…

XXXV

Ain't gonna play nice

…

It was a mark of Nakago's exhaustion that he did not struggle as the guards led him towards the palace prison. Or perhaps he simply felt his odds would be improved by cooperating. Miaka did not know, but it frightened her a little, the way he coolly and politely allowed the Hong-Nan soldiers to place ropes around his hands. Perhaps he believed that the people of Hong-Nan were soft; perhaps he thought they would not murder him for murdering their Emperor in a previous life, but what if he was wrong, what if the people of Eiyou actually did remember, and what if he was really going to be executed for his crimes?

She trudged in silence, lost in dark thoughts. The horse, which had been confiscated, was being led by two guards. Miaka still held the scepter; she had refused to give it up, and the imperial soldiers, who perhaps carried memories of their own about who she was, made no attempts to take it from her.

Nuriko's betrayal hurt, but not as much as Miaka had expected. Miaka was convinced that a mistake had been made somewhere, and she was determined not to give up on Nuriko just yet. Nuriko was one of the seishi she had always considered her constant ally (never mind the weirdness with the pond weeds early on in their relationship). In the Shijintenchisho, they had been like sisters, and then like friends, as Nuriko slowly began to fill the gap that Yui's betrayal had left. Miaka had wept more for Nuriko's death than she had for any of her other seishi, and her relief at finding Nuriko alive in this world had been overwhelming.

But this-world's Nuriko was a woman, was married, had a child, even. More than any of the other Suzaku seishi, Miaka sensed a change about her. It was not that she thought Nuriko was in any danger of becoming like Soi/Kaen; the Nurikos of both worlds still shared many of the same views on life (from undying love for Hotohori to sheer, pervasive vanity). But having a child changed one's priorities. Miaka was not sure why, it just did.

The sound of the cell door closing and the thud of a heavy lock brought her out of her thoughts. Miaka watched Nakago across the prison cell. The light was so dim that the only thing she could make out at first was his light shirt. After some minutes, her eyes adjusted to the dark, and she was able to catch the glint reflecting off his eyes as he stared thoughtfully through the bars of the prison. After a moment, he closed his eyes and leaned back against the stone wall.

He really must be tired! Miaka thought. "Nakago," she said uncertainly. "Your wound –"

"Examine it if you wish, Miko."

She took a few steps forward cautiously, until she knelt beside him. She realized then that there remained a barrier to her effective examination. "Take off your shirt," she said briskly. "Because I'm not. Going to."

How wonderful it was that it was dark, and she couldn't see how bright her face was turning! Stripping him before had been simple, the natural thing to do amidst desperate circumstances; the circumstances now were not desperate, and the awkwardness quotient was growing. The shirt was removed in a swift and thoroughly un-self-conscious movement. In darkness, Miaka's fingers fumbled against the somewhat haphazard bandage she had fashioned for him the previous day.

"Oh, this is impossible," she said, with a huff. "It's too dark, I can't see."

"Probe it with your mind."

"Huh?"

He regarded her coolly. She swallowed and thought. Chi appeared in her palm, and she lowered it to his skin hesitantly. She closed her eyes, reaching out with her power, feeling it fill the skin near where his wound was, letting it go deeper.

It was odd, probing the wound with her power. Miaka wasn't quite sure what she was looking for. She still found it hard, sometimes, to control the tendrils of energy she sent out. They struggled to get away from her, almost as though they were excited by their surroundings and happy to be free. No, Miaka thought, you're going to do what I want. That would usually subdue them.

She found the place where the torn flesh was knitting back together, the slight ridge that marked the already-forming scar on his side. Some patches that her energy slipped through felt different, newer than the rest, particularly in the area of the scar, but also around the tissue that Miaka identified as blood vessels, skin, nerves, and muscle. The new, regrowing tissue seemed to be healthy. She searched for signs of infection – with only a vague idea of what she was searching for – but nothing felt out of place.

When she was done, she sat back on her heels and raised her head to stare at Nakago. She was sweating slightly, but she certainly did not feel on the verge of collapse. Each time she used her power, it was getting easier.

"Your assessment?" said Nakago, sounding almost bored.

"You basically managed to heal yourself from a fatal wound in less than a day."

"Look again," said Nakago.

Miaka shot him a puzzled glance, but his eyes were already closing. What? She felt a sudden curl of foreboding in her gut – the sense that she was on the verge of learning something terrible.

She lowered a hand to the wound again, letting herself slip into the now-familiar state of inquiry and assessment. She went through the areas around the wound again, more carefully, searching for whatever had slipped past her the first time. It was hard to find, whatever it was Nakago wanted her to see. She found herself traveling deeper and deeper into the area around the wound.

She saw it as she was passing something that might have been Nakago's left kidney: a shadow, vague and dark and ominous, hovering at the edges of her magical vision. She tried to get closer, to touch it and burn it away, but she felt herself abruptly, viciously rebuffed. The rebound was so strong, it forced her back into herself.

She sat blinking and swallowing on the floor of the cell, trying to calm her head, which felt decidedly swimmy.

"I don't understand," she said. "What the hell was that?"

"Do you remember kudoku?"

Miaka felt her spine stiffen a little. "Of course I remember kudoku," she said. Did he think she had forgotten the poison that had reshaped Tamahome's entire personality – that had caused him to forget her – that had turned him into Nakago's slave?

"There is no drug in this world that matches it precisely," said Nakago. "But everything in the Shijintenchisho seems to have a counterpart here, in some form or other. Take, for example, the Shinzahos – I suppose, since there were no priestesses in this world until you came along, the closest counterpart that they would have in thisworld would be the objects of power that we are currently trying to collect from the four emperors.

"The kudoku has a counterpart in this world as well. It acts far more slowly than the kudoku of the Shijintenchisho – more like a spreading infection than a magic spell. Once inside the body, it travels from the point of entry to the heart. Once the heart is corrupted, the kudoku takes full effect."

She fought to draw air into her lungs, eyes wide with horror at the picture he was painting. "Is that," she said. "Did you. How."

"Tomo's sword was coated with it." He smiled, but there was no amusement in the expression, no emotion of any kind. "Perhaps that is why the demon that possessed you abandoned your mind so quickly. I suppose he considered his task accomplished after he put a sword through my side."

"I have to sit," Miaka announced. She sat, resting her back against the wall of the cave. She remembered Tamahome under the effect of the kudoku. That had been awful, heartbreaking, terrifying. Miaka sensed that under the power of kudoku, Nakago – the most powerful of the Seiryuu seishi – would be twenty times worse than Tamahome. It would be like a repeat of the first battle, after Yui had sealed Suzaku's powers.

"It is Tenkou's ultimate revenge," said Nakago, as though reading her thoughts. "He intends, I think, to transform me into a creature entirely under his power. Which is what will happen, once the kudoku reaches my heart."

"Isn't there anything we can do to stop it?"

"Kudoku is meant to be unstoppable, as you know."

"Right," she said, "and Tamahome never existed, did he?"

She was truly angry. Her cheeks glowed with it – bright, luminous, heady rage. It was almost a relief to be angry, because it prevented her from feeling so many other, less-desirable emotions – like panic. "You," she said furiously, "have the strongest bloody resolve of anyone! And you intend to let yourself be overpowered by a drug?"

She noticed the flare of blue from Nakago's corner of the cell too late – felt his power collide with her, lifting her off the ground. She froze, suspended a couple inches above the ground, blood pounding in her eardrums. Nakago strode toward her and stopped, a foot from her face. "Do not presume to tell me what I do or do not intend to do, miko."

Miaka felt the terrible pressure ease, felt herself being lowered, trembling, to the ground. For a moment, she crouched, getting her bearings. Then she straightened and turned to face him.

"I'm sorry," she said, because she was sorry now. Of course he would not simply allow it to happen if he could stop it. Nakago had the strongest will of anyone she knew. She was not sure whether she should be apologizing for throwing accusations in his face, or for stabbing Nakago in the first place. That was her fault, too.

Then, because she had to know, she asked him, "How long?"

"In an ordinary human this malady would take hold in one week's time. I might forestall it two weeks, perhaps a little more."

"Two weeks," Miaka said blankly. She would not think about how little could be done in two weeks' time. She would not think about how long it would take to travel to Sairou and to Hokkan to retrieve the items that remained to be gathered.

She felt she had to turn the conversation to lighter topics; it was too grim, somehow, to ponder kudoku, too grim to think about the little time they had remaining to collect the objects and to summon the gods. They still had time, she reminded herself, two whole weeks! Why, anything could be done in two weeks – anything at all!

…They could escape from prison, to start with.

"Nakago," Miaka said with some hesitation, "is there a reason we didn't try to escape the guards who brought us in?" A suspicion was growing in her mind. "Maybe I ought not to ask, but – did you plan on getting us thrown in prison?"

Nakago shot her a cool look. "I saw no harm in going along with the soldiers' desire to imprison us. It makes infiltrating the palace substantially easier."

"Sure," said Miaka. "Except for the fact that we're trapped behind bars." A memory from the last time she had been trapped in this particular prison crept into her mind, and she muffled a snort. "I guess I could try to trick the prison guard with a fake thigh injury and then knock him out with a rock when he opens the door."

He raised an eyebrow at her and she flushed. "Well, I could," she mumbled, glaring at the floor. "It has precedent."*

There was a pause, during which Miaka cursed, for the second time that day, the extremely high melting points of solid rock and the extreme unlikelihood of said rocks turning into liquid phase and swallowing her.

Then Nakago began to laugh. It was such an odd sound, so bizarre coming from him, that Miaka for an instant thought that he might be choking. Concerned, she slid forward, peering at him through the darkness, steeling herself up to give him a few smacks on the back that he probably wouldn't appreciate. The sound was getting louder. Oh dear, she thought, what if he's actually got something caught down there? She knew she should have studied the Heimlich in school –

Then she caught a glimpse of his face and sat back on her heels, blinking a little.

Well, fancy that. Nakago was actually laughing. She had not thought he was capable of laughter, let alone imagined that she would hear him laugh minutes after their discussion of his death. Aside from dark, mirthless laughs – or occasional mocking chuckles that usually had something to do with a particularly stupid thing Miaka had done – she did not think she had ever heard him laugh. Certainly not like this, a laughter that seemed to hold genuine mirth, a sound that called to mind a good joke instead of derision. Miaka's head tilted thoughtfully. Could the knowledge of his imminent demise have driven him mad?

Then she realized what he must be laughing at, and her cheeks – if possible – flamed even redder. She would need to start carrying ice cubes around with her if this kept happening. "It's not funny!" she exclaimed. "I was desperate. I had to get myself and Tamahome out of prison! And really – do you know what kind of food they serve in these cells?"

He had finally stopped laughing. But somehow the tension between them seemed to have eased again. Miaka offered a tentative smile. It was dark, but she thought she caught the ghost of a reciprocal smile flickering on Nakago's lips. "I was contemplating a rather different solution to the problem of our escape, you know," he said drily.

"What – oh." The answer, when it came to her, made Miaka wish she had a large rock to smack her head against. "Like having me blow the door off of its hinges."

"Although if you prefer the alternative, by all means –"

"No!" Miaka yelped. She lowered her voice. "I mean, no. That's quite all right."

She frowned thoughtfully at her hands. It would be a struggle to dredge up the power required to get them out of prison – but she supposed she had recovered a little throughout the day –

"Perhaps we should wait," he suggested

She had been thinking along somewhat similar lines; even so, his suggestion startled her. "I thought we were pressed for time," she said.

"We are," he agreed, "but do consider the fact that at some point within the next day, we will both require some sleep. You are practically on the verge of exhaustion, and we have both had an eventful day –"

He has a funny way of saying 'I'm tired', Miaka thought grumpily.

"– and spending the night in the cell – though uncomfortable – would not be the worst of all possible options."

And so it was that Miaka found herself on a pallet in the same cell as Nakago, staring up at the ceiling and waiting for sleep to claim her. Fortunately the cell came equipped with two pallets, so sharing a bed was not necessary. Miaka was glad of this. Occupying the same sleeping quarters was bad enough, even though they had slept in each others' company many times on the journey to Eiyou.

She couldn't help but sneak a cautious peek in Nakago's direction from time to time. He could probably free them himself, if he wanted to, instead of relying on her to do it tomorrow. His powers (when they chose to surface) gave them an obvious advantage over anyone who tried to keep them contained. This thought concerned her a little.

"You really don't have Nuriko or Hotohori or Boushin on your hit list, do you?" she said lightly. "You're certain I should help you escape?"

"I have no intentions toward the destruction of the child or the emperor," Nakago said, "though if the female seishi continues to irk me, there may be repercussions."

"That is hardly reassuring," she told him, voice still light, eyes dark in the gloom of the cell. "Nuriko must be confused," she murmured. "Imagine, having memories flit in and out of your head like that. She's not evil."

"Her dominant concern is toward the protection of her child," he said. It was a bland assessment, but somehow his words gave Miaka pause.

"It is not a bad thing," she told him, surprised, not sure why his words hurt as they did; his tone had not been sharp, or laced with scorn against Nuriko. Had they been, she would have risen to Nuriko's defense with all the indignation that years of friendship can inspire.

"I did not say that." His words drifted toward her through the dark that divided them, sardonic, or perhaps simply faintly amused. "But you are no longer her primary focus, miko."

In eight words, Nakago had put his finger on the thing she had been struggling to comprehend about Nuriko for the entire afternoon. The truth pained her, though she knew it shouldn't. She felt selfish and cruel, as though in returning to Hong-Nan, she had tried to latch her fingers into a world in which she had no place to be.

She thought of the moment that afternoon when she had first set eyes on Boushin, baby-faced-wide-eyed creature with chubby hands and lashes like Nuriko; Nakago might say he had not inherited the Empress' good looks, but he was not ugly but any standards. She thought of the surge of emotion she had felt in that moment, the tendril of jealousy that had sprung up around the region where her heart was, and she felt even worse. She had seen Boushin before of course, but never since Tamahome's death, and she was assailed with the impossible question: What would our child have looked like?

Something wet traced a smooth track down her cheek. With the back of her hand she brushed it off, thankful for the darkness that concealed her every movement. She tried to bury her face in her pillow, but she knew Nakago had caught the sniff she'd been unable to muffle in time. "Right," she said, in a voice that came out strangled. She choked on a laugh. "Damn it," she said. "I'm sorry, this is stupid – it's just – everything –"

"Sadness for what is lost is not a crime, miko."

He said it matter-of-factly, in much the same tone as everything else he had said that evening, and Miaka, at first reacting on the assumption that anything that came from Nakago's mouth would hold an element of ridicule, reacted automatically, as she often did. "Yeah," she said mockingly, "I know I'm being silly. I know –"

And then she broke off, because that was not what Nakago had said, and she felt suddenly bewildered, as though, in the instant she had ceased paying attention to it, the floor had fallen away from beneath her.

"Nakago?" she said, uncertainly.

His eyes were closed now, his face lost in darkness. "I'm still here, miko," he said ironically.

"I just wanted to say, thanks." Miaka regarded him frankly. "You could have walked away earlier, when your powers came back, or left as soon as we got to Eiyou."

"My powers are not returned fully, as you saw this morning, and only then for as long as Seiryuu remains powerful," he said dryly. "I doubt they would last long if Tenkou took control of the four kingdoms. And as for the kudoku, any chance of overcoming it will hinge on Tenkou's defeat."

He was telling her that he had had no choice but continue to help her, that his goals remained the same as they always had, with the added one of circumventing Tenkou's revenge. Miaka knew the words were meant to rebuff her, but she felt strangely unperturbed by his candidness.

She bit her lip, wondering whether she should say the words that her thoughts were conjuring, wondering what she was getting into, wondering why she didn't think. "Tenkou only scorned you because of the loss of your powers," she said, and her arms felt cold, heavy like lead. "You could still return to him. He might remove the kudoku poison, in exchange for –"

"In exchange for what?"

Silence, on the other side of the cell, punctuated by light fast breathing. Then her voice, thin and defeated, but still with a spark to it that made the hair on the back of Nakago's neck rise up, just a little.

"In exchange for me."

-v-

She fell into a fretful sleep, only waking to the sounds of a guard stepping forward to draw her from the cell. "You are to come with me," he said, and his eyes were apologetic; she knew he, at least, remembered her. "The lady of the house wishes to speak with you. You will not be harmed."

"What about him?" she asked, indicating Nakago.

"The lady of the house wishes to speak with you," the guard repeated to Miaka, and the glare he cast toward Nakago was stony.

She turned, confused, gazing at Nakago with eyes wide and worried. "Go," he said, perfectly calm.

She nodded once, briefly. "I'll get you out of here. I'll find Hotohori and explain everything."

Then she was out of the cell, blinking in the sunlight, and being led up the prison stairs and up the marble steps in the entrance hall, toward the solar of her friend Nuriko, the Empress of Hong-Nan.

*I think this scene might occur in the manga and not in the anime, since I definitely remember reading it, but can't seem to find any evidence for it anywhere.

Author's note:

Oh no! Nakago's going to die in two weeks! TEH HORRORZ!

I swear, this updating schedule is doing weird things to my brain. I never used to talk like dem lolcatz. I am going slowly and inexplicably mad. MAD!

Ahem. Let's talk about reviews. First of all, thanks to Nile1283, Helena, Desert Renaissance, and tohru78 for your great reviews for the last chapter! I always love getting feedback, even if it's just 'What the hell were you smoking when you wrote this?' or 'You totally ripped the evil-slowly-working-its-way-toward-Nakago's-heart idea off of Frodo's encounter with the Morgul blade!' (Yes. Yes I did. But this story is already so full of clichés, I don't care.)

That will be all.

…Oy. That relieved sigh of yours didn't have to be quite so loud.

-v-

Questions (from you):

1. You made my waking up at 4 am for a test on a Monday morning so worthwhile.

Oh dear. Although I'm flattered, I do hope you actually had a chance to study!

2. I find it fascinating that Nakago manages to pull through the funniest of situations with a perfectly straight face.

One of his many charms…

3. Can someone be flippant and tomboyish as well as narcissistic and fixated on love at the same time? Nuriko in the Shijintenchisho was all four things, but in different phases of his life. He started out as narcissistic, vain and hung up on the emperor, but gradually being with his friends made him be himself…which was tomboyish (well he was a boy so this term needs analysis) and flippant.

Hmm. You bring up a really, really good point here, one which I'm not entirely sure I have an answer for at the moment! I think it is possible to be all four things at once, even if Shijintenchisho Nuriko wasn't. My take on it is that Nuriko in this world has already married the Emperor, so although she's vain, she's a tad bit more secure than Early Shijintenchisho Nuriko and can let her real self show through, especially with close friends like Houki. And after she regains her memories (when Miaka appears) she becomes more flippant/tomboyish like Late Shijintenchisho Nuriko (with a bit of motherly protectiveness thrown in). Eh… Nuriko is complicated. (BUT SHE WOULDN'T BE SO AWESOME IF SHE WASN'T).

4. Or was this your way of showing that even though Nuriko still tried to be ladylike in this life, her/his real nature was still hovering in her subconscious and peeking out every now and then?

Well, I doubt she'd have been acting this absurdly if she hadn't been in the woods with only her best friend, son, and puppy for company. ^_^

5. Why is Nakago so compliant with the guards?

Getting imprisoned was a relatively easy way to get access to the palace. All part of his master plan. Because he's Nakago, so he has to have a master plan. (Insert evil anime villain laugh here).

6. Why was Miaka arrested with Nakago?

Because the author needed a plot device to give M and N some alone time to chat. I mean… It will all be explained at the beginning of the next chapter.

-v-

Questions (for you):

Was this chapter bipolar? …I mean, we kinda go from discovering Nakago's about to die to Nakago laughing to Miaka getting depressed about not having a kid. Did that bother people?

Disclaimer: I own nothing. The characters belong to Yuu Watase, and the plot devices belong to various authors, including Diana Wynne Jones, JRR Tolkien, and JK Rowling. Basically, this story is a gigantic cauldron of stolen ideas.