Chap7

Disclaimer: I do not own DBZ. I wish I did, but unfortunately Akira Toriyama thought of it first. This is only my humble attempt at fanfiction, nothing more.

This chapter is dedicated to all of the great authors on fanfiction.net whose wondrous talents never fail to amaze me........

And to my fellow author, jacob, whose interest in this story inspired me to continue writing. Arigato.

......One of the Enemy........
A story by Murasaki Iiro
Chapter Seven:Threads of Light and Darkness


Faith is a strong virtue that is present among all beings that are aware of their own purpose. It is what separates true men from beasts, the fine line that falls between us and the creatures we once were , millions of years ago. Unquestionably, it is the most fierce and varied of all mortal emotions, the root of all other virtues.

Faith in another being gives rise to love and friendship. Faith in a promise gives rise to trust and loyalty.Faith in a power greater than oneself gives rise to piety and morality. Faith in your own ability to ascend gives rise to confidence and ambition. Faith is many things, all different, yet tied together by a chain of impossible dreams, prayers, and determination.

Yet, there are many individuals to whom fate has chosen to bestow with its most cruel and unusual punishments. Faith, to them, is a hallucination of the fortunate, pleas that are never answered, wishes that are never granted. They have lost all faith in their own ability to survive, which by far is the worst kind of faith to abandon. In groups they travel, numbers dwindling quickly, waiting.........waiting for the inevitable. The powers that command luck and goodness have long forgotten them. They wander from one treachery to the next........wondering when it will all end........For them,happiness is only a dream of the past.

Imagine each person in each of these populations as threads in a coarse black linen shawl. If you take apart these threads one by one, you will find that some threads are lighter then others. A few are pale grey, some a deep silver tone. You may dismember thousands upon thousands of shawls before you find the ultimate anomaly...........a pure white thread, nearly buried among the dark ones.

This single white thread is the one pure person who has not abandoned his faith. He waits, not for death, but for a glimpse of light to follow off the path of doom. It is this one individual , this one white thread, that spreads its light and strength to the others without their conscious knowledge. All they know is that there is something there.........something pushing them away from the darkness, and into the light from which they came.

Without the white thread holding the weave together, the other threads will surely unravel and the fabric fray..........

Underneath the constant roar of the engines, in a solitary ,empty chamber, which reeked faintly of mildew, a figure sat, kneeling before several wax candles. A protruding ledge had been adorned with various objects, a simple shrine unknown to the others. It was here that Sasdan , the second son of the crown prince, practiced the deepest and clandestine meditations of his heart and memory. He was one of the proud few who still put his trust in higher powers............ perhaps, to his knowledge, he was the only one left living......

A hundred years before, such shrines were commonplace, a space in which to honor the dead and bless the living. When other cultures from worlds far from their own forced their influences upon his people, they buried their sacred things for fear of being accused of remaining a backward race. But they always knew that they must hold fast to some of the old ways. Those ancient beliefs were the only way that they could keep from becoming barbarians themselves.

The signs of old superstitions were sprinkled between heavy machinery and factory walls, in the homes, and on the streets............In the corners of the doorways, thin ,square leaves of orange paper were pressed into the fresh paint , lest a sandstorm tear the house from its foundation................On the sides of buildings, in alleyways, was carefully written the identity of the owner, lest intruders come thieving in the night...........A stone bead with one's name was worn on a string when on a voyage....... For if you wandered far from home, evil entities would not mistake you for another, and snuff out your life a hundred billion miles from home .

These simple things had captured the faith of an entire race for thousands of years..........until now. Houses burned to the ground like kindling..........Entire cities were destroyed in a day.........innocent people wasted away, cramped in heavily guarded prisons packed to twenty times their capacity...........

How can they put their trust in a piece of paper or stone to save their souls.........? What they are living in those tiny lurid cells is far, far worse than any kind of hell............ I wish they could see that it is not the object itself that can preserve them, it is their own faith in its power that will give them the strength to endure.............That is what saved me.............I am still here because of it.............

His fingers ran along the surface of a sandstone figurine. It was in the image of a tall, powerful man,standing rigidly upright. Like the other figures near to it, it had no face, for the person it represented no longer walked this world. Just like the face they had loved so well, his soul was gone too, forever begging forgiveness for his unforgivable sins .

On a foreign world, he had died, so consumed with a dangerous force that grew so large it murdered his spirit, his mind, and last of all, his heart. Even after he had perished, his body continued to live without a soul, and it was bent and contorted like that of a demon.

Power is a dangerous thing......men die for it every single day.......how would he have known that the fiend lurking within him...... that gave him such incredible strength...... would be his undoing.......and everyone else's?

 His own father, his uncle, and his grandfather had tampered with forces they could not control. Only his father had survived. Because of this, and its consequences, Sasdan would never allow himself to to fight again. Never.

When you left that evening on your final journey, did you wear your talisman like my father warned you to? You laughed, Frieza..............then you gave it to me, for safekeeping.........That one mistake cost you your life.............Now where has your soul gone?

 He looped the bead, upon its string, around the stone body.

Wherever you may be, Uncle, may all that is good still protect you.........

At the next figurine, he smiled sadly.

Grandfather...........You once told me that when you put your mind to something, the impossible becomes possible............ Sometimes I wish, and wish , and wish that you would return to us and deliver your people from this nightmare...........but when I wake up the next morning, you are still gone......the impossible is still impossible............but every day, I keep praying, all the same.............
The third figurine was half the size of the others. His death was not his own doing, and so, was the hardest to bear.

You were out by the river that evening................watching the sunset, as you always did, wiggling your toes in the cool water.........I can almost feel your shock and your fear as you turned around to see the face of your attacker...........It happened so cleanly and so quickly............Nobody was there to hear you scream............

Did they choose you to be their victim, cousin? Or was it fate that you would be in the wrong place at that moment............If I had been there, would it have been me instead?........

Tears began to mingle with the dripping wax of the candles. Soon his own mother would take her place among the others, a cold, faceless figure..........And he was running............ running from a world of men, women,and children who had all become faceless statues.

And where must I go, now that I have decided to flee? .............

One by one, he blew the candles out, throwing the room into a thick darkness.

Roads are for journeys, not for destinations...............

Sasdan's fingers skillfully knotted a leather cord around his neck. Hanging from it was a small, black stone, not unlike the one that had belonged to his uncle. So many lives had already been wasted........hopeless survivors, nameless bodies.....he would not allow his own to become one of them.

When they landed, he knew not whether he would face instantaneous death, or the opportunity he was looking for. One way, or another ,he was prepared to take the risk, as all brave men should be.......... but not without faith............never without faith............

Sasdan rose from the floor, and began to slide open the door to his makeshift sanctuary. As light began to flood the room, he stopped and touched the engraving on the face of his talisman.

His fingers read the two complex glyphs, as they had done thousands of times before.

Sasdan Adenkhi............

 A rather odd name, especially belonging to one of royal blood.

It meant simply this:

White Thread.

No other name could have been more perfect.

However vital the white thread is to the unity of the entire weave, one must recall that in this world , balance between the light and dark must be obtained . This applies to all things......heaven and hell......day and night......one cannot exist without the other. It is fact. It is law . It is truth.

And so, logic implies that there must be a second thread that is as polluted as the other is pure........

A thread of darkest black.......

The only sound Falyni could hear was the rapid, terrified beating of her own heart, like a thousand soldiers marching across a wooden bridge. She pulled her knees to her chin, and wrapped her arms around her long, lean frame. She trembled violently , as if from some imaginary cold. She did not cry, but her eyes were staring blankly into the darkness, the look of a startled animal in the night. She said nothing aloud, but only moved her lips in the shape of words, as if speaking to herself.

......I can't keep running any longer.........I'm tired, can't you see that?.........I'm tired of hiding , tired of lying, tired of living this life......... This madness, this slaughter...........It's tearing me into pieces....... It's a horrible dream from which I can never awaken..........

Although she tried to hide from the scenes flashing inside her head, they were always there, a permanent brand upon her mind.........replaying themselves over and over, growing in clarity and intensity as life wore on. Every minute of every day , she fought to keep them at bay. Now, It was becoming more and more difficult to suppress them.

Always, she had driven them off with words....... lying words.......sarcastic words.........But the power of hollow laughter seemed to grow weaker as the pictures grew more vivid. It became so painful to smile for others, so painful that it began to take hold of her body as well........She could go days without sleep, until her mind gave out just long enough to rest for a few hours. Her bones were forever aching. Her face became drawn and gaunt. Her lovely eyes that had once been a lively and clear as the river in daylight seemed sunken and dull. Her long, reddish-gold hair had lost its lively shimmer. Every quality that had made her so attractive as a little girl were faded miserably, the long-term effects of mourning, deprivation, fear and inhumanity.

Few people understood the magnitude of her emotions, or tried to, in any case, because they were far too preoccupied with their own survival. When she could find the nerve to speak of it, there was nobody willing to listen. Falyni was one of many sisters and brothers, and she was so hopelessly alone.

Mother, when you saw me cry, you put your arms around me and told me to be strong...........but you never told me how to be like you were...........You never told me the secret to your strength. .......... But you are silenced now...........and I will never know........

Finding a sanctuary was impossible for Falyni, for the enemy she was hiding from lived inside of her. She could bury herself alive in the sand, and still, the images would not cease to haunt her. There was nowhere she could feel safe, protected or liberated. Only darkness could offer momentary comfort. Black and thick, it blinded and calmed her just long enough steal her sanity back from the greedy fingers of panic.

This time, darkness had little effect upon her state, and she struggled madly to change the direction of her thoughts. Almost in agony, she grimaced, trying to erase the horrible, familiar scene that had begun to develop before her eyes.

Anything but this.........How many times must I relive what happened three years ago?.........Why can't I forget?.........Once was not enough?..........

 Trembling, she gave in .There was no use fighting it. Again and again she would lose pitifully, and she would become victim to her own terror once more........

Life had been teetering on the edge of disaster for a long while.......But it was on that night they pushed us over........It was on that night that I learned how real and final death was, and how close I had come to it.........

Shoeless feet ran frantically down a long, dimly lit passage. Falyni recognized the sound of her own short, terrified breaths cutting through the silence. She continued aimlessly towards the end of a hall that seemed menacingly infinite . The maze of corridors in her luxurious home had always seemed friendly and inviting, but on this night it was a twisted labyrinth, unfamiliar and endless.

A scream echoed shrilly, not far behind her. She was afraid to turn back and identify who had originated it, for fear she would be seen. Distraught, she searched for an open door, some place to hide herself. Fatigued, she paused for a moment to catch her breath. The floor seemed to shake as the rumbling of hundreds of marching feet closed in on their prey.

She backed against a locked doorway, fruitlessly begging it to open. The sound of the marching grew louder, echoing through the walls, as she slammed her fist against it. It was no use. Frightened and frustrated, Falyni threw herself at the door. She heard the glorious sound of iron snapping in two as it flew open, offering her safety . Quickly, she dived behind the door and bolted it shut.

Then, I believed that some kind god had spared me.......but I had only traded one catastrophe for another.............

 She sunk against the wall, and released a sigh of triumph. She had survived, for the moment. Nobody would look for her here.

More at ease with her victory, she examined her surroundings with mounting curiosity. The moonlight filtered through the sealed glass windows, filling the room with a pale glow. The room itself was spacious, and apparently vacant. Yet, there was an unsettling quality about it.

The nights were frequently hot and dry during that season, but in that room, it became unbearably so. The air seemed thick and heavy as she breathed, and her eyes were beginning to be overcome with an unnatural burning sensation. Falyni made an attempt to move towards the window, but her legs gave out from under her, throwing her onto the floor.

It was then that I realized why all of the doors and windows were sealed................

Her vision failing her, she groped for something to help steady herself. Finally her fingers touched something...........someone.......a hand.......limp, cold..........dead

She pulled her own hand away , horrified. If she didn't find a way out within minutes, she would die from the gas. But what lay on the other side of the door would also be certain doom. Falyni was trapped.

Death on both sides of the door...........

Her head throbbed mercilessly as her fingertips became numb. Tears ran down her cheeks, but she was unable to wipe them away. She gasped for air, choking as she suffocated slowly.

If my life had ended that night, I would have been spared the things I would live to see in the years to come..............I almost regret that the gas never had a chance to finish its work............

She could no longer see, breathe, or move. Defeated, she stopped struggling. The numbness had overtaken her now. She closed her sightless eyes, and sadly waited for her heart to cease its frail beating.

.......But they would not let me die..........

As the darkness enveloped her, her dulled hearing was awakened by the sharp sound of shattering glass.

Falyni?.........Falyni.........Please be alive............

Oxygen filled her lungs as she surrendered to living.....torn from death's grip, but by no means rescued............

......The suffering of that night, and everything that followed remains with me........... It will consume me until there is nothing left of me to take away...........

Falyni opened her eyes, temporarily released from her prison of memories. Slowly, but surely, her heartbeat slowed, her joints unlocked, and her violent trembling ebbed . She took deep swallows of air, trying to ward off the lingering feeling of asphyxiation. She wiped the bitter tears welling in her eyes with the back of her hand.

Still shaken, she braced herself against the wall and pushed open the closet door from the inside. Falyni stumbled into the light. The worst was over .

Dejectedly, she collapsed onto an empty wooden crate, trying to gather her senses.

If heaven were so merciful, why does it not put an end to my pain?............

Now that the terror had dimmed, anger filled her heart.

How can they all just turn away?..........They see headless corpses, houses burned to the ground.............. mothers without children, children without mothers..........families murdered as they sleep.......... They live all of these things as I do.........Yet they do nothing but ask for help from something that surely cannot and does not exist! .......

In a rash act of defiance, she tore at a stone amulet fastened around her pale neck. Savagely, she threw it against the wall with incredible force, causing it to shatter as it fell.

As if a piece of stone could save me now..............So be it if I die without a name............So many others have, one more will make no difference........

She examined the results of her outburst. The wall was dented , and the smooth stone bead had been reduced to uneven fragments. She knew she should have felt a sense of fulfillment and pride when she saw the talisman destroyed, for it represented falsehood and ignorance.

Instead, she was filled with shame. It had been a gift from her grandfather, a stubborn, but kind man who loved not only her family, but all of his people. Falyni knew that she had nothing left to give to those that suffered ....not even a few words of hope. Her heart was barren of happiness and generosity.Yet somehow, the dying princess within her ached to remember someone who she admired and who adored her.........someone who had once brought her joy and courage........someone who would have sacrificed anything to put an end to her pain.......

 Without knowing why, she began to pick up the pieces from the floor. It could never be whole again, but what remained might be salvaged and repaired. Some of the larger fragments aligned to one another, allowing the tiny inscription to be read.

The surface was chipped badly, but Falyni never failed to recognize her own name.

Others had meaningful names, representing the splendor of nature , fortune, heroism, or beauty.

But her name, whether spoken, written, or read meant nothing to her.

Fourteen years ago, her grandfather had bestowed upon her the name of his choice. So similar was it to her older brother's , that it had been met with some hesitant criticism. But still, fourteen years later, it remained unchanged.

It was not a lucky name. It evoked no visions of grandeur or glory. It was never the title of a great queen.

But it was an honest name, despite what she herself believed.

Falyni Adenkhi.

Black Thread.

It was also a curse in disguise.

Such strong opposing forces are light and darkness, faith and distrust, courage and fear. How is it that two such souls can coexist so near to one another?

It cannot be forgotten that both the pure black and pure white threads were spun of the same fibers. They have the same solid core, although one has chosen to let it fill with torment, the other to draw it out. But when they look beyond the attributes that make them so incongruous, they know that their heritage is shared . Beneath the extremities of their attitudes towards life, the hot desert winds and the red clay of the river delta are in their blood. They hold in their hearts what their ancestors have endured, and what they themselves fight to survive.

So different, yet in many ways the same..........

It is their sense of belonging, their identity, that spins dark and light together .........Pride and loyalty make thousands of weak strands strong and stubborn; able to withstand water, wind and fire.

What becomes of the lone thread that has been pulled from the cloth, and discarded without thought?

It may have been so fortunate to break its fall on the sleeve of the next woman at the market , or the heavy cloak of a soldier hurrying homeward to arrive prudently for his evening meal.

But on foreign cloth of a different fiber?.........a different pattern?........a different hue?........

As it makes an attempt to incorporate itself into an inhospitable environment, it loses the power it had beside its brothers. Under and over it weaves itself, between these strangers............Soon it is tightly enclosed within walls dyed in garish red. But still it is the dark streak among bright colors.........

The outsider always knows, deep down, that he is different......... He cannot place his finger on exactly what separates himself from all of the others.........But he is sure, so sure, that he does not belong........

And so, everywhere he goes, he searches for himself.........The family he loves but cannot remember........The pain others suffer that he has never felt...........The strength he has, but can no longer use........ The identity that he lost, but would be nearly impossible to reclaim........

Kiniro was perched on a red-lacquered stool by the swinging doors in the kitchen. He had been hard at work for six long hours, mechanically rolling sushi , frying fish , and steaming bean curd , slave to the whim of the increasingly inebriated customers. Ten whole kegs full of the finest sake had come and gone by the stroke of midnight. The fifteen gargantuan sacks of white rice he had carried out from storage in preparation were dwindling pitifully.

Even his own morale was clearly diminished. His eyes ached from watching oil spit and boil in the pan, his nimble fingers burned from all of the times he'd been careless with the knife, and his legs were becoming stiff from standing upright for hours on end. How long could he rest before someone issued another dreaded order?

Tell me, will this night that so earnestly tests my patience ever come to an end?

On this night, across the eastern hemisphere, every man, woman and child were subject to the joy of the holiday, whether it was an active part of their faith, or a simply a generic festivity. Soirees and dinner parties included the elite of the salarymen and diplomats in North City's aesthetic uptown area. Such affairs often included highly adorned meals and tastes of international cuisine. The spread of festive spirits seemed to be a pandemic, with food and rice wine for all who joined the ostentatious celebration.

Except when you're the guy behind the swinging doors, in some torrid kitchen.......shelling out a real living at night so that you can finish school like the other boys in your classes----- who never worked an honest day in their lives......so you can pay the rent on that tiny hole of an apartment that keeps rising mercilessly every month..........so you can buy new shoes for yourself so that you can walk to the restaurant in this wretched winter weather............So that you can say that you can stand on your own, at the tender age of sixteen......

But most of all ,so you can learn at the feet of an old master .......in hope that someday your dream will become reality........

He rubbed his sore fingers almost furiously.

And so I learned that freedom can never truly be won without a struggle......and a little faith ......

On the fourth day of January, his sixteenth birthday, he had been released from the care of the city, optimistic and so full of ambition. He was then old enough to leave school, get his working papers, and support himself. Kiniro could barely describe his joy at the moment when the doors swung open, his freedom calling to him from the crowded streets, waving from the gleaming tops of the skyscrapers, singing in the winter wind that darted between the buildings.......

But then I realized that I had nowhere to go, no employer that would hire an inexperienced boy, and on top of it all, an education to pay for..............and although I could have sacrificed the latter, I knew that my distant future would have no promise if compromised my schooling for a career. I had to find a steady job that I could work at night..........and fast........

Subconsciously, he began to twist a stray lock of hair around his finger, a habit that only seemed to emerge when he was in a state of deep thought.

I was not free. I was only a servant to my own needs rather than someone else's. I never had meals presented to me on a silver platter, but I soon felt the sting of not having one at all.......

Then he saw it.

In the window of a respectable restaurant....... written in large, nearly illegible scrawl......

Assistant chef for night shift wanted. Good wages, hours negotiable. Basic culinary skills required. No restaurant experience necessary.

Perfect.

The opportunity had finally arrived.

Someone must have been watching over him that night.

He thanked each of the Shinto deities under his breath, one by one, not wanting to exclude any, most of all, his unknown savior.

When he looked up, his sign was still there, beckoning him inside.

The door was slightly ajar. The sound of glasses clinking, people laughing, and the methodical tapping of a nervous chopstick poured through the crack in the door.

Then I knew that my fortune was real.........and that this was someplace that I might finally belong.

He pushed open the door and stepped inside, with confidence.

That night, I became something more than just a lonely boy without a past.

The beginning of my new life as Fubuki Kiniro, assistant chef, began at that moment.

I was finally my own person.

The very first step towards finding myself and my place in life.

 It had been almost a year since he had aimlessly paced the streets, looking for a single stroke of luck. So blessed was he to have a forgiving, tolerant teacher, who gave him the knowledge he needed to chase his swift-flying dreams.

At times, it was almost like having a father...........

But who was my father?

His sensei flew back and forth across the kitchen, scolding the frost-bitten delivery boys for their tardiness.

Kiniro tried to bring back the memory of a man who had guided him through his first eight years.

Just like Kanbokuda-san guides me now.......

But, as always, there was nothing. No face, no body, not even a voice would resurface .

It was as if he had never had a father at all.

I cannot remember my father, but I ache to see him just once more. Even if he were to stay only a minute in my consciousness, I would have time enough to tell him one thing...........

 Kiniro pushed the stool back into the corner and sprung to his feet with an energetic flourish.

I still love him .

Just that one small thing would be enough.

He had struggled for so long to become what he was. But Kiniro could not stop there. He knew that the answers he was looking for were not hidden in this bustling, humid kitchen, in fifteen sacks of rice, or a thousand cups of sake.

They were somewhere else.

And somewhere else was nowhere at all.

They are always out of reach...........so many journeys away .............and yet ,they are only the distance across a buried memory..........
Murasaki's Two cents: I'm back. Yes, it took me this long to write something this philosophical. (And many cans of Coca- cola, the carbonated, caffinated soft drink.....just the thing to keep me awake to type all of this).A whole lot of thought and precious hours I could have spent sleeping went into this chapter, and I'm rather proud of myself for having the discipline to pull it off.

I hope that you all enjoyed the four thousand, eight hundred and sixty-five words in chapter seven as much as I enjoyed putting them together. There are many messages and themes in this chapter, so I am adding to the reader's guide(free, if you e-mail me or ask for one in your review) another new section that gives a bit more insight into the characters and conflicts. It should be available in a week because I need to finish reading Genome, by Matt Ridley before I take off for Europe. (Not that I enjoy it, but my science teacher will have my head on a plate if I can't finish by next year...::sets fire to book::....He's the sort of guy we d all like to Kamehameha into another dimension...^_^)

Until next time,
Murasaki