...
XIX
And consume you
...
Nakago regarded the red barrier that caged him with a mixture of disdain and incredulity. The miko was far away, certainly out of hearing range – he could barely sense the whisper of her signature chi. And yet her barrier remained as bright as ever, bathing his skin and surroundings in its iridescent glow.
He had begun his attack on the barrier as soon as the miko departed, striking it methodically and repeatedly at its weakest point: where the barrier met the ground. He had launched attack after attack upon the red shield that caged him, striking it with all the fury he harbored toward the miko. And yet, the barrier had held. It held in spite of Nakago's strongest physical attacks - attacks strong enough to kill a man. It refused to be pummeled into submission. Nakago's knuckles would be swollen by morning, yet the barrier continued to veil Nakago's surroundings in a shimmering red haze. Perhaps it should not have surprised him that such a strong barrier came so easily too the miko; she had been producing shields in her sleep years before their impromptu lessons of the previous week.
Powerlessness – captivity – Nakago despised them both. In two separate lives, he had been the Kutou Emperor's pet – slave of body, if not mind. A pretty child, that was what the Emperor had called him. What a beautiful child, what a lovely boy…
That pretty little child existed no longer; a machine of destruction had taken its place. As warrior, Nakago-Ayuru had fought to be best, to become conqueror, rather than captive. He had cocooned himself in self-discipline until he became strong, strong enough to master the power that was the key to avenging his tribe – that he might never again be helpless or at loss –
And here he was, rendered captive by the miko he had sought to train. The irony of his situation was not lost on him. Had she not been so pathetically helpless, so lacking in self-control that she endangered everyone around her, he would never have tried to guide her in the use of her powers. But training her had been to his benefit, regardless of whether he gave the miko to Tenkou or succeeded in helping her summon the gods. The miko would be more valuable to Tenkou with her powers developed, and less dangerous to Nakago once she learned self-control. And if he did help the miko to summon the gods, having a grasp on her skills would help her become slightly less of a walking disaster.
And he had enjoyed baiting the miko, poking holes in her composure to see what she could accomplish when pushed to the limits of her abilities. Later on, it had amused him to flaunt the skills she had obtained before her Suzaku seishi. But the miko was still volatile, too guided by emotion to be reliable. That afternoon, when she had singed him, had been proof – his captivity now was further evidence. Specters clung to the miko like mold on a fruit – memories, deaths, the darkness of guilt. He wondered which bit into her deepest – the guilt of betraying her god, or the guilt of Tamahome's death. The latter, he was certain. She had not been forthcoming about the details of the boy's death. He ought to learn, ought to pry deeper. That guilt was the key – the key to breaking the miko completely, a key that he might be able to hand over to Tenkou – should he choose to.
Should he choose to?
Could the miko succeed on her quest? Everything – all of his planning – reduced to this question. Some days she moved and acted like a woman in tatters, so close to breaking that a breath of wind would cause her to crumble. Her guilt had gnawed away at her from the inside, making her exquisitely vulnerable.
And yet, she was strong. He felt an almost reluctant respect for her resilience. Barely two weeks had passed since he had found her in the woods, but the miko who had trapped him this evening bore almost no resemblance to the miko of that night, near to death and welcoming it. In the Shijintenchisho, her courage and defiance had surprised him. In this world, she was still defiant, still unafraid to stare death in the face, still almost recklessly courageous when it suited her.
It was this mixture - this fusion of terrible guilt and self-hatred with reckless courage - that made her unpredictable. She was dangerous, almost unstable – he could fully admit that some of his actions had destabilized her further. He doubted anyone knew what she truly wanted, her least of all. In the Shijintenchisho, she had been driven by a desire to help Hong-Nan, to save Yui from his clutches, to live in happiness with her sickeningly devoted Tamahome. Her motivations now were less clear. She made this journey now because she had to, more for relief from guilt than because her end goal gave her any significant joy. She wanted to save her seishi, to protect them – but she had already failed to save the seishi she loved most. How soon would she give up, if presented with an easier path? Given the option of returning home or finishing her quest, he could not help but wonder what she would choose.
And yet… it was not by mistake that he had called her the Seiryuu no miko that evening. Seiryuu valued courage and ruthlessness. He was a god of war, and in war the ones who survived were those who did what was needed in the face of great cost. He had seen flashes of that sentiment in the miko, but never more than he had that evening. Trapping him to protect the Hong-nan Emperor had been misguided, it was true – he had no designs (at least currently) on her precious Saheitei's life. But her determination had been real.
Such ruthlessness could be taken to extremes. He knew. Inflicting anguish on another, seeing your own turmoil reflected in that person's eyes – such feelings were addictive and could easily spiral out of control. The miko could fall into this trap. She would be Tenkou's creature then, and Nakago would have carried out Tenkou's orders exactly.
So that was what it came down to: guilt would destroy her, or she would master her guilt. Odd, but he felt a mild regret at the thought of the corruption of the miko's character. He felt nothing for her. She angered him as often as she amused him; had she not been so critical to his own survival, he would not have cared if she lived or died. But watching her step down the path into darkness would be like soaking a flower in a tub of blood until the stain was so deeply absorbed in the petals that it could never be rinsed away. He remembered her eyes – at once strong and vulnerable and defiant – as she glared at him through the red of her barrier. She had called him stupid to his face, had trapped him and made wild accusations on his motives to his face – and yet he could not forget the disgust, the horror on her features as he had talked to her of torture – She was like a child still, so easily to read, so easily hurt –
He slammed his fist into the place where the barrier met the bottom of the cave again. There – he had glimpsed it, if briefly – hairline fractures winking into existence across the barrier like fault lines after an earthquake.
The miko was a mess of fractures, too – fractured, so close to breaking. She was not broken – not yet – not quite – but she would break, if she continued on her quest. The question was, would she be resilient enough to gather the pieces of herself together before summoning the gods?
The cave was red and white, a mix of barrier-glow and moonlight. Nakago gathered his strength and readied himself for another attack. Then he paused.
Beyond the play of dappled moonbeams on cave wall, a malevolent force drew steadily closer. Nakago sensed dual chi signatures, one that he easily recognized as Tomo's, and a second that was undeniably demon.
Nakago's eyes drifted across the glowing red shield to the cave beyond. He debated allowing the barrier to remain in place; such a structure, he knew, could protect as well as contain. Yet a weak barrier could serve neither function, and he sensed that this one was finally nearing the end of its life. As Nakago lashed out again, the fracture lines he had seen on his last attack burst into life and then dissipated again across the surface of the globe that encased him. He felt the elastic wall of chi shudder with that attack. Soon the miko would be drawing on her core reserves to help her maintain the barrier.
Evil was at the mouth of the cave now. Nakago saw Tomo's mask of paint block out the streams of moonlight. He let drop the palm that had been preparing to slam into the barrier for the twelfth time and leaned back, his face sanguine.
"This is unexpected," said Tomo, stopping on the threshold. His eyes gleamed with delight. The white stripes on his face stood out in sharp contrast to the rest of his face. In one hand he held a clamshell that Nakago recognized.
In the Shijintenchisho, Tomo had been ambitious and ruthless, dramatic and pitiful. He had been one of the strongest of the Seiryuu seishi, but also one of the weakest and easiest to control. Abandoned as a child, Tomo had desired much – glory, fame, Nakago's approval – and Nakago had played off this latter desire ruthlessly. Now it seemed Tomo had found a new master whose approval he desired more than Nakago's.
"Unexpected and unwelcome," he said flatly.
Ayuru had met this world's Tomo only once, many years ago, and he doubted the actor even remembered it. Ragun had been barely more than a skinny boy then, a member of the traveling acting troupe that had visited the Kutou palace; he had lacked the black-and-gold mask he wore now.
"Such a greeting!" said Tomo. "Are you not glad to see me, Nakago?"
"I cannot say your presence brings me pleasure," Nakago said impassively. "Your demon should learn to conceal its signature better. It is far too obvious who your master is now, Tomo."
If Tomo was put off by Nakago's answer, his painted mask concealed all indication of it. His eyes glittered red for a moment – though whether the cause was demonic displeasure or the simple reflection of Miaka's red barrier was impossible to assess. "Why bother concealing his presence when you would already suspect it?" Tomo said lazily. "I find that having a demon offers such advantages. Success is made so much easier when one can rely on his seishi abilities, do you not agree, Nakago?"
Nakago said nothing. The reinstatement of Tomo's powers could only bode ill for him. Nakago could conceive of only two reasons for Tomo's presence, and both displeased him.
Tomo shrugged and glanced at the shin in his hands.
"It is impressive that the Suzaku no Miko can continue her barrier when she is outside of the physical realm," he said. "Of course, if your powers were intact, you would have no difficulty shattering it. Do you want to know of the illusion I have granted Miaka?"
"I am surprised you are not attending to it more closely," said Nakago. "If I recall, your distraction during your last attempt to trap her in an illusion precipitated your downfall."
"Tenkou is handling her. I congratulate you, Nakago, on her transformation. Less than two weeks since you left Kutou, and she has managed to capture you as effectively as if she had bound you in shackles. She may yet be worthy of becoming Tenkou's consort." Tomo smiled. "Do you wish to know why I am here, Nakago?"
In Tomo's hand appeared a clamshell, and he tossed it to the floor with a flourish that was all theatrics and grace. "I will tell you," said Tomo. "But first, a brief intermission! Something that may amuse you. You will be amused, won't you, Nakago, to witness the final defilement of the miko you tried so hard to corrupt?"
A heavy silence fell over the three of them: shogun, actor, and demon. The red of the miko's barrier cast a faint haze between Nakago and the clamshell on the cave floor.
"I thought so," said Tomo, and he opened the clamshell.
-v-
"Miaka."
The water clung to her bare skin, bubbles almost gone. Hardly daring to breathe, Miaka kept her eyes firmly fixed to the edge of the bathtub.
"Do you not recognize me?" Soft and hurt, Tamahome's voice crossed the distance between them. Miaka had to search hard to pick out the mocking undertone that was the essence of Tenkou. "Miaka?"
She glanced up quickly and looked away. "It's a good likeness," she said, trying and failing to keep her voice steady. "You forgot the eyes though. Tamahome's eyes were always warm."
The water was almost frigid, and as she exhaled she saw a cloud of white. Some of the water's surface was bare of foam now. Miaka leaned forward, noting absently that light from her face was not reflected upon the water's calm surface.
"Even as you killed me?" the demon with Tamahome's face murmured, sliding a hand across Miaka's shoulder.
"I didn't," she said, but her protest was only reflex, words without meaning. She could feel herself falling deeper into Tenkou's clutches. Her shudder, when he touched her, was only half repulsion. It ought to have frightened her, that she was so close to falling into Tenkou's trap, but she was so tired…
Miaka felt something cold and wet slide down her cheek. Numbly she brushed the tear away, but another rose to her eyes to follow it.
"Come here, Miaka," said Tamahome, concerned. "I forgive you. Don't cry – please don't cry."
He brushed away the tear with a finger. Miaka choked back a sob. How easy it would be to slide into this illusion. Tamahome's hand on her face felt real. His arm on her shoulder felt real and warm. She wanted him to be real – wanted it so desperately that every part of her trembled –
Tamahome reached forward to wrap her into an embrace. "You've been so brave," he whispered. "Everything's going to be all right now, Miaka. I'll protect you."
Miaka inhaled and smelled the distinct, sharp scent of pine, Tamahome's smell. A perfect illusion – if it really was an illusion –
She squeezed her eyes shut, as she fought to find the will to struggle, to pull herself away.
Really, was there a point anymore? Resistance meant endless pain, and Miaka was tired of pain. Every step she took seemed to land her deeper in guilt, and someday she would reach the limit of what she could bear. Like a mule with a load of brick, her spine would snap, and there would be no one standing by to piece her back together. Better to give up now, die and cease fighting. She was exhausted with fighting. The burden of protecting the parts of her that were still bright and unsullied and pure filled her with a terrible tiredness – and yet they still retreated, the darkness taking firmer hold with each breath. Perhaps there was no point pretending she could protect herself. Had not Tenkou said she was perfectly suited to his realm when they had just talked?
Perhaps she had already failed.
As though this admission had shattered a part of her will that she did not even know she was exercising, Miaka rose. A distant part of her sang that this was wrong, but her body seemed to move of its own volition, and she had lost the strength to fight anymore. Her head tilted back, and she accepted Tenkou's kiss with placid blankness.
-v-
"Now," said Tomo, turning away from the clamshell with something like a smirk, "the intermission is complete and we may talk business."
Nakago regarded Tomo's mask coolly. Some paint had smudged around the places where black met gold. "What business is there to discuss?" he asked.
"From the mouth of the all-knowing seishi of Seiryuu!" said Tomo, and he laughed, though the laughter was mostly demonic. "You disappoint me – though I suppose this was not a part of your Plan, and so you cannot be held fully responsible for you ignorance.
"The business I am here to discuss is the business of your death… or your survival. Yes, it is a shame! I had so hoped to keep this a pleasant visit, but alas – we must speak instead of dark topics. For you see, you have a choice, dear Nakago. You have very admirably contributed to the corruption of the Suzaku no Miko. And yet, Tenkou still doubts your loyalty. And so, Tenkou is offering you a choice."
He eyed the barrier speculatively.
"I have only ever been a loyal servant of Tenkou," Nakago said impassively. "What cause has he to mistrust me?"
"He doubts your loyalty," Tomo the demon said coldly. "He knows of the time you spent on Mount Taikyoku after your death. Your refusal to host a demon displeased him; your lack of seishi powers renders you… weak..."
"He could see to the reinstatement of my abilities," Nakago said, just as coldly.
"When he is freed of the underworld, yes," said Tomo the demon. "But now is when your powers would be of greatest help to him." Tomo steepled his fingers together. "This is the choice you have, Nakago! Permit a demon entry to your flesh – and regain your seishi powers, as I have."
Nakago's eyes narrowed. Was Tenkou's control over this realm really so limited? If Tomo was to be believed, then until Tenkou escaped the underworld, the demon lord lacked the ability to reinstate Nakago's seishi powers – unless Nakago allowed one of Tenkou's demons to inhabit his body. Nakago's lip curled.
"And if I were to refuse this… generous offer?" he asked.
"In that case, you will remain helpless by your own choice… and suffer for it."
Tomo the demon eyed Nakago greedily.
So it had come, the choice that was hardly a choice at all. Nakago's eyes trailed lazily across the red barrier that shielded him, eyes traveling to the drama within the clamshell. Silently, Nakago regarded the miniature form of the miko. The miko's eyes were blank, and she moved mechanically. Nakago doubted she felt anything now, not the touch of the dark thing that sought to consume the remaining light within her spirit, nor the icy cold water that lapped at her legs. Like a weakling she had retreated within herself, succumbing to the darkness of Tomo's illusion and Tenkou's evil.
And yet her barrier remained.
Tomo's eyes had turned suddenly thoughtful, and Nakago sensed, for a moment, the demon receding. "How little difference there is between us, Nakago!" Tomo whispered. "Pasts steeped in darkness and hate! Save that you had a mother and I did not, we are practically kindred spirits, and it would grieve me to have to take your life. It would grieve me indeed, for we were almost allies those years past in Kutou. The darkness in our hearts –"
Nakago watched with detached interest as the red flare in Tomo's eyes sprang to life once more. "The darkness," he said. "It is this darkness that ensures I would not cry at your death. I have not yet decided on the manner of your death – should you choose wrongly –" (The red flare receded once more). "– but it may be peaceful. I can be merciful when I choose. For a fellow seishi, I might be persuaded… Illusion, yes… I granted such deaths to only two in my time as seishi. The first, a man of Hong-Nan origin…"
Tomo talked, as was his one true pleasure, and because Nakago could not prevent the actor's discourse, he allowed Tomo the enjoyment of it. But he would not be Tomo's audience, and his face bore an expression of cold boredom.
The still-open clamshell drew his eyes. The bubbles had almost vanished in the bath that lay in miniature on the floor of the cave. Still the miko's eyes were blank – and yet, her barrier was as strong as before. Did she maintain it unknowing? No doubt the effort it took to keep it strong was already drawing upon her life force – and the idiot miko, blissfully unaware, might well die from energy loss before Tenkou ever had a chance to corrupt her.
Nakago felt anger then. She truly was weak, he thought – so easily tempted by even the image of Tamahome. Perhaps she deserved to be taken in by Tenkou. What use was she if she hadn't even the strength of will to see past the demon's illusion? He should let Tenkou overpower her, let her fall into this trap.
But even as he contemplated this, he found himself going more coldly furious. What right did she have to be happy as Tenkou's consort – for surely she would be happy – at least think herself happy – for the rest of her life. Until Tenkou grew weary of her and decided to dispose of her, she would live as a brainwashed little fool, trapped in a pleasant stupor while she did Tenkou's bidding.
She did not deserve such a pleasant and painless fate.
She had brought him back to life through her wish on Suzaku; she had forced him to return to the mortal realms to confront his past and his failures and his choices. She deserved the pain of reality, of having to see her quest through to the end.
Nakago raised his palm so it was just hovering above the red glow that encased him. Slowly, he lowered his hand until it was touching the barrier. It stung when his hand connected, like a shock from a blanket on a dry day, but then there was only a soft tingle against his palm, humming and powerful and not entirely unpleasant.
Inside the clamshell, Miaka gasped and opened her eyes.
Le grand author's note:
Mwa ha ha – more drama! I actually had a lot of fun with this chapter, and I hope you enjoyed reading it. We finally get some long-awaited insights into how Nakago sees Miaka.
Thanks to Helena, Nile1283, Desert Renaissance, and megumisakura for your reviews! Clearly they were effective, considering that it took me less than a week to update. Good luck with finals (or congratulations on finishing already)!
Next chapter: The battle continues, and Miaka learns an unpleasant truth.
-v-
Q/A:
So, in this story, does Tenkou have as much power in his realm as Taaitsukun has in hers? And speaking of realm, is the underworld that Tenkou oversees like an exact opposite of the book world Lady T is in charge of?
Taiitsukun has direct control over Mt Taikyoku, and she also oversees the book world. As I see it, Tenkou is trapped/bound into an underworld that's sort of like the evil equivalent of Mt. Taikyoku (in terms of size). His world is not the exact opposite (there aren't, for instance, 4 demon lords to oppose the 4 gods…). So Taiitsukun lives on Mt Taikyoku but is free to wander the book world; Tenkou is currently bound to the underworld and unable to venture into the book world.
So, I was confused by a few little things in this chapter. Like, the water being cold in one sentence then warm in another? Was that due to the mixing reality/Tomo's vision, or your own error? Also, Tenkou ate an apple, then finished a plum. Ambiguous fruits just one modicum of evil?
My bad – that was definitely an editing error. I completely changed this chapter around before posting (a couple times actually) because I wasn't happy with the way it was originally, and I guess a couple fruits got transfigured in the process. ~_^ It will be fixed.
In the last chapter, Miaka answered Tenkou's questions pretty readily...
Maintaining the barrier is really draining most of her strength (even though she's doing it pretty much unconsciously) – which is one of the reasons why she is so exhausted. She's having a lot of trouble forming coherent thoughts, much less analyzing the consequences of giving Tenkou too much information before the words escape her mouth.
Who/what is Tenkou?
You'll find out at around the same time as Miaka does!
Is this a religious allegory?
No one actually asked me this directly, but I thought I might as well clarify anyway, since I can imagine this coming up at some point. To quote Tolkien, "I cordially dislike allegory in all its manifestations." ^_^ It is really not my intent to turn this into anything religious (I'm not even particularly religious myself).
-v-
Questions for you:
Did Miaka give in too easily?
Is my version of Tomo over-the-top?
