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XXV

Prelude

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Sometime between Suzaku's summoning and the Suzaku no Miko's final, fated wish, Nakago, the last standing seishi of Seiryuu, had died for five minutes.

Death was very floral. Petals drifted about him on whispers of wind.

His mother straightened from the bed of flowers that cushioned the ground and held out her hand. "Walk with me," she said.

He had not taken her hand, but they had walked, amidst a shifting garden of pale lotuses and daphne and hydrangea, camellia and roses and blood irises, blossoming cherry trees that cast their petals down like a shower of snow as they passed beneath.

"We have very little time," Matuta said gently. "There are some things that Taiitsukun asked that I relay to you before you depart."

He took in the news of his departure with composure, and did not speak for a moment – watching the petals drift down in lazy ripples from the treetop. Presently he said:

"At which level of hell did the gods see fit to place me?"

Matuta smiled, and her eyes lit with a brilliant light.

"Hell?" she chuckled. "I suppose some would call it the worst level of Hell. The mortal realm does not agree with everyone."

She knew something that he did not. His eyes narrowed, for Nakago was not one who enjoyed having games played of him that were not of his own devising. "I am dead," he said, voice even.

"You are," Matuta murmured, "but in three minutes, you will not be. The Suzaku no Miko has been alternately thoughtful and naive in choosing her wishes. I think you will find your new situation a mixed blessing and burden. "

She might believe it mixed, but life was burden, and Nakago should have despised the Suzaku no Miko in that moment, for being foolish enough to engineer a wish that would deny him even this mercy. Should have, but his fury seemed weak, and after a moment it seemed to fade, as though the beauty of their surroundings had wicked it away like a sponge.

"Here you cannot feel true hatred," Matuta said. "One grows accustomed to it."

"And where is here?"

Here was Mount Taikyoku, and he was not surprised by her response, but it was useful to hear it from her mouth. Matuta said:

"We have two minutes left, and I must beg a promise from you before you return."

So they had come at last to the true reason for his presence here. Nakago allowed his gaze to wander, past the flowers, past the edge of the garden, beyond the meadow with its winding trail. Here, the world seemed to drop off into nothingness, and there were no mountains in the distance to re-anchor one's notion of space.

"Do not repeat my former mistakes?" he asked her, still staring out past the edge of the world, and his eyes glittered as though touched by hoarfrost.

"Do not allow yourself to be tempted by Tenkou."

Nakago's face did not change; only one who knew him well would have sensed his surprise. "An interesting promise," he said, "and perhaps a difficult one to keep."

"You spent all your life in Tenkou's shadow," said Matuta, "first out of fear, then out of hate. You worshipped Tenkou because you wished to avenge yourself upon the heavens that had brought you such misery."

He suppressed annoyance; it was not only he who had worshipped Tenkou, but their entire tribe. He had been taught from birth that a dark figure in a lake of death rose forward to give of his secrets.

"We were wrong," said Matuta softly. It crossed his mind she could read his thoughts, but it did not seem to perturb him as it should have. "He is not a god," she said, "only a man, or a ghost of a man, powerful and ambitious and warped by time and hate."

He said nothing, allowed her words to flow over him.

"In the world into which you travel now, Tenkou does not have power. You must keep it so, Ayuru."

His eyes trailed over the cherry blossoms drifting from the treetops. One brushed his mother's hair and clung there, trapped in a tendril of gold.

Matuta plucked a flower from the ground, blue, lanxing; he smelled his scent, though he stood far from her. "Remember this, Ayuru. The things that seem smallest," she said, squeezing it in her palm, "weakest, most fragile, often possess a strange resilience."

She opened her palm and the flower was whole. Smiling, she held it toward him. An offering. He did not move to accept it.

"At one point your words might have influenced me," Nakago said, "but Tenkou wields a power stronger than the woman who asked you to relay these words to me. Control of hatred – pain – fear - the worst qualities that form what makes up humanity. And that is what most humanity is – and what feeds Tenkou."

"Perhaps," said Matuta, still smiling. She touched his hand, not a ghost's touch, but a grasp strong and warm. He did not jerk his hand away, but let her take his fingers in his for a moment, press the flower into them. The cherry blossoms around them were dissolving, and with them, Matuta. "And yet, my son," said Matuta, and her voice was still strong, "I think you'll find that Taiitsukun, and not Tenkou sent me to you, although we worshipped Tenkou while we were in Kutou. Remember that, if nothing else."

Yes, I have finally finished my thesis. Yes, I am back. Yes, this story is going to be finished.