Author's note: Apologies for the semi-cliffhanger end. It was a good stopping point, and anyway my shift ended and I had to go home. I go home on vacation next week, but my parents DO have internet and I would really like to get past the impending incident. The end is in sight! Ooh, that reminds me - I better dig out the logs with Atolm and take them with me so I can brush up on the next chapters. I still don't own Saiyuki, but next chapter you may get to see Hakkai's patented agressive neutrality!
My chi no longer swirls blue-white within me, and as I check the position of the stars to estimate the time, my stomach growls. I must eat to fuel my body when my chi is not able to do so, and it can't be any later than midnight. The kitchen will be safe.
The corridors are dark and deserted, but my eyes adjust easily to the dim light and with my previous experience rummaging for food, I am able to find the leftovers from dinner. I find myself edging closer to the banked coals in the larger fireplace; hunger must not be the only side effect of low chi. Either that, or the rain was colder than I thought. There are stools under a tall table by the fireplace; I pull one out and sit with my head propped up, thoughts once again on Sanzo's second - third? - unexpected departure. Goku was undeniably on edge when he found me around lunch. Surely, if Sanzo were in danger, Goku would not leave his side for something so trivial as to tell me not to bring him lunch. If Sanzo were fine, on the other hand, there should be no need for Goku to be so jumpy while delivering Sanzo's message.
Wait. Goku said only that Sanzo was in town, not Sanzo had sent him. I carefully review Goku's words again and realize that he never specifically said that he'd found Sanzo, either. Surely with how worried he'd been - he didn't finish eating, and that's more worried than I've ever seen him - he would have calmed down once he'd found the priest. That can only mean that Sanzo is still missing, or had not been located as of around noon today. Resolutely, I squash the urge to worry. Either Goku found Sanzo after lunch and they are both back in their respective rooms, or Sanzo is still missing. I won't know which it is until the morning bell rings, and until then there's no point in working myself up with hypothetical horrors.
A little reluctantly, I stand up and push the stool back under the table. Warm and comforting as the kitchen may be, it is not a place I can sleep. Again I navigate dark corridors easily, finally entering the thick silence of my cell. The rain cape is folded neatly on the chair where I left it, but there is a pale figure lying on my bed. It does not move or breathe, and I keep my eyes averted as I snatch the cape and hurry out. I have no desire to see whether it is Kanan's body or Sanzo's. The rain cape is in place around my shoulders long before the night air makes me shiver slightly. For half a second, I consider actually sleeping in my cell, but reject the idea. It may be cold outside, but at least I won't have to share the garden with a dead phantom. A memory flashes past and instead of going to my thorny alcove, I head towards the corner I'd tucked myself into just before Sanzo returned. With the bush cutting the wind and the cape holding in the heat of my body, I drop off quickly.
Sounds filter into my dreams long before I actually wake up. There is rustling and murmuring, and the Dark Crow compound I am fighting my way through starts to be built of bushes and trees rather than walls. The further I get, the less it looks like a compound, until I am running through a forest that is horribly familiar, chasing a figure that leaves a trail of broken branches and bloody leaves. The figure stumbles and I leap for it, knife outthrust for a killing stab. When I look up, however, my knife is buried past the hilt into the gut of a man with dark brown hair and green eyes, and my hand is fully inside the wound I made. When I pull it out, the knife is gone, replaced by talons half the length of the fingers they grace and coated in blood. I stare into my own eyes for a moment, shock reflecting in bewilderment, and then an angry rant shakes me again into the world. My view is partly obscured by the bush I am behind, but I can make out that Goku is being chased by a man who is yelling and waving a rake in both hands. I watch them pass out of sight around the corner, then slip out from behind the bush and back inside the temple.
It will be another half an hour or more until the morning bell rings. I take my time in the baths and dare to allow myself to enjoy the thorough scrubbing and feeling of being clean. My back, in particular, is scrubbed as it hasn't been since before I launched my assault on Hyakugan Maoh. From the baths I go directly to Sanzo's room and dutifully present myself to bring him to breakfast. Before I can knock, however, Goku slouches towards me sullenly from the other direction. Eyebrows slightly raised, I give him a mildly expectant look. Sanzo, it seems, has not been located or has refused to return. I wonder if Goku will tell me which it is, or just try to evade it somehow.
Goku glares at me for a long moment, his manner remarkably similar to Sanzo's as his stance challenges me to say something. "I'm still working on it," he finally grumbles reluctantly. "You just stay here." He folds his arms petulantly, and there is nothing for me to do but nod, and walk away.
I take my breakfast to the koi pond again, and eat absently while watching a monk who must be a groundskeeper tend to the water-plants. He shoots me sullen looks at first, then ignores me as he finishes and leaves. I feed the last bits of my meal to the koi, enjoying the solitude and waiting for the rest of the population to finish eating and scatter before venturing back into inhabited areas. My quiet reflection is interrupted by the groundskeeper returning with the rake he'd chased Goku with earlier. He looks at me sourly, which seems to be a natural expression for him, and slaps a pair of thick gloves into the palm of one hand.
"You the nameless one?"
I nod, mildly stunned that anyone has sought me out at all. This is the first time any resident of the temple has addressed me without my first approaching him first.
He jerks his head off to one side. "You been messing with any of the back gardens? The viney ones?"
"I cleared the dead vines out of one," I offer apologetically.
The groundskeeper grunts. "You did a good job, but don't do it again. Got some delicate plants back there."
"My apologies, I didn't realize I would be intruding."
He waves it off. "Aah, you didn't hurt the roots, which is more than I can say for some, and I wasn't looking forward to tangling with the thorns. Just don't do it again." He nods to me, then turns and stalks back the way he came.
I am left blinking after him. It hadn't occurred to me that the temple would have someone to look after the gardens, but I've been horribly self-absorbed since my arrival. A part of me wonders if I should feel guilty for my actions with the vines, but the groundskeeper didn't seem to mind much. After all, I was excruciatingly careful to leave the live vines intact. This little encounter has opened my eyes to an oversight in my actions, however. I have started to atone for failing Kanan by being attentive to Sanzo, but there are a thousand youkai who are dead because of me, because I didn't care about their lives. Until I can find another way to atone for that, I should at least be aware of the people whose lives I am entering and strive to make my interactions as unobtrusive as possible. I am only alive to atone for my sins; my life has no meaning outside of that. If I can slip smoothly through the lives of those whose paths I cross and not cause them any problems - or even better, be helpful - then I will be able to start undoing all the damage I've done.
Knowing that the kitchen will still be busy, I take my plate back. This time, however, I do not merely set it atop the pile and meekly retreat. Rather, I seek out the monk that seems to be in charge of the kitchen today. He turns from chastising an acolyte, giving me a resentful look.
"What do you want?" He looks me up and down dismissively.
I smoothly duck my head in a moderately formal bow. "This unworthy pair of hands wishes to serve those who follow the Buddha," I reply with as much submissive respect as I can manage. He's already decided he doesn't like me, so appeasing him and attempting to make myself useful will be an excellent test of how much I need to work on my new resolution.
The monk's face twists in a sneer. "Well then, unworthy one," he stresses the formal phrase, and there is no doubt that he does not mean it symbolically. "There are pots that your hands would be well-suited to cleaning." He jerks his chin at the huge pot the chastised acolyte had been halfheartedly swiping at.
The acolyte's face lights up in almost malicious pleasure, and he gives me a facetious bow as he surrenders the pot to me. Bland smile never wavering, I bow first to the monk and then to the acolyte before taking stock of what I've gotten myself into. The pot is easily large enough to hold a grown man and does not look like it has been thoroughly cleaned in months. Large patches of the charred and semi-charred remains of several unknown recipes are generously splattered on both the inside and the outside of it. I have at my disposal: a chunk of harsh soap, a bucket of water with a dishrag, and a worn wooden scraper. This will not be pleasant, but hard, dirty work is exactly what I deserve. Mindfully, I pick up the scraper in one hand and the dishrag with the other, and set to work. The task before me is sufficiently difficult that there is no room for thoughts more complex than "too much debris, wipe with cloth, continue scraping" and I am soon thoroughly engrossed. My world narrows; the glaring monk and the rest of the kitchen fade out and only the pot and its stains remain, until suddenly the noon bell rings and I discover that the pot has been scraped and rinsed to gleaming cleanliness, and the rag and bucket are horribly soiled with bits of burned food. My back aches horribly, my knees are stiff and sore, and my fingers are wrinkled and dirty, but the pot is clean.
"Good enough," announces a growling voice behind me.
My back spasms painfully as I start and twist around on my abused knees, catching my balance on the edge of the giant pot I'd devoted the morning to cleaning. "Ah, thank you, honored one," I manage to stammer out.
The monk looks at me sourly, as though irked that I have not given him a reason to dislike me. "Go get washed up before eating. You've done enough." The monk turns away, dismissing me.
Slowly, I climb to my feet and stretch for a few seconds before retreating to the baths. The sleeves and hem of my robe are filthy and soaked; I will need to change into a clean robe. I take my time and enjoy the solitude of the baths as I wash thoroughly, emerging finally in a fresh robe. Most of the residents of the temple will have finished eating by now. What food remains is either cold or warm, depending on how the dish was meant to be served, but it doesn't matter. I scoop some rice and beans onto a round of bread and snag a wedge of cheese, then slip out silently and find an alcove in the gardens to eat in. A small bird of unfamiliar species joins me, watching with tilted head from the top of a bush. I break a piece of bread off and toss it towards the bush, and after a moment the bird hops down and pecks at it. We eat in comfortable silence for several minutes before the bird picks up the last of the small chunk and flies off. Having been abandoned, I seek refuge in the library as the afternoon rain starts. Obscure northern mythology occupies my attention until the evening bell, when I realize that I haven't seen Goku since just before breakfast.
More than a little concerned, I hurry to Sanzo's room. Goku is leaning against the door sullenly, arms crossed and a worried scowl on his face. He looks up at my approach, but his unhappy expression does not lessen any. There is a long moment where he seems to be weighing two courses of action, and then he sighs.
"I need your help," he says, and that simple statement causes a jolt of foreboding to shoot from my stomach to my heart, choking me with unknown terrors.