Author's note: Work was slow and my angst-muse wouldn't shut up. Yay! Just a bit of setup, and I can actually get the start of the end...um...started. I need to check my notes, though. Meanwhile, enjoy!

Sanzo has not yet returned before the sun sets, and I find myself wishing I'd brought the archaic book with me. The knowledge that the contents of the book are there to be read if I could only interpret the glyphs nags at me like an itch that's just out of reach. It's likely that I would venture to my cell for the book – if I knew with certainty when Sanzo would be back. Goku was with him at breakfast, and I can trust that Goku would have made sure he ate. There are no such promises for lunch, and I don't entirely trust that Sanzo will eat if not reminded to do so. The memory of him sitting by the koi pond all day is all too clear in my mind.

To occupy myself while I continue to wait, I settle into a lotus position on the floor. There is, thankfully, no draft from the window to set the lamp's flame flickering, and with my eyes closed, no outside stimuli distract me from my internal distractions. The nagging worries about Sanzo and the desire to know what that book is about keep me quite occupied in a sort of mental juggling; no sooner do I acknowledge one thought and put it aside than another leaps at me and must be dealt with. Even when I have those settled, not knowing what time it is or wondering when Sanzo will return creep up on me and give me more thoughts to put aside.

Wonder what the book is about. Put it aside. Worry that Sanzo didn't eat lunch. Put it aside. Wonder if I could slip down to my cell before he returns. Put it aside. Worry that he will return if I leave, then lock the door and not eat. Put it aside. Wonder what time it is. Put it aside. Door opening. Put it aside. Wonder what sort of meeting Sanzo is in. Put it aside. Chair scraping. Put it aside. Wonder when Sanzo will return. Put it aside. Blue sparks-

Wait.

I stop putting all thoughts and outside stimuli aside, and actively listen. The chair creaks. Cloth rustles. There is a dull thump as one of the dishes on the tray is moved, and a sigh. I spare a moment to chide myself for being so intent on waiting that I missed Sanzo's return, then open my eyes. Sanzo is sitting at the table, eyeing his lavish – but no doubt cold – dinner with distaste. He pours himself a cup of tea as I watch silently, then doctors it with some of the alcohol he keeps stashed under his formal robes. I wonder if the tea is still hot. It seems to be, given the way Sanzo sips at it, grimacing at each swallow. I lower my eyelids, making sure to keep my breathing even, and watch him carefully. My presence does not seem to be causing him discomfort, but I do not know if that will hold true once he sees that I am not so preoccupied. He prods at some of the food on the tray, shooting a suspiscious look at me before nibbling cautiously. His shoulders have that hunched look, as though he were trying to escape notice. After a minute, he flicks another glance in my direction and stretches. From the scowl on his face, it seems that whatever meeting he was in, he did not enjoy it.

Sanzo resumes his cautious nibbling, and I realize I have neatly trapped myself. I do not know if my presence will be as welcome if I am not sitting quietly off to the side. At the same time, however, pretending to be meditating while covertly watching Sanzo would be a deception. And yet...how does one tactfully indicate that he is no longer lost in a meditative trance without making it apparent that one has not just exited said mental state?

Fortunately, Sanzo solves the problem for me. With another grimace, he drains his cup and crawls into bed. Only the top of his head is visible when he finishes burrowing underneath the blanket.

Well, that works.

There is no point in me going anywhere else until Sanzo falls asleep; I close my eyes and resume meditating.

"Gonou?"

I blink and look around. Kanan is standing in front of our house, her favorite yellow dress clinging to her most appealingly in the wind that blows gently. She holds out one slender hand invitingly, the other brushing hair out of her face.

"Come with me, Gonou?" She smiles, that shy, teasing smile that always makes me want to protect her while she wraps me around her little finger.

Something's not right. I clench my hands into fists, feeling the nails bite into my palms. Behind her, the house trembles and looms ominously. I want to ask why she's there, why I'm there, but the words won't come.

"Gonou? What's wrong?"

The house is bigger now, shifting in a way that makes my eyes water. My warning dies in my throat as wounds bloom on Kanan's chest, blood running over her breasts like grasping fingers.

"Come with me, Gonou." Her voice is no longer warm and inviting.

The house grows as it crumbles, becoming the ruin of Hyakugan Maoh's keep. The blood from Kanan's wounds starts flowing up rather than down, forming arms to match those grasping hands. Her skin aquires a paleness all too familiar to me, and her eyes roll back in her head.

"Gonou..."

The word – that is no longer my name! - seems pulled reluctantly from her throat as her blood starts outlining the shapes of muscular biceps. I bite my lip, tasting the tang of my own blood.

"...come with me!" The voice that emerges from her throat is rough and deep – not hers at all.

Kanan's head lolls to one side limply; her body sags, those bloody arms holding her up. They have shoulders now. I squeeze my eyes shut, not wanting to see what head forms from her blood. The ground drops out from under me and I fall, every muscle tensed against the impact that never comes.

With a start, I open my eyes and cast panicky glances around Sanzo's darkened room. The deep, slow breathing from the bed both calms and reassures me. At least I didn't wake Sanzo. Slowly, stiffly, I stand up and make my careful way to the door. I'll return in the morning and take care of the dishes then, but right now I need fresh air and light.

The hallways in the temple – even the most-used ones – are all dark, but the moon and stars illuminate the temple gardens sufficiently. I wander through them without any particular destination, just enjoying the clean night air and the way the moonlight makes the wet leaves glitter with cool silver. The air is chilly, but walking keeps me warm and the thought of going indoors does not appeal to me – not with the memory of that nightmare lurking in the back of my mind. I walk the stiffness out of my legs, walk the nervous reaction out of my body, walk the nightmare out of my mind, walk until the eastern sky begins to lighten with the approaching dawn. Washing and dressing do not take enough time; a quick peek into the kitchen reveals that breakfast is not yet ready. Perhaps I can retrieve the leftovers from Sanzo's room, and have breakfast for him before he wakes.

The sun has just begun to peek over the horizon when I reach Sanzo's door, and I carefully slip inside. There is no motion from the bed, and as quietly as possible I load the still-laden dinner plates onto their tray. It is not until I take the tray in my hands and glance back at the bed that I notice its distinct lack of surly monk. A long moment goes by where part of me wants to panic, but never quite manages to get past the larger part of me that's certain he just stepped out for something and will surely be back. When he does return, he'll no doubt want breakfast. Dismissing the question of where Sanzo has gone, I take the tray and leave, closing the door behind me.

Most of the lavish dinner the kitchen provided Sanzo is still on the tray, and most of that is still edible. In order to not waste food, I make my own meal from his leftovers and I wind up adding only a small amount to the compost heap. Judging from Sanzo's expression last night, a light breakfast would probably be safest. A mug of hot tea and some bread and fruit are all I take from the dining hall, snatched while the rest of the meal is brought out from the kitchen. The bell hasn't even begun to ring before I get back to Sanzo's room, but wherever he is, he hasn't returned yet. No doubt he'll be back soon; I'll just leave it here for him.

As tempted as I am to return to my cell and wade through the book the librarian thrust into my care, I won't get very far unless I know more of what I'm looking at. The breakfast bell tolls as I make my way to the library, and I am able to duck into the stacks without being seen. It's not easy to find what I'm looking for: a manuscript with both alphabets used in such a way that I can learn what the symbols of the formal alphabet mean. I finally locate what seems to be the geneological record of a small, bizarre family. There are many names, with relationships drawns between them and lines connecting names to names that seem to be within the family, since the second name always has the same symbol in it. That must be the family name, meaning that the pairs of names are married couples. Whoever's bloodline this is, the family doesn't seem to be very prolific; there are never more than five living members at any one time, and they like re-using names a lot. The names of the ones who married into the family are written in both alphabets, however, and the morning is devoured by my expanding vocabulary of formal symbols.

About mid-way through the morning, the librarian peers at me from behind a shelf to my left. He shuffles the books a bit, either re-arranging or cleaning, then comes around the end of it and casually leans against the other side of the shelf.

"It's meetings again today, if you were wondering."

I look up at him in confusion, my mind still on the symbols of the formal alphabet.

"Genjo Sanzo. In meetings. Today." The librarian's lips twitch in amusement.

I duck my head in a little bow. "Ah, I was wondering. Thank you."

His lips twitch again. "I bet you were. Oh yes, I bet you were." He begins to turn away, then thinks better of it. "The meetings are likely to go on for several days. Just so you know." The librarian grins in a slightly predatory manner and walks off, leaving me blinking at his retreating back.

Something's going on that I'm not aware of, that much is certain. Everything I've seen of the librarian indicates that he's equally unimpressed by everyone, and not likely to express satisfaction or pleasure unless it is at someone's expense. In this particular instance, it does not seem to be anything I'm doing wrong that amuses him, and I wonder whose discomfort it could be. With a shrug, I turn back to the geneology before me. I don't know enough. If I get a chance to talk to Sanzo, I'll ask him.

Now that I know Sanzo isn't going to be back until late, I don't bother with lunch. I tell myself that it's not really self-abuse to skip meals, since my chi is more than happy to make up the lack, but even as the thought crosses my mind I know it's sophistry. I'm alternately starving my body and my chi, and I don't intend to stop any time soon. With a grim smile, I ignore the complaints of my body and resume studying this ancient but frail family tree for the symbols I can learn from it. Every few pages, there is a condensed re-statement of the illustrated pages before it, and while it is done in an over-flowery hand, it is written to be a literal translation of the formal script written just above it. Unortunately, it doesn't provide more information than names and dates, and who succeeded who – and the family names, frustratingly, are only written in the formal alphabet. There's something about the phrasing of these summations that nags at me, but trying to keep all the new formal symbols straight does not give me the luxury of pondering it.

After another hour or two of wading through formal symbols, I come to the last generation of this strange family. The most recent condensed entry lists one "river flow"- Kouryuu - with that double line connecting the name to what looks like the last son born to that family.

Wait...

I re-read it, but the words don't change. The dates given for what I'd thought was birth and marriage for Kouryuu correspond roughly with how old Sanzo is, and when he gained that name. The death-date for what I'd thought was Kouryuu's mother- or father-in-law is the same as the 'marriage' date. Suddenly, I realize that the word I'd taken for a family name must be the formal way of writing "sanzo", and that I've spent the better part of the day looking through the record of the highest priests in Buddhism. No wonder the "family" seemed small! What I'd thought were marriages are the dates when each Sanzo was given their formal name. In any case, there's nothing more for me to learn from this volume. I reverently place the book back on its shelf and leave the library.

My cell, or Sanzo's room? How should I do this? With last night as a reference, I can presume that Sanzo won't be back until well past sunset. I'll want a book with me while I wait, either the one the librarian thrust at me or the treatise on youkai clans I had been reading. I'll also need to juggle the need for sleep with Sanzo's privacy, and avoiding my nightmares while keeping my word to not stay out all night. On top of that, I'll need to get dinner for Sanzo and arrange things so that I am both in his room waiting and awake whenever he gets back. It's almost certain that he did not eat breakfast or lunch, and he barely ate anything last night. I juggle and shuffle everything for several minutes before heading to my cell. It takes only a few seconds to retrieve the book in formal script and then I am gone again, glad to be away from that dark room. Sanzo's room is unlocked where I get there, and the bread and fruit I'd left for him is untouched. Somehow, none of this is a surprise. Late-afternoon sun seeps in around the shutters, lighting the room invitingly, and I am more than willing to accept that invitation. The book and my eyepiece go on the table by the mug of cold tea and abandoned breakfast, and I curl up in the corner that has served me so well in the past. It's the silent darkness that brings out the horrors; silent daylight should be fine. At the very least, it couldn't be any worse.

Sleep comes easily, and I am tempted to ignore the dinner bell when it wakes me. Only the knowledge that I must provide something for Sanzo when he returns keeps me from returning to my slumber. I make the trip to the dining hall quickly, and thread my polite way through the throng of monks to the kitchen. The friendly kitchen helper is more than happy to put a pot of tea and a cup on a tray for me, and I add a modest serving of the most bland foods before leaving the company of the monks and priests. Once Sanzo's dinner is on the table, I resume my remarkably restful nap. The next time I wake, it is because my mind has decided to run me through Hyakugan Maoh's keep, with the severed body parts of my victims crawling or slithering relentlessly after me.

The room, naturally, is dark.

With my chi making my skin hypersensitive, each motion sets my scalp crawling as strands of hair brush against each other, and the rough cloth of my robe feels like a mat of brambled as it scrapes agaist my skin. The very irritation this excess chi causes makes it easier to focus, and within seconds I am angrily willing the tiny lightning bolts between my hands to light the wick between them. Once the lamp is lit, I sit at the table and reluctantly pull the stale bread and wilted fruit towards me. The line I have chosen to walk between sanity and partial starvation is a fine one, and I can see I will have to deliberately feed my chi at regular hours if I don't want it to drive me to distraction. It is a cold satisfaction that the dry bread, cold tea, and warm fruit are not an enjoyable meal. I eat grimly, forcing myself to swallow the fruit that no doubt is on the verge of going bad. This is what I deserve: not only cold leftovers, but food of questionable quality, one step above compost. I do my best to eat mindfully, enhancing the already unpleasant experience.

When I am done, I allow myself to open the manuscript in the formal alphabet and start at the beginning, applying my new knowledge of the symbols and pictograms in attempts to decipher it. The word 'sanzo' leaps out immediately. To my surprise, so do the names of some of the high priests mentioned in the lineage I'd waded through earlier in the day. Considering that this text was copied from an older copy, if not the original, I suppose it makes sense that the people mentioned would be from centuries ago. I still have no idea what the body of the text is about, however, and my chi is still higher than it should be. An hour or two passes before I hear Sanzo approach the door.

It probably would not be a good idea to open the door before he gets to it. Instead, I pour the tea for him and set it by his supper. He gives me an inscrutiable look as he stalks past the table, making a beeline for the drawer that hides his stash. I, in turn, take a good look at him. Whatever these meetings are about, the lines of his body practically scream tension, and the expression on his face as he sips at his alcohol greatly resembles the mixture of suffering and hope present in someone hung over. Sanzo's jaws clench between sips, and there are lines around his closed eyes. After a minute or two, some of the tension eases and he sits at the table, bottle still in hand. The plate in front of him barely gets a glance before his violet eyes rake over me again. I am reminded of the look he gave me when he came back sick: partially demanding to know why I am here, partially seeing me as a solution to something I am not aware of. Since my presence does not seem to be causing him pain, I meet his look with a calm, impersonal smile and wait.

"What is that you're reading?" Sanzo gestures at the mysterious book in fromt of me. His voice is audibly hoarse, and I make a mental note to try to get some honey for his tea.

"I'm not sure," I reply, and am rewarded with a raised eyebrow.

Sanzo says nothing, just chews on cold rice.

"The librarian seems to have mistaken it for the manuscript I was reading the other day," I offer carefully, still not sure why I have been entrusted with this volume. "He gave me permission to borrow it, but I am not quite able to read the formal alphabet."

Sanzo sips at his tea and gestures at me to turn the book around so he can read it. I do so, and he frowns in concentration as he peers at it, taking bites of bread or rice now and then.

"Leave it here," he says, half command and half question. "I want to look at it."

"Ah, of course. I'll have plenty of time to examine it tomorrow." Sanzo shoots me a near-glare at that, but says nothing. So, he will be in meetings again tomorrow. "Should I bother with breakfast?"

The disgruntled snort I get in response is answer enough. I stand and bow, although Sanzo does not look up to see, and let myself out.