Author's note: I know it's been a few months since I last updated this. November was devoted to NaNo, December to recovering from NaNo and trying to scrape creative juices back together. January...well...I work tech support, January is typically hell because everyone got things for the holidays and don't know how to use them or broke them. Incidentally, I hate the periods of time where Hakkai's just waiting. It's difficult sometimes to figure out what he does when no one's around.
The garden with the oaks is empty, despite its proximity to the dining hall, so I find a stone bench almost hidden by some bushes and make sure Sanzo's dinner doesn't go to waste. I have no desire to earn another lecture on wasting food when I return the dishes, and cold scraps are more fitting for one such as me than fresh, hot food. I pause to consider the wedge of flatbread in my hand, generously loaded with beans and rice. The lavish dinner that was prepared for Sanzo hardly counts as 'scraps'. After a minute of internal debate, I shrug and continue eating. I had an early dinner yesterday; if I skip lunch today, that will even out the big meal I am eating now.
The sun has not yet risen high enough to peer past the trees of this garden, and breakfast is shady and pleasant. I leave my corner briefly to bring the covered tray back to the kitchen, then tuck myself into the gap between two bushes and settle into the lotus position. When I look up again, I can't help but smile in amusement. The stone Buddha is directly across the garden from me, sitting in the lotus position. I rest my hands on my knees in conscious imitation of the statue's position, and let my mind become the still surface of a pool until the sun finally finds me.
The kitchen helper from last night is there again when I diffidently peek into the kitchen. I nod when he asks if Sanzo wants a lunch tray, and thank him for his kindness. The sun has steamed the night's rain out of the ground, and the air is hot and muggy as I take the familiar route to Sanzo's room. I knock on the door, but there is no response and no sound from within the room at all. When I cautiously try the handle, it's unlocked. Sanzo isn't here, but neither are the breakfast dishes. I leave the lunch tray on the table, tidy the room, and leave to find him.
It takes a few minutes and several hallways and gardens before I hear Sanzo's voice rising in a tone that manages to sound ominous and amused at the same time. A few turns later, I peek into a small brick courtyard of indeterminate function – the drain in the center and waist-high jugs hint at some sort of washing, but the rake propped in the corner is baffling – and find Sanzo facing down an older priest of high rank. It's hard to say who has cornered who; Sanzo has the other monk trapped in the tiny courtyard, but the smug look on the face of the older man implies that he is the victor in whatever discussion I have interrupted. That look gets more smug as he sees me in the entrance, and Sanzo breaks off whatever dire threat he was delivering in a quiet, intense tone.
I bow formally as he turns to look at me in surprise and – well, perhaps not dismay, but there is something about his posture that makes me think of a mother hen herding her chicks. "I've taken the liberty of leaving lunch in your room, Honored Sanzo." Discomfort and something else war on his face. "Honored One," I murmur to the other priest, making a second formal bow in his general direction before backing respectfully back around the corner. As I hurry away, I can hear Sanzo's voice rise again, adamantly declaring – or decrying – something I can't make out. Right Action, abstain from taking what was not given. Whatever they are discussing, it is not my business and not my place to overhear.
When the afternoon rains start, I am already in the library reading. There is a row of window-seats nearly hidden in the back, mostly forgotten, overlooking some of the gardens and in the lee of the wind. The rain falls steadily behind me, but the only sound of it is a faint drumming as it hits the roof. Before me is an old treatise on the development and use of chi, focusing on its connection with the nervous system. The author was more educated than I am; wading through his vocabulary is slow going. After a while, the dinner bell rings in the distance, but the sound barely registers. The author has included an illustration of some obscure chakra points, along with a diagram that seems to be misrepresenting where certain nerve clusters are in the body. Between the cramped writing and trying to see the points in my own weak chi, the bell is dismissed with barely a ripple of acknowledgement.
Just as I think I've sorted out the relation between the solar plexus and the chakra of the same name, a familiar robe moves into my field of vision. I blink a few times, scrambling to pull my thoughts back to the world around me. Sanzo's unreadable expression isn't helping. When he sees that I'm aware of his presence, his gaze shifts to just over my head and he looks out at the rain for several minutes. Once or twice, he glances down at me as though he were about to say something, then seemingly thinks better of it and goes back to staring out the window.
"Sanzo?"
He meets my eyes with a stricken look, then turns without a word and walks quickly out of sight behind the stacks. I watch him go, guilt tearing at me from both directions. On the one hand, I should have been aware of the time and seen to Sanzo's needs – taken him dinner if nothing else. On the other hand, however, it seems that my presence is still not welcome. Is there anything I can do? A quick glance out the window tells me that the temple is settling in for the night. At this hour, there is nothing I could do for Sanzo except to give him space. I stick a scrap of ribbon between the pages and close the manuscript. If I get a tall enough candle, perhaps I can stave off the hallucinations.
The lamps are still lit in the corridor that holds my cell. Unfortunately, they do not shed much light into the cell itself, even with the door open. I light my candle off of one of them, then seat myself at the tiny table and settle in for a long night of reading. Once again, the author's vocabulary and the subject matter draw me in, and the world around me ceases to exist until suddenly the candle gutters out in a pool of melted wax, plunging me into darkness.
It is at that moment that I hear hoarse, wet breathing coming from the corner of the cell.
My hands are already crawling along the back of the chair, reaching for the stone wall, when the walking horror steps out of the corner. Some small bit of my mind is thinking, So, this is what a week-old drowning victim looks like, but the rest of me is skirting mindless panic and edging closer to the door. A puddle of some fetid liquid creeps across the floor towards me, and I leap back with a smothered yelp.
"You didn't want to know," the bloated ruin of Sanzo's face states accusingly. "I thought you would have been more attentive. If it had been Kanan, you would have made it your business..."
Skin hangs in strips off one waterlogged hand as it reaches for me, but my searching hands have found the door's handle and I dash down the darkened hallway, running out my panic. Only when I reach the more public corridors do I stop to catch my breath. After a minute, I continue more sedately to Sanzo's room. The door is unlocked again, and I open it as quietly as possible, listening for any indication that I've woken him. The only sound is my still-harsh breathing. I sidle into the slightly cool room, closing and locking the door behind me, and prop myself up in the corner. It feels like an eternity before my eyes adjust to the darkness enough to see Sanzo sleeping in his bed, and before my breathing quiets enough that I can hear his. With that welcome sound cradling my shaken mind, I drop once again into dreams of blue-white clouds billowing on a blue sky, one that fades into a somehow comforting field of warm maroon. Those clouds gradually shift into swift-running streams, pulsing gently, surrounding a shuddering blue-white shape against that red background.
It is my stomach that awakens me in the early morning. I stand carefully and stretch, glancing over at the bed to make sure that Sanzo hadn't woken up, and then slip out of the room.
Food first, or bath? Judging from the sliver of sun on the horizon, I'd better get to the kitchens first, and then bathe while everyone else is eating. The kitchen helpers are already setting breakfast out; I load a plate for myself and one for Sanzo, grab a mug of tea, and juggle everything until I can carry it. Sanzo is still asleep when I return to his room, so I leave his breakfast on the table and retreat. Remembering last night's admonition, however, I thread my way through the gardens until I am able to lean against the wall under his window, and it is there that I break my fast. A chuckle slips out as I realize that I never ate dinner last night; this truly is breaking a fast. Above me, I can hear Sanzo and Goku discussing something. Now that I know he's awake, it's safe for me to return my plate and visit the baths.
Once I am clean and dressed, however, my thoughts stray to last night. The book is no doubt fine, but the table will likely need to be cleaned. My cell isn't nearly so intimidating with the brightly-lit hallway at my back, although I do check the floor for any stains left by Sanzo's drowned corpse. Luckily, the cooled puddle of wax peels off the surface of the table with minimal effort, and I dispose of it before taking up the book on chi and nerves. Returning to the window-seat I'd occupied the day before is an appealing thought.
The librarian looks up as I enter his domain, and he waves me over with a smile of sour satisfaction. I wonder guiltily if I've done something wrong, or if he merely wants to share someone else's misfortunes with me.
"Yes, Honored One?" I start to bow to him, but he waves it away.
"Two things," he says brusquely, hefting a worn volume and thrusting it at me. "First, you left this on the window seat last night. Never do that again, or I'll have you banned from the library." Awkwardly, I juggle both bound volumes and open my mouth to protest. "Second," he continues before I can even form an apology, "Sanzo left a message for you. He said to tell you that he's going to be in a meeting until late tonight, and not to wait up for him. But we all know you're not going to do that, so I'm giving you permission to take the manuscript out on loan. Guard it with your life." He gives me a twisted smile at the last phrase, and the irony is not lost on me. I have no name. There is no record of my birth, and by that technicality I have no life.
"I will," I promise quietly, but the librarian has already turned away in silent dismissal. I bow awkwardly around the thick books and make my way out.
It is not until I reach my cell and set the books on the table that I look to see what it was the librarian wanted me to read. A minute spent scanning the first page, however, reveals only that the writing is too cramped and the subjet matter too full of flowery, formal phrases for me to be able to make any sense of it. I skip forward a few pages, and discover that it is only the introduction that is written like that – but that the rest of the book is carefully penned in the archaic, formal alphabet used on official documents. Where the average man can pick up the simple sound-based alphabet with only moderate effort, being able to read these pictograms is the mark of years spent in scholarly devotion. I spent many hours of my childhood studying them, but never progressed past a very basic vocabulary. I skim the pages, picking out a word here and there, struggling to grasp what the text is about.
The noon bell rings, jolting me out of my academic enthrallment. I have flipped through dozens of pages, and still only have the barest understanding of the text; it seems to be some law codex copied meticulously from an original that must have long since crumbled into dust. Unfortunately, this brings me no closer to understanding why the librarian placed it under my dubious protection. I stand and stretch, giving thought to the idea of lunch before dismissing it. Halfway to Sanzo's room, I stop. I was going there out of habit; I don't really need to eat yet and he won't bet there. After a moment, I shrug and continue walking. The door is unlocked, and I perform the light cleaning duties I've been shouldering for the last few weeks. It doesn't appear that Sanzo has been here since breakfast, and I wonder how late this meeting is going to go.
When I bring the dirty sheets to the laundry, there is a single acolyte working there. From the piles of laundy around him and the single tub set up, it's clear that he's the only one working here this afternoon. He doesn't even look up as I deposit my armload on the appropriate pile, just sighs in resignation and wrings out whatever it is that he's washing before dropping it into a basket full of similarly damp cloth. Still not looking up, he picks up the basket and scurries out into the small courtyard used for drying.
Well, it's not as if my schedule is packed with things to do.
When the acolyte finishes hanging the clean clothes and reluctantly trudges back in with the empty basket, I am seated at his tub, industriously scrubbing at a soiled beige robe. He looks between me and the half-full basket I've been depositing clean laundry into, saying nothing. When I judge the robe clean enough, I stand to take it to the wringer, but he bows before me and holds his hands out.
"My apologies." I bow back and give him the sodden mass of wool, internally wincing at how loud my voice is in here.
The acolyte merely smiles and shakes his head, awkwardly holding the wet cloth with one hand and gesturing at his mouth with the other.
"Vow of silence?" I ask quietly, and he nods with another smile.
We get into a rhythm after a few more pieces of laundry; I wash them, he wrings and hangs them. The silence is comfortable and companionable. At one point, he puts his hand on my wrist as I reach for the next piece, and shakes his head when I look up. At my confused expression, he gestures at the courtyard, and I follow him out. The lines used to hang laundry from are all full. He ducks back into the laundry room, emerging with an empty basket, and offers it to me. I take it with a bow and follow him through the maze of hanging sheets and sheet-like robes as he tests each one to see if it's dry. When he finds one that's no longer damp, he removes the wooden clothespins and I set down the basket, and we fold it together. He smiles gratefully at me each time, and I wonder who left him here to do this by himself. If he's sworn a vow of silence, he could hardly protest being ordered to do laundry alone. Likewise, if some of his fellow acolytes had been working with him and walked out, he would not be able to call them back.
The basket is full by the time we finish our inspection, and my silent companion takes it with a bow and hurries off with it. The darkening sky above the courtyard indicates that dinner will be served soon and, late meeting or not, I want to fetch Sanzo something to eat. It would be far too easy for him to just skip the meal if he does come back late, and he's likely to not have eaten lunch.
The kitchen helper recognizes me and starts assembling a tray before I even ask. I nod and thank him when he holds up a teapot inquiringly, and he sets it on the coals to heat. It doesn't take long; I am halfway back to Sanzo's room before the dinner bell starts ringing. Sure enough, Sanzo is not yet back. I help myself to a small portion of the meal prepared for him, knowing he's not likely to eat even half of it, then re-cover everything and settle in to wait.