. Seimei's scent surrounded him, unmistakable and perfect. Hiromasa gasped and stumbled backwards, holding the incense ball to his chest. Nose had done it. She'd replicated Seimei's scent.
He smelled it again, this time closing his eyes to focus on the layers of fragrance. Now he recognised the differences between this original scent and the new one. He made a sound of startled awe. He'd believed Seimei when he'd said their scents had changed, but this was further proof of it.
Excited, he tucked the incense back into its box and collected up an armful of letters at random. He swept out onto the veranda. The servants followed him, pleading with him to go inside and rest, to have something to eat, to bathe, to shave, to at least change his clothes before he went visiting. Hiromasa ignored them all, shedding letters as a tree sheds leaves, only to find them pushed back into his hands by his attentive servants.
"I'm not staying," he cried. "I'm going to…"
He stopped, the words fading as he stared at the ox-cart moving away from him. His arms slackened, and the letters cascaded to pool at his feet. "Seimei?"
His servants scuttled around him, retrieving the letters and herding him, gently but firmly, back inside the house. Hiromasa pushed at them. "Seimei!"
The ox-cart did not slow. If anything, it seemed to move faster.
"Oh, Seimei..."
He knew his friend always seemed to hear his mutterings once he passed over the Ichijo Modori Bridge. Perhaps Seimei could hear him now. Hiromasa hoped so. "Seimei," he said again, quieter this time, "I told you things are different between us. Why won't you believe me?"