Disclaimer: I don't own any of the Fushigi Yugi characters, places, etc.
A/N: I like this chapter. It's surreal.
Chapter 14: Being
Bai Hua-Wan. That was it. It echoed hollowly through the blinding white, reverberating off of mist. There was a sense of being, a sense of existence, but it was unfamiliar and without form. There was no recollection of anything beyond those three words: Bai Hua-Wan. They reverberated again and again: Bai Hua-Wan, Bai Hua-Wan, Bai Hua-Wan, Bai Hua-Wan…
It was stifling. There was no hot or cold, just an absence, without feeling, without life. No light, no darkness, nothing to come into contact with nothing else. Just three words. Bai Hua-Wan. Bai Hua-Wan… Bai Hua-Wan…
Maddening, insipient words. Bai Hua-Wan. They tumbled again and again, gnawing at the flicker of a being, the vaguest awareness of self. Bai Hua-Wan, Bai Hua-Wan, Bai Hua-Wan! Only those words, no others, none with even which to express gnawing or insipience. Bai Hua-Wan, Bai Hua-Wan, Bai Hua-Wan, Bai Hua-Wan, Bai Hua-Wan, Bai Hua-Wan!
Bai Hua-Wan….
Would it not end? Would there never be an end? Like a tide, there was the strengthening and fading of being, a sense of "here-ness" followed by a pull into the "not here."
Bai Hua-Wan…
They steadied, the words, into a heartbeat of triplets. In the silence between words, being seemed to fade, and come together again at the words.
Bai Hua-Wan…Bai Hua-Wan…Bai Hua…Hua-Wan…Bai…Hua…Bai Wan…Wan Hua…Bai…Bai…
Slowly, something soothed them into thoughtlessness, made them quieter and quieter, incoherent. There was no need for these, no need for the useless repetition of gibberish. No, there was only the need to dissipate into the nothingness, to merge and be at peace with the yawning absence of all things, serene like the abyss. That teeming, turbulent self had no purpose, nothing beyond trouble, nothing but compelled misery. Being was a burden, being brought pain…Bai….Bai…gibberish…
Name?
What gibberish was this? Name? Where did such a thing fit in, what did it mean? Who needed a name, a thing to call the being. It was burdensome, formed lines, familiar boundaries, shackles. Wan…Bai Han…Wai Bua…name? No, names were bad. Confining, disruptive, causing eddies in that tranquil streaming away of being.
Name…color? Colors melted in bright streaks, running in blotchy messes. Color was discord, color brought strife. Reds, purples, whites…dripping chaos and damnation. No, no! Name, color, gibberish, wuibaahan, bahawuian, wa ba hui…let it go and sleep, rest, calm…no more chaos…
No more chaos? There was chaos?
Being was chaos. Being is chaos. B…
Bai…
Being…to be…a verb. Yes, a verb, a noun…a being, an entity, something…to be, to…to feel, to see, to cry, to sleep...to laugh, to cheer, to touch…warmth…Bai…white. Bai is a color, an entity. White, Bai.
Sleep, no. Sleep, chaos is names. It's gibberish, cement, shackles, a stab in the back…
Bai, white, light on steel. Pain, white hot, blinding pain. Searing, burning. Chaos, sleep…white…Bai…white…Bai…
A spine…there must be a spine for a stab in the back. One, two, three, four, vertebrae, stretching in a gentle curve. Bai, white, Bai, white, a name, a color, an entity. Bai, white, color, name, entity, has a spine, a joint collection of vertebrae that could arch and bend. Yes, they bent, slowly, almost moaning as they recalled themselves. Bai, white, name, color, entity…spine…searing pain…
Forget. Being is sufferring, forget. Being is pain, being is white hot, burning memory, memory pouring like molten iron, corroding the will to be, for being is pain.
A will? Will and spine…they had been interchangeable, sometimes…will, spine…bend, break…yes, both could bend and break. Bai, white, name, color, entity, spine, will. Will was iron, created and festooned, made and unmade, just like iron. It curled, elaborate…no, it was not wrought, it was straight…white…light on metal…direct, unyielding, cold…focused one direction.
No, no, no, no, no, no, no!!!!!!! Being was pain!
Yes, being is pain! Bai! White! Name! Color! Entity! Spine! Will! Will, will, will…will was a sword, a blade, straight, unyielding, driven, deadly. Yes, will was a blade. For a blade, there must have been fingers, fingers to hold, to curl around the handle, to fit in the well-worn grooves. They were long fingers, slowly curling into a fist, and unfurling. Bai…yes, Bai. Bai, white, color, name, entity, spine, will, fingers…promise. There was a promise…a promise binding the will, the spine, the heart. Ah yes, the heart.
Bai Hua-Wan, the name, the being. The being had made a promise, the promise had been made to the heart, and the promise had never been fulfilled. The fingers could not release the sword, the sword could never be remade to loosen the will, the will remained coursing through the spine, connecting the vertebrae, taking orders from the heart. The heart that drove a body – arms, legs, hands, feet, fingers, toes, head, mouth, eyes, ears, tongue, lips, nose, breast, back, hips – to keep going, to lift the sword, to channel power, to lure men, to hunt, to never cry, to powder cheeks, to hold the head high, to break the others…the heart that drove a body to do all of these things had not been rewarded with the promise. It could not rest.
Bai Hua-Wan, the name, that was the being. And the heart had made a promise as Soi, the same being, but with the name that gave it a different set of concrete walls and shackles, a different set of rules to govern itself with. And those rules were made of sizzling power and yipping lines of electricity.
NO! NO, NO, NO, NO, NO, NO!!!!! BEING IS PAIN!!!!!
Yes, being is pain. Soi opened her eyes lash by lash, and saw the absence streaked anew with color, dripping in such an array as to blur and smear into all colors. Solidifying, mist curled in overhead, and the ground formed beneath her. Soi watched her fingers become complete, and felt the earth beneath her solidify, cold and damp.
She felt the creature lodged against the back of her neck, trying to unravel her very core. It pulled furiously, already having laid siege to most of her memories. Her mind was in shambles, only fragments coming through, but she knew enough to want to pry this beast off.
Currents ran through her astral body, sliding through the memory of her body's veins and tissues. She recalled the unbound and wild nature of it, the all consuming demands it made on her body, and released it with a snap. The resulting flash and burn of power was scintillating, resonating deep down to the core of her being, that part of her that was still Bai Hua-Wan, in pursuit of the promise Nakago had made to her years ago.
The beast dislodged from her and staggered backwards, and she rose to her feet, fixing her eyes on Marcuccilli. He was a cowering, wraithlike creature, flickering power and raw spirit, crippled and raging after a nearly fatal blow. But oh there was power! Soi stepped back, feeling it build in him, gathering like the pressure behind a breaking dam. She charged herself as well, until the flickering tendrils of the astral-memory of her hair stood bristling on end, the follicles aching in remembered pain, her teeth tap dancing against each other.
They released like a wound spring, each one launching an eruptive power that fizzed and crackled through the mist. It clashed, and Soi was standing so close she remembered the pain of heat on her skin, and knew that if she were alive it would boil and peel back the flesh. But she was not alive, she reminded herself. Yes, there was a will, spine, heart, and drive, but there was no body to go with it. Her skin slinked back over the hazy imaginings of what burned muscle would look like, until it gleamed in milky perfection. No, he could do nothing to this 'body' of hers. He was trying to leach from her soul…and she did not have the energy to resist him for long.
Already he was climbing back towards her, reaching with the mist into her skull, his molten and misshapen mass of storm cloud body resembling a blotch of ink with jittery appendages. He was trying to pry her apart, render her gathered memories useless, and tear away her name. Bai Hua-Wan. It was her name, the one and only thing she could hold onto in the maelstrom of her life, and he attempted to devour it with sweet whispers about being and pain.
The second bolt of electricity separated them without her thinking about it. She jerked away, moving as fast as she possibly could, cutting through the haze and the mist. Soi ran, her whole self occupied with finding Nakago, with returning to him…except that she could not conjure his image, or recall even the faintest whisper of his voice. She couldn't remember his scent, or the feel of his skin, or even what his spiritual power felt like as it brushed across her soul.
Soi tore herself apart, scattering the astral memories of her body and letting it dissipate, spreading wider and wider over the area, and streaming like a waterfall away from the inky mess of Marcuccilli. He was pursuing, expanding in a similar fashion, trying to slow her. He grappled with a piece of her, and she felt it go, giving up more memories, making herself less substantial. If she wasn't fast, she would be lost completely.
She touched everything she could, hunting for a mind, an entity she recognized. She was searching for Nakago, digging and tearing to find some piece of him she could follow, beyond just the celestial name that he had molded into armor and weaponry.
There!
She came together again, extending her hand, and caught hold of him. Her fingers closed in his, and he pulled, yanking her towards him, and throwing up a barrier.
"Nakago!" she called out, but it was not him that she looked upon. No, this was not Nakago…this man…
He looked down at her with one eye, his monk's staff thrust into the ground, a great barrier enveloping them. There was a scar on his face, and his long hair was bound at the base of his skull. Yes, she knew him, but he was not Nakago.
"Do you remember me now, Soi?" he asked. His voice struck a chord. Monk…Mary. Mary had traveled with a monk. This was he. "Chichiri, one of the Suzaku Seven," he supplied. Suzaku painted images of fire and devastation in her mind, of trial, death, victory, and failure.
"You…" she recoiled. "Where is Nakago?"
"I'm not sure. If we find him, will you help me to send him to the spiritual plain, where he belongs?" Chichiri asked, releasing her. He maintained the barrier, as Marcuccilli rapidly began chipping and hacking at it, trying to crack it open. It wouldn't be long now. Chichiri flinched beneath one attack, and it almost caved in.
"Why?"
"You want him to be at peace, don't you?"
"Why would you help me? We're enemies."
"I can't really have him raging around our world, now can I?" Chichiri replied, smiling. Soi thought absently that she liked his smile.
"Why not destroy us both? Send us into oblivion?"
"Yes, we were enemies, but where's the point in that? I was reminded recently that there must be an end somewhere," Chichiri explained. He held out his free hand to her. "Will you help me?"
Soi looked at him. In all her life, she had never asked to be redeemed. Sin after sin, and she never expected someone to reach out with a truce, least of all one of the Suzaku Seven. So, here they stood, being hammered down upon by a monstrous enemy. And what was the difference between them?
Only their celestial rulers. They were both born to live and die for a priestess, both given powers that had ostracized them, both forced to follow the wires of their puppeteers. That was all. She carefully extended her hand, and placed it palm-to-palm against his.
"Thank you," she said, and Chichiri's smile got more crooked. He tapped his staff, and a hole ripped around them. They tumbled through space, pulling away from Marcuccilli, and leaving him unable to follow. Soi became again aware of disembodiment, only knew that her fingers were still curled around Chichiri's.
"Another time, another place," she smiled. The misty world swirled back together around them, and Soi shook out her limbs. She released Chichiri's hand.
"T-Tasuki…" Chichiri garbled, and Soi turned, surprised. Laying face up on the earth pathway, the redheaded celestial warrior looked like he slumbered on the ground. Jutting from his chest was an arched claw, framed in congealing, red-black blood. "Tasuki!"
As Chichiri's hands closed around the pale visage of his fallen comrade, Soi lifted her face, and heard the bellowing shriek of a beast rumble through the mountain. Behind her, she was aware only of the tirade of sizzling power and a man's scream. Ahead, Marcuccilli approached, driven by an equally as deranged power.
The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end, and her insides seized up. She was about to lose everything all over again.