**Disclaimer: I do not own Digimon, nor Jo Jo's Bizarre Adventure. I do not own the stand concept, Takeru Takaishi/Ishida, Hikari Kamiya, Davis Motomiya, Yolei Inoue, Cody Hida, Ken Ichijouji, or Yamato Ishida.
**Author's notes: There is an author called "osama bin monkey" which…ahem…I'd suggest you ban from ever putting a signed review on any of your stories. Take a look at the flame he left for my "Out of the Ashes", and then take a look at his profile. After that, take a look at the profiles of those that reviewed HIS stories, and read the flames osama bin monkey left on their stories. I'm beginning to suspect this person's sole purpose in life is to flame and insult others. *cough* I won't comment on what I think of the…uh…quality of his fics. He also thinks he's the greatest writer that ff.net will ever see. I won't comment on that either. He's beginning to review digimon fics. If he DOES flame you, just ignore him. People like him are not worth your time.
Alrighty then, enough of that. Onto the next chapter!
Pilgrimage: Chapter Seven
By: TK Takaishi
"You could say history is like an endless waltz. The three measures of war, peace and revolution continue in an endless cycle."
Marelemeia Kushrenada, Gundam Wing OVA: Endless Waltz
Takeru felt strangely detached, as if he was floating above the whole scene. His mind froze until he was completely numb, unfeeling, unseeing. Every sensation, every sight slid off the void within.
My brother…
In front of him, Caylor…no…Yamato dropped his mask onto the ground. The slight desert wind whistled through his now free blond hair. His sword was lowered, for now. "Do you understand now?" he said. A frightening smile that did not reach his eyes seemed to mock the younger.
"You and I both are born of the Ishida line. No matter how you deny it, there is a streak of killer in you, gentle Takeru. Except where you denied it, I embraced it." Yamato stretched his hands out. "And look where it has gotten me! Power unlimited! I possess far more than you will ever have, brother. And in this world, power, the power to hurt those who oppose you, is all that matters!"
Takeru shook his head. "You're wrong," he said. "Those were different times. Back then, power and force were necessary. The world has changed. People have changed…"
"No they haven't. The world hasn't changed one bit!" Yamato's eyes blazed. "We live in the exact same world as our ancestors did five hundred years ago! The technology may have changed. We may now fight with better swords, deadlier arrows, larger armies, but the driving forces which make people people, has not changed. The evil that men do lives on after their mortal shells have long since passed to dust. Hatred, intolerance, greed. And as long as Gaea has existed, there has always been war and conflict across every corner of this land!"
Takeru tried to catch his breath. "The Age of Gods proved…"
"The Age of Gods didn't last." The contempt in Yamato's voice was evident. "Where is your so-called 'God'? Where is your so-called 'eternal' peace? In less than five years, Emperor Khaydarin managed to topple everything. And your vaunted God did nothing! Now…" he made an expansive gesture with his arms. His sweeping motion took in the roiling conflict, the armies of green and black engaged in mortal combat. "Look at the world around you! History is repeating itself! The Aeon of Strife is back!
"Tell me Takeru, has anything changed?"
Takeru did not answer. His blue eyes were haunted, flickering with uncertainty. Yamato noticed, and raised his sword.
"Takeru," he said, in a surprisingly gentle voice. "You cannot win. Your sword cannot harm me…"
Takeru remained silent.
"You are too compassionate," Yamato whispered. Drawing his gloved hand along the flat of the blade, he coiled his sword arm back. "A sword is crafted to kill. But you hesitate. You hold back. And a sword is only as sharp as its master…"
"I did what was just." Takeru's voice sounded slightly stronger than before. "And I will continue to fight like this. It is the only way I know how to fight. It is the only way I know I am not going insane." He hesitated as he looked at his sword, then added in a quieter voice. "The day I do not feel regret from wielding this, is the day I will throw it away, and run as fast as I can in the other direction."
Yamato smiled, a feral wolf grin. "Sometimes Takeru, being sane is not enough. Am I insane? Perhaps. Are you insane, to believe in that fool God of yours? Who's to judge? All I know is this. You don't have the iron will to do what is necessary, and what is right… to win!!
With a tremendous burst of speed, Yamato rippled into nothingness as he charged, sword extended for a deadly slash. Startled, Takeru desperately leaned backwards, snapping his head back. He felt the breeze of Yamato's sword on his face as the blade clipped several centimeters off his forward bangs. For an instant that seemed like an eternity, his jaw clenched as he strained to regain his balance, to bring his sword into play.
Yamato didn't give him the chance. Swinging his sword back, he dealt Takeru a savage blow to the temple with the hilt of his sword. And as Takeru reeled back, blood streaming from the gash, Yamato withdrew his sword and thrust forward again.
But Takeru sword caught the tip of the speeding thrust neatly, and a series of explosions traveled up his brother's blade. Verdant flashes of light writhed across both steel swords. For a critical moment, Yamato had to struggle to hold onto his vibrating blade. And in that second, Takeru braced both hands on his own sword, pushing Yamato's katana away, and jumped out of range.
Yamato turned to face his own brother, his face expressionless. "You know you cannot run from me…" he said as he flicked his sword experimentally, threateningly. "You have lived fifteen years too many as it is..."
"Yamato, what happened to you?" Takeru pleaded. "If you are truly my brother, why did you side with Khaydarin?"
"Khaydarin offers the only hope of salvation for this people!" Yamato shouted. And before Takeru could say anymore, he was forced to parry the vicious slash aimed for his mid-section. Again, he leapt out of range, his powerful legs propelling him up and back in a neat flip. But this time, Yamato was ready.
Even as Takeru jumped, Yamato's other arm shot out, and his wolf-stand lunged for the retreating stand-master, steel jaws and snow-white teeth ready to tear the boy apart. A powerful backlash of wind swept the ground around Yamato clean of sand. Takeru's eyes widened at the approaching attack, the wolf-stand filling his vision, a veritable wall of blue racing towards him. In the instant when he was still in mid-air and upside down, he had nowhere to run…
A brilliant, cyan explosion rocked the sandy canyon floor and a cloud of dust and sand flew up to obscure everything. Yamato's wolf-stand emerged from the cloud, a piece of Takeru's cloak held in its jaws. With a snort, it dropped the ripped fabric, and shimmered into nothingness as the Praetor reigned it in. Several seconds passed as Yamato stared hard into the haze. Did I do it?
A whistling sound in his ear alerted him to danger. Tucking into a shoulder roll, Yamato barely avoided Takeru's scything blade as the younger stand-master plunged down from the sky. The keen sword shattered the rocky ground, slicing the Praetor's cloak in half. Gritting his teeth, Yamato gripped his sword in both hands, and leapt back into battle…
**********
In the roiling melee, Ken looked around wildly. There, off to the side, and smashing their way rapidly towards them, was Davis and his forty Taelidani. All around him, his own men were engaged in a desperate battle for their lives. It was a strangely graceful dance of life and death, of singing steel, flying blood, and horrible screams. Streamers of dust billowed over the battle-ground, obscuring the flowing banners of both Ichijouji and Khaydarin. The ultimate survival, the perfect competition. A field to test the true strength of every man. The ones that were good at it, survived. The ones that were not, died.
Mounted Khaydarin cavalry charged up the narrow passes that were available to them, smashing their way past Ichijoujan defenses. Swinging maces and mighty double-bladed axes, they rode boldly into the enemy's ranks, only to be turned back by shieldbearing men with shorter, faster swords. Men fought with swords, scimitars and battle axes. Arrows were used to stab, bows used to throttle and javelins to impale. Footsoldiers scaled the cliffs, braving the hail of arrows and slingstones as they doggedly hauled themselves up hand over hand. Ichijoujans and Khaydarans alike screamed and were dragged under, thrown off the cliff, or crushed by thunderous rockslides set off by the shaking of many feet, and the incessant explosions from the four stand-masters present. Rivers of blood poured down the rocky canyon sides as the Ichijoujans stubbornly held the cliff against all comers.
At the lip of the drop, Ken stood proudly at the head of his army, his sword singing of death. Hack, slash, parry. Hack, slash, parry. Over and over again Ken flailed his sword like a windmill, a whirlwind of destruction in a field of ripe wheat. Where his blade struck, burning trails of green carved themselves into armour and flesh alike. Countless Khaydarin soldiers plunged down the cliff onto their comrades below.
All or nothing. Do or don't. Kill or be killed, he reflected grimly.
How black and white battle is…
And on the bottom of the canyon floor, he could see the faint glimmers of Takeru's golden stand, dueling savagely with flashes of blue. Another stand-master. The waving dust nearly obscured them, but he could still make out glimpses of an angel, and a…blue wolf?
Ken did not allow himself to feel surprised. Time enough for explanations later. When this was all over, when he had a moment to breathe, he would grill Takeru mercilessly about who the hell that was, and what the hell he was doing fighting him. But for now, the slightest slip, and he risked being slashed in half.
"Ken!"
The prince paused, and diverted just enough attention to glance sideways. There was a flash of red light, and suddenly two thunderbolts whizzed from the side, humming viciously through the air. Both Khaydarin soldiers Ken had been fighting were caught completely flatfooted as the Davis' kodachis plunged through their skulls in a shower of blood and skull fragments. They were dead before the thought that they were doomed could form in their minds. Ken averted his gaze from the awful sight, sidestepping the gruesome fountain of blood before it could soil his white cloak any further.
"We can't go on like this!" Davis panted as he ran up. Reaching down hurriedly, he retrieved his blades.
"How are you doing?" Ken yelled.
"I've lost seven men already. Seven out of twoscore! And I wasn't exactly keeping count for you, but I get the impression that you're getting the worst of this…"
Ken's stand flared into existence for a brief moment as its violet sword parried a thrust. Then the stand's other arm flicked in and out with a deft, lightning-fast movement. The Khaydarin soldier's still-twitching corpse crashed onto the ground. Ken looked around. Slowly but surely, the flanks of his army were beginning to collapse, the Khaydarin men scaling the cliffs beginning to surround them, and cutting off their retreat. Their height advantage was being taken away from them.
"Can your men smash a way out of here?"
Davis looked around. "We can try, but…"
"Do it. Head north-west." Ken's stand pointed over the lip of the canyon. "I'll head north-east. I doubt we can track you, but I'm pretty sure you can track us. We'll meet again in a week."
"Wait, Ken! We can't-"
"There's no time!" Ken shouted. "Go! My archers will cover you!" There was no time to think. No time to weigh the consequences, no time to ponder the decision. In battle, no decision was worse than the wrong decision. And without another word, Ken raised his sword high into the air.
"Retreat! Everyone split up, and retreat!"
The order spread through the army until it reached the nearest field commander, who at once raised his trumpet to his lips. A series of short trumpet bursts sounded out over the melee. At once, the tide of green that was Ichijouji's small army disengaged from the conflict, and retreated away from the rocky cliff which Khaydarin's soldiers were scaling. Likewise, Davis's Taelidani split up into small groups of three or four, and began hacking their way individually through the Khaydarin ranks. Once they reached the edge of the conflict, they disappeared into the winding, rocky maze. Groups of Ichijoujan archers scaled rocky outcroppings, and began raining cover fire down for their comrades.
There was no hesitation. Before the engagement, Ken had specifically emphasized that they were not here to win. It was impossible. They were only to distract, and worry. And in the event of a retreat, they were to run to the north. If that was impossible, to the south. Anywhere but east, in the direction of Sai Auia.
But now, against all reason, Davis grabbed Ken's arm in an iron grip. "You can't do this! Not yet!"
Ken shook his arm loose angrily. His steel-blue eyes flashed. "Why not?"
Davis pointed down with his dagger. "Takeru is still down there! He's still fighting!"
Ken stared down. It was true. Takeru was still locked in mortal combat with the mysterious stand-master, and it didn't look like either of them would be able to disengage until the other was dead. To leave now would be to leave Takeru in the midst of a hostile army numbering more than one thousand strong. Even a stand-master could never hope to defeat a force like that.
But logically, his position was clear.
"I can't risk my men's lives any longer! We have to retreat before we're cut off! If we're surrounded, we're doomed!"
"You can't do this!"
Conflicting emotions waged a war across Ken's face. "He knew the risks. We all did..."
Davis grabbed the front of Ken's shirt, and wrenched the prince forward until their faces were only inches apart. His scream was hoarse with emotion. "You bastard! You can't leave him! He saved your city! He risked his own life, is still risking his life to save your people! Your people, not his! YOU CAN'T LEAVE HIM BEHIND!"
Ken said nothing.
Davis glared at the Prince with something akin to disgust in his eyes. "Fine," he spat as he let go of Ken's shirt contemptuously. "Go then." Turning away, he raised his own voice. "Taelidani, rally to me! We're going back!"
Ken's hand closed around Davis's arm. Davis whirled around, his brown eyes literally blazing with crimson anger as his stand appeared. But he stopped cold at the intense look on Ken's face.
"All right," the Ichijoujan prince said in a surprisingly gentle voice. "You win."
Raising his own sword, Ken cried out to his soldiers. "Fifth unit, follow the Taelidani charge. The rest of you, stay here and cover them! I want to see this sky raining arrows! No-one is permitted to die until we have Prince Takeru back!"
The order was again quickly relayed from soldier to soldier until the entire army on the cliff had heard. Struggling against all odds, the fifth unit assembled themselves into a spear, readying for a deadly charge down the cliff. Davis looked relieved. But as he turned to plunge back down the cliff, Ken put a hand on his shoulder. "I'll stay up here, and see if I can hold this cliff-top," he said grimly. "You have five minutes to get him. After that, we leave regardless. Understood?"
Davis stared back just as determinedly. "We'll have him in three," he snarled. Then he was gone.
**********
The ring of Khaydarin soldiers expanded as the two brother's duel escalated. No-one dared intrude as they stared at the deadly conflict before them.
The two titans waged their epic battle across the sandy canyon floor as dirt, dust, and even small rocks flew every which way in the animalistic struggle. One warrior of shimmering liquid gold, the other of coruscating blue thunder. Their blades were gleaming with brilliant fire, causing arcs of liquid colour to ripple through the air whenever they attacked. No quarter, no mercy. It was a terrifying sight, but the on-looking soldiers could not tear their gazes away from the strangely beautiful battle.
Takeru dodged a slash, and flipped backwards, hanging upside down in the air for a split second. Yamato bared his teeth as he flicked his wrist, and threw his arm forward. A hidden chain-sickle unwound from around his forearm, and snaked its way out to impale his brother.
Twisting in mid-air, Takeru parried the sickle's blade with his sheath, then raised the point of his own sword above the whirring chain, pointing straight down. Positioning his sheath right underneath the blade, he quickly sheathed his katana, the razor point of the Ishidan sword slamming home into its scabbard, and neatly severing the chain caught in-between.
Neither of them paused in the slightest. Takeru landed deftly on both feet already in the Battou stance, then shifted into a blur as he charged, his sword a silver arc already shooting out of his sheath. Likewise, Yamato shifted his grip on his sword, and launched himself forward with a savage battle-cry. Both sword-masters met with a tremendous clash, their blades locking with one another, and just as quickly disengaged before the other could strike with their stand while their swords were locked.
Takeru took to the sky, borne on his stand's golden wings. Yamato rolled along the ground, and somehow came up with his feet braced against a large boulder. Uncoiling his body like a spring, Yamato shot up into the sky leading with his sword, and another titanic clash sounded across the ravine.
Strike, parry, retreat. Strike, parry, retreat. Their duel took on a surreal, deadly rhythm.
As they landed, both fighters skidded to a halt, their chests heaving for breath, their exertions catching up to them. For a moment, a deceptive peace descended. Takeru coughed as he tasted his own blood on his tongue. Yamato angrily wiped away blood from a gash on his cheek.
"You can't win, Takeru," Yamato said hoarsely. "You don't want to kill me, do you? But you must realize…in a battle such as this, only one may walk alive. And if you don't have the guts to kill me," he swung his sword once, and lowered it into an attack posture. "I'll kill you."
Takeru's sword-arm trembled, and he grabbed it with his other hand to steady it. "You're not my brother," he panted. "The Yamato Richard told me about was not like that…"
Yamato snarled. "You don't understand, do you? That killing streak you see in me, is in you as well. And you know that to be true."
Takeru looked up. And for a moment, Yamato was taken aback by the anguish in those blue eyes. He was wrong. Takeru did understand. In those eyes burned the fires he saw in the mirror every morning. They were familiar. And yet…alien…
"No, Yamato. You don't understand."
The other gripped his sword so tightly his knuckles turned white. Tendons stood out on the back of his wrists. "Enlighten me," he gritted.
"I may possess the same killing blood as you. Perhaps somewhere deep inside, the merciless monster that I see in you, may also consume me if I let it. But part of me is in you as well. My gentleness. My compassion. My mercy. Those traits are in you as well."
Takeru slowly sheathed his sword as he flung Yamato's own words back into his face. "Except where you denied it, I embraced it. And look where it has gotten me. You speak of power? The power to crush thousands, to conquer and burn and destroy? My God gives me the power to build. He gives me the power to transform lives, to change a persons' heart. He gives me the power to remake everything you have shattered."
He made his stand appear, and he gestured at it with his free hand. "You see this? My stand? They're not to be used solely to kill, Yamato. They're for more than that. They were given to us for far greater purposes than simple destruction. And you know that to be true."
Yamato stood stock still as he contemplated Takeru's words. And for a moment, both brothers did nothing but stare at each other. It was hard to believe. Two men of destiny, made from the same fabric, and yet having completely opposing faiths and beliefs. Their battle was not a simple quest to best the other. It was a clash of philosophies, and all that both of them stood for.
After all, a warrior always fought to protect something, be it something as simple as his survival, or something as abstract as a cause…
"Yamato," Takeru said at length, "I can't die yet. I made a promise to someone that I have to keep. There's someone waiting for me when I go back…"
The other tilted his head. "Well then," Yamato said quietly as he shifted his sword to his left hand. "When one of us is dead, and the other walks away, we'll see who was correct after all. May victory," Yamato's blue eyes gleamed as he saluted Takeru solemnly, "go to the person who is right."
Then his wolf-stand flared into existence for a brief moment, howling to the sky. Yamato's body and blade suddenly seemed to be awash with blue flames, and the Praetor became a shimmering column of brilliant lightning. His eyes glowed a piercing white and the crest of Ishida burned on his chest. "Kyo Shaiyuku!" he cried as he blurred into a streak of blue.
Takeru's blond hair whipped around in a nonexistent wind as his body and his sword underwent a similar transformation. He knew perfectly well what Yamato's challenge meant. The Kyo Shaiyuku was the succession technique perfected by Khaydarin, a much harder and more devastating version of his own Gatotsu. Takeru himself had tried, and never managed to master it.
He also knew that when a battle between stand-masters escalated to the point of unleashing succession techniques, the fight would be over within moments of first contact. With stand-enhanced strength behind the already lethal techniques, the attacks became all but unstoppable.
The most optimistic outcome would be one dead, the other severely wounded.
But, as he had said, he could not die yet. He refused to die. Thus, Takeru did not hold back.
"Shun," he whispered. Planting his foot sideways, he assumed the standard Battou stance, sword hand hovering beside the hilt of his still-sheathed katana. His forward shoulder dipped to the ground as he leaned forward. And for the briefest moment, Takeru felt strength surge to his fingertips when he should have nothing left. A strange humming sensation possessed his limbs, his blood singing with the power of his stand.
"Ten," he hissed as he pushed off, his entire body and legs uncoiling like an explosive spring. His slim frame flickered sideways and blurred completely out of sight, beyond the ability of human eyes to track.
"Satsu!"
In that split second, the briefest instant of time in the millennia of Gaea's never-ending story, two men willingly walked the hairline thread between life and death, daring to challenge fate itself. And in that instant, history was made.
It was made as it had always been, and always will be. Through the conflict of warring ways, as represented by two men of destiny. And as always, conflict invariably brought bloodshed.
Takeru choked as he felt the white-hot blade of his brother's sword stab through him, furrowing his right side in an explosion of blood and shredded clothing. He gaped soundlessly in shock as he skidded to a halt, and collapsed onto his knees as the fateful instant passed. But as he looked behind him, he realized that it was Yamato that had gotten the worst of it.
The Khaydarin Praetor flew through the air, and landed ten meters away in a pile of shredded armour and spreading blood. His sword flew in the opposite direction, burying itself blade-first into the dirt, completely out of reach. Numbly, Takeru realized his Shun Ten Satsu had done its work, scoring a huge slash wound across Yamato's chest. The blunt scar trailed across the Praetor's front like a savage furrow through his flesh.
For a shocked moment, Takeru could not move. His shoulders heaved for breath as he stared mutely at the still figure of his brother. Around him, the ring of Khaydarin soldiers were equally speechless. Then slowly, Takeru looked down at the sword clenched in his nerveless hands. His brother's blood dripped off the steel blade.
Off the wrong side of the blade.
He had reversed his sword.
Then Yamato stirred slightly. An amazed ripple of whispers passed through the crowd of on-looking men. Turning his head, the defeated Praetor stared at Takeru with shocked blue eyes clouded with pain. He knew. He had seen the way Takeru had been holding his blade. If Takeru had been holding his sword properly, only Yamato's top half would have been sailing through the air. Why, he tried to mouth. But no air came out. No sound came forth.
Takeru stood up, left hand clenched tightly against the rent in his side, trying to stem the bleeding. It was a deep flesh wound, and any movement sent fire through his torso. Dimly, he could hear the sounds of chaos, and battle starting anew off to his right. Around him, the clashes of steel were starting up again, as some whirlwind tore through the Khaydarin soldiers, pushing them back until the ring was broken. And at some level, he knew that Davis was trying to get to him, to rescue him from this army. He could see the Taelidani's blurred form, flashing crimson with battle rage amidst the chaos. He could see his small army force driving the surprised Khaydarin men back, the ring of spectators dissolving in the chaos.
But at a more personal level, the blond boy didn't care anymore. Slowly, he picked up his sword, and staggered over to his brother.
Yamato stared up at the young stand-master, his body completely numb. He could do nothing. Not even speak. And so, he closed his eyes, and awaited his death. He had been right after all. Only one would walk away alive from this battle.
Instead, he heard the sound of steel sliding home into a sheath. Looking up, he saw Takeru put away his sword. Anger crashed through his mind like crimson lightning.
It was not supposed to be like this, he wanted to scream. You fool! You have proven yourself right! You have proven yourself better! Kill me now!
But of course, he could say nothing.
Takeru however, looked down at him. Through a thickening black haze, Yamato could see the blond boy's slim frame trembling with exhaustion and pain, could see the red stain of blood seeping slowly down his brother's left side and leg, despite his best efforts to staunch the flow. But Takeru's eyes were clear. And, Yamato realized as the black fog closed in, they were utterly understanding, as if his brother could read his mind.
If you don't kill me now, he thought, his eyes burning into Takeru's. I'll hound you and hound you until one of us is dead. I won't accept your position as my better…
"But Yamato," Takeru seemed to whisper in return. "Don't you understand?
"I never wanted to be your better..."
Then the darkness became complete. And Yamato Ishida could hear no more.
**********
Takeru watched weakly as Yamato's blue eyes clouded over, then closed. He was still alive. The blond prince could tell by the light rising and falling of his ravaged chest. But whether he would stay that way was another story. Even striking with the dull side of the blade, the wound was still vicious enough to kill a lesser person instantly.
Then Takeru coughed. Numbly, he felt a strange, sweet taste in his mouth, and a moment later, he was choking. Blood surged up his throat, and he spat the salty tasting stuff out, the red stains spreading on the sand. Numbly, he took his hand away from his side for a moment to inspect his wound. To his relief, it was only a graze, not deep enough to hit anything important. But his cloak was in shreds and soaked in his own blood. Two inches to the left, he thought as he shuddered, and I would be a goner. If darkness could make him that strong…
"Takeru?!"
The blond boy looked up, startled to realize that his vision was beginning to blur. He seemed to be seeing two of everything. Must be the loss of blood, he decided. Vaguely, he realized that the sounds of combat he had noticed earlier were moving farther away. The ring of men around him were no longer dressed in black, but in light, sandy brown desert cloaks, or green uniforms.
"Takeru!"
Suddenly, Davis was in front of him, grabbing at his shoulders, and staring at him frantically. "You're wounded!"
Takeru looked down at his wound again. "It…it doesn't hurt. That much…"
Davis snarled in frustration. "Don't give me that, you fool!" Carefully, he pulled Takeru's hand away, and his eyes widened with shock as he saw the wound. He glanced sideways, and when he saw the prone form of Yamato, his eyes hardened as he took in the rank insignia on the sleeve.
"Who is that? And why the hell would a Praetor possess a stand?"
Takeru didn't answer.
Davis tore a piece off his cloak, and pressed it against Takeru's wound. Then he drew one of his kodachis, and stepped up to the unconscious Yamato. "Don't know how this bastard's still alive. I don't know what you used on him, but it seemed pretty effective from where I was standing. I'll finish him- "
"Davis, don't!"
The Taelidani paused in puzzlement, his kodachi frozen in midair. "Takeru?"
"Don't kill him," he pleaded.
Davis looked at the fallen Praetor contemptuously. "Why not? I'd be doing everyone a favour."
The blond boy's blue eyes were hesitant and full of uncertainty. He looked back and forth between Davis and the fallen figure of his brother as he clutched his ravaged side. Then he spared a glance at Yamato's sword, buried blade first several meters away. He could still see his own blood smearing the steel-blue metal. Why not indeed? But despite his misgivings, he heard the words emerge from his mouth unbidden.
"He's…he's my brother."
Davis almost dropped his kodachi. His voice rose an entire octave. "WHAT?!!!"
"Davis, I'll explain la- " Takeru's words suddenly stuck in his throat as his wound seemed to twist in place, as if Yamato's sword was still buried in it. The pain, which had seemed so distant a moment ago, was incredible. He felt all the blood leave his face as he suddenly found he could not breathe.
"Just please…," he managed to whisper through gritted teeth. "Don't…"
Davis noticed Takeru pale alarmingly. He glanced quickly back and forth between Takeru, and the fallen Praetor. His hand twitched on the hilt of his kodachi. Then he gave Yamato one final glare, flicked his hand and sheathed his weapon. Takeru, you'd better have a damned good explanation for this, he thought darkly. But outwardly, all he said was,
"We're leaving. Now."
With a quick movement, the Taelidani slipped under Takeru, slung the blond boy's left arm around his own shoulders, and stood up. Takeru leaned heavily on brown-haired boy, his own blood spilling onto Davis' cloak. And now, even a stand-master's discipline could not contain the tide of black that threatened to overwhelm him. But he had managed to convince Davis. Yamato had been spared. That was what mattered. And so, as Takeru finally relaxed the iron hold on his consciousness, the most pointless thought flitted through his brain.
I hope Davis doesn't mind…. Me getting his clothes dirty and all…
But Davis didn't even seem to notice. Instead, he turned his head and yelled at the fighting men around him.
"We are getting out of here! Taelidani, cover our retreat! The rest of you, follow me!"
**********
"Each man is a pilgrim unto himself, and has only his heart to guide him through this dark, tumultuous world. Without it, we are lost. And then we are men no longer, but blind animals."
- Ishidan proverb, cc. 100 AS. Origins unknown.
**three days later**
Takeru didn't remember much of the next few days. He walked through them like a zombie. He remembered getting his wound dressed and bandaged. He remembered travelling through the desert at a cracking pace, trying to ignore the burning pain in his side. Half the time he did not succeed, and eventually Ken pushed him onto a horse and made him stay there. There was no sign of pursuit. The Khaydarin army seemed to have halted right within the ravine, but Ken and Davis took no chances. They pushed their men as fast as they could on a circuitous route to meet up with the Sai Auian people, and the reinforcements the Ichijoujan army was sending.
The numb feeling stayed with him. There were times when he felt like he was ambling his way through a waking dream. Ken kept asking him if he was all right, and he kept responding "yes". But each time, he wondered if that was true. Perhaps his body was all right. But inside? What of his spirit? If something was wrong, would he know it?
Was he insane? Was Yamato right? Who's to judge?
At night, the dreams came back. It got to the point where he was afraid to sleep. They had not visited him in a year, but they were back. Again, random memories and visions. But where some of them had been happy memories before, this time, his thoughts were full of blood. Of darkness. Of screams of soldiers and innocents alike. A proud city with gleaming white walls and proud, tall spires. Then the next moment, collapsing in a sea of flames, the tall towers falling like so much twigs, the bold banner bearing the golden meteor torn asunder with fire. All around him was a stormy haze of red. A gale of emotions engulfed him, voices screaming at him, pleading with him, or simply sobbing with bitter grief. Takeru didn't know what they meant, and he didn't care.
"Go away!" he cried out into the darkness. "I'm tired. Let me rest!"
But the dreams haunted him. They either did not hear him, or did not care. Faces he did not recognize swam up to his consciousness. Faces he instinctively seemed to recognize anyway. An old man with a welcoming smile. A strongly built, middle-aged man, with brown hair and twinkling brown eyes. A beautiful woman with flowing blond hair and brilliant blue eyes. And more. And still more, until they all blended into a flowing kaleidoscope of images…
Until they suddenly stopped.
"Father?"
Takeru turned. He was in a room. A small one, but the sunlight streaming in through the open windows lent it a welcome air, as if all was at peace in the world. The sun lit up the dust motes like tiny, golden specks. Startled, Takeru looked up. The window was trimmed with a simple, wooden finish, but the sight outside took away his breath. A huge stone garden, dotted and decorated with flowerbeds, green grass and arching trees spread out in all its splendor before him. The end was almost out of sight within the winding paths and smooth, broad stone steps. Beyond that, a vast, thriving city of white, gleaming walls and towering spires filled the valley. Even from this distance, Takeru could see the bustling crowds of a busy people, horse-carts and merchants, farmers and city folk, going about their business without worry or fear. And beyond that, huge, majestic mountain crests, their summits topped with gleaming snow, stood tall against the horizon, as if reaching for the sky.
In the middle of the courtyard, a huge, ornate, stone statue trimmed with gold stood proudly in the green courtyard and garden, one hand resting on the hilt of his sword, the other reaching up to the sky. On the wall beneath it was carved the golden insignia of Ishida. The stone features of the man depicted possessed a rugged calm, and the sapphire eyes were so lively they twinkled and danced in the sunlight. Fascinated, the fifteen year-old boy strode to the window, and stared. It was breath-taking, in a rugged, rough kind of way. The beauty placed just so, with perfect precision, in the midst of the unyielding stone. The harshness of the mountains, the coldness of the snow, made the flowers, the greenery and the trees all the more precious.
"Father?"
This time, Takeru turned to look at the source of the voice. He gasped, and involuntarily took a step back, instinctively looking for a place to hide himself. A five year old child rushed past. His blue eyes were curious, and his short, tousled blond hair was waving in the wind. In his hand, he clutched a small stuffed toy animal. Oddly enough, he ran right past Takeru without even glancing at him. Dumbfounded, Takeru stared at him, then back at himself. Was the kid blind?
"Yes son?" Takeru whirled around. Behind him was the strong-featured man he had seen in his dreams, leaning out from the door. His brown hair shimmered in the sunlight. "Did you call for me?" He too, did not seem to notice Takeru's presence.
"Father, can I see him?" the five-year-old pleaded. He waved his stuffed-toy eagerly. "Please?!"
The man tilted his head. "How did you get past Master Isaji? Didn't I tell him to keep you occupied with lessons?"
The young boy made a face. "I slipped away. Couldn't stand no more quills or ink wells. Can I see him?!"
A resigned smile lit up the man's face. "All right, but only for a moment. Then it's back to your lessons with you." Sweeping the small child up effortlessly, he carried him into the next room. Curious, Takeru followed them. On the large white bed, a woman with long blond hair lay, exhausted. Beside her in a wooden crib, was a small blanket-wrapped bundle. And as Takeru watched, the bundle stirred.
"Masaharu," the woman chided. "The baby needs his sleep."
"It's only for a moment, Natsuko," the man responded gently. "Besides, he's been wanting to see him for days now! A moment won't hurt…"
The small boy wriggled in his father's arms, squealing. "Oh, he's so cute! Can I hold him?"
His father's firm grip stopped him in his tracks. "Oh no you don't. Takeru's sleeping. You can look if you want though."
The small child eagerly leaned over the edge of the wooden barrister, looking down in rapture at the tiny, red face. Hesitating, Takeru walked up to the crib, and looked down. A small fringe of blond hair was already beginning to grow on the baby's head. Hesitantly, the five-year-old reached down and stroked the baby's cheek. In response, the baby stirred and stretched his tiny arms. His eyes opened to see who was touching him, the blue orbs trying in vain to focus on the face leaning over him.
Masaharu sighed. "Son, I told you not to wake-"
"Father," the young child interrupted in excitement, completely oblivious to his father's resigned tone. "What was his name again?"
"Takeru. Takeru Ishida."
"Take…," the boy tried valiantly to wrap his tongue around the third syllable. "Take…Take…lu?"
His father laughed. "You'll get used to it."
The blond boy wrinkled his nose. "It's such a strange name!" he complained. "I think I'll call him something else."
His mother gave him a happy, albeit wan, smile. "Oh yes? And what'll you call him?"
The boy thought for a moment, his finger on his pursed lips in a comical imitation of some of the scholars he had seen in his father's court. Then his face brightened. "I know!" he cried, pumping his fist in the air. He looked over the wooden barrister again, and the baby stared curiously back up at his older brother. Five-year-old Yamato Ishida grinned back.
"I think I'll call you TK."
The words sliced right through the fifteen-year-old Takeru's heart. The realization of who the little blond boy was drove him to his knees. He collapsed on the floor, his face buried in his hands, sobs wrenching from his throat. Bitter tears coursed their way down his cheeks.
"Leave me alone!" he whispered.
"Stop tormenting me…"
**********
Within the small tent, the air smelled slightly of disinfectants and medicines. Beside Takeru's prone form, Kari took a deep breath of the fragrant scent, trying to stay awake. The single candle flickering on its stand warmed the air inside the tent slightly. Truth to be told, it wasn't really necessary. The early dusk still provided enough light to work by.
But Kari liked the aroma it gave off. It was a heady scent, a cleansing smell, and Kari was grateful. She had seen enough dirt and grime to last her a lifetime. Running a hand across her forehead, she stared at the thin film of dirt that came off. She had not bathed in a week. Nobody had. Her body was exhausted, and cried out to her for rest. But somehow, some insistent instinct refused to let her sleep. She had to remain awake, to care for the one who had given her so much.
Then a small groan from the bed beside her startled her. Quickly, she rearranged the blanket over the boy, and gently wiped his forehead with a damp cloth. "Shh…," she said softly. "Take it easy. Try not to move."
"The dreams…" he murmured. "They hurt…"
Kari shook Takeru's shoulders lightly. "The dreams can't hurt you Takeru," she said in a surprisingly firm voice. "They're not real. They can't hurt you unless you let them."
The boy's blue eyes opened slightly. They were slightly clouded with pain, but at least the boy was awake. For a moment, Kari was taken aback by the intense emotions in those eyes, but they quickly faded away as Takeru realized where he was. "Are the people…"
Kari smiled, grateful that she had at least some good news. "They're safe. They all are. The Ichijoujan army lost four-score, and the Taelidani lost fifteen, but the people themselves…, we didn't lose a single one."
Takeru closed his eyes. Whether out of relief or exhaustion, Kari couldn't tell. "That's good," he murmured. Then he grimaced as he shifted on his pallet. "And what about me?"
The girl hesitated. "He…he only grazed your side, Takeru," she said through a strange voice. "It's only a shallow flesh wound, and he didn't hit anything important. You'll be up and about in a couple days, T-"
Takeru suddenly inhaled sharply, as if from a stab wound. "No! Please, don't call me that," Takeru said urgently. "Just…not yet."
Kari's eyes widened in surprise, but she closed her mouth. When she opened it again, her words were cautious. "Alright Takeru," she said carefully.
Did Davis tell you about him?
This time, there was an even longer pause. When Kari spoke again, her mental whisper was so quiet, Takeru could barely catch it. Yes, she thought, But I don't know whether to believe him or not.
The unspoken question hung in the air. Takeru lifted his hands and rubbed at his face tiredly. Kari doubted anyone but her would pick up on the slightly erratic breathing that signified the boy was fighting back some surge of emotion.
It's true, he thought back. Caylor…was formerly Yamato Ishida. He was my brother. I saw his crest myself. And he looked like me, down to the blond hair and blue eyes.
Kari took hold of the boy's hand quickly, squeezing it in reassurance. "Was it," she said hesitantly, "the same person who razed Kurtal? The one who killed Richard?"
"Yes."
The girl felt a lump rise in her throat. With an effort, she swallowed it back down. She didn't know what to feel. Angry perhaps. Furious even. Stunned definitely. But strangely, all she felt was despair. Despair that an Ishidan could be corrupted so thoroughly. One of the six pillars of the Council, and it had fallen to darkness. It was frightening to think that something you had looked up to all your life could fall so easily…
But then she realized she was not alone. A sudden catch in Takeru's breathing touched her ears. When she looked down, she realized that the boy's hands were still covering his face. His shoulders rocked slightly as his chest heaved.
Takeru Ishida was crying.
"TK?" she said concernedly as she touched his shoulder. "It's all right. It's not your fault…"
Takeru wiped away his tears and removed his hands. Instinctively, they sought out Kari's, squeezing them as if to reassure himself that she was really still there. His eyes were slightly red-rimmed, and crystal tears traced their way down his cheeks. And in that moment, Kari realized that for that one moment, Takeru had lowered his armour completely.
She was one of the few people in the world that ever got to see that Takeru was a human himself. Even when he was young, Kari had seen him building his armour. Plate by plate, piece by piece, he had built an emotional wall around himself over the years. Emotions rarely worked their way up to the surface. They made him weak. Vulnerable, and prone to attack.
But he had revealed himself to her. Before her, he had become vulnerable, trusting that she would never do anything to hurt him. She would never attack him. Kari had been allowed a glimpse of that. And she was honoured.
"My brother," Takeru finally managed to say after awhile. "Yamato. Do you know what he said to me?"
Kari shook her head. She didn't say anything. She didn't have to.
"He said that the darkness that existed within him, exists within me as well." Takeru seemed exhausted as he said the words. "That at the very center, I am just like him…"
Kari tried to force her throat to work. "I…"
"And Kari, it's true isn't it?" Takeru said vehemently. "I spent one year trying to bury those five minutes of bloodwrath back at Kurtal. Five minutes, in which I would have killed anyone that got in my way."
He swallowed as he recalled the experience. "Yes, I would have killed even you Kari. If you had gotten in my way, I would have struck you down, and I would have liked it! I spent one year trying to convince myself that it was an accident. That it was a trick of the mind. That I could never be that monstrous. And one simple sentence was all it took to bring those lies crashing back down."
"Takeru-"
"But now," Takeru continued, "I know that I can become the ruthless bastards that destroyed Kurtal. I can become the monster that razed Maran. I have it within me to become the cold killer to murder four-score Ichijoujan soldiers and fifteen Taelidani."
"But you won didn't you? That proves you right!"
Takeru's voice lowered to a whisper. "Kari, it was so very, very close. It all came down to an inch. An inch to the left, and I would be dead. If he had managed to escape my slash unscathed, I would have been dead, because there was no way I could fight after receiving that wound. He was amazingly strong. Stronger than Richard. Stronger than anything I've ever seen. And if embracing his killer side can make him that strong…I'm scared Kari. I'm really scared…"
Takeru closed his eyes, trying to stem the tears. His ragged breathing filled the entire tent. A long, awkward pause filled the air. The single candle flickered briefly on its stand. Kari didn't know what to say. Her throat seemed to be tied in knots. So she did the only thing she could.
She embraced him tightly, She could feel Takeru stiffening in surprise, but she didn't care. Gently, she held him securely, rocking him like a baby. Takeru, don't be scared, she thought simply. I won't let you be tempted.
Takeru hesitantly embraced her back. I…I was afraid…that you would…
Kari smiled. We'll fight it together Takeru, she thought back. And she was not lying. It was impossible to lie through a mental link. I will never leave you. Because I know that even though you may have a killer side, you will always be Takeru Takaishi, her smile grew wistful,
To me, you will always be the laesbube mountain boy that couldn't bear to see a single sparrow get hurt or lost. And yes. To me, you will always be simply, 'TK'.
**********
Ken stared off at a distant column of black smoke on the horizon. Through the darkening twilight, it seemed small and insignificant, a spire little wider than a needle snaking its way up into the pale rose-coloured sky. But Ken knew it was only a trick of the distance. The fire that had created that cloud of smoke was probably more than ten kilometers across.
"Sometimes," a soft voice said behind him, "history says that the bad guys have to win some of the battles. If only so that people that come after can count their blessings."
Ken smiled weakly at the vain attempt to cheer him up. Beside him, Yolei strode up, also looking at the column of smoke. The column of smoke from the burning remains of Sai Auia.
"I wonder," the Prince mused, "if I could have done anything more…"
"Ken," Yolei said as she put a hand on his shoulder. "What you have already done is incredible, and certainly beyond reproach. There were only several hundred people still in the area when Khaydarin swept it. But the thirty thousand in Sai Auia itself, as well as several thousand in the surrounding areas…they are all alive and safe."
It was true. All around them, nestled in the green valley between the low hills, was a virtual city of makeshift tents and shelters for the people. The people that Ken's messengers had managed to warn in the scant two days they had had were all safe. All of them had lost everything, but they were alive. Off to the north and the south, the fifth and sixth Ichijoujan corps, numbering more than two thousand taken together, guarded the Sai Auians, and prevented Khaydarin from advancing any deeper into Ichijoujan territory, should they be foolish enough to attempt it.
But those lives had been bought with terrible cost. Four score Ichijoujan soldiers dead, and fifteen Taelidani casualties. Almost twice as many injuries. Each death weighed heavily on Ken's mind. But he could at least take consolation in the fact that those soldiers chose to do it. They knew what was coming. At least it had not been innocent people.
"If it wasn't for you and Takeru's warning, they would be dead as well. As would I."
His companion smiled wryly. "Glad you listened to us, huh?"
"You remember Dinar? The minister that gave Takeru a lot of lip when you arrived?"
Yolei nodded.
"He's off on a week long fast to deal with his own guilt before even daring to come to you to ask for forgiveness. Kind of a self-inflicted penance. Does that answer your question?"
The girl laughed. "I…really don't think Takeru holds it against him," she admitted.
"How would you know?"
Yolei looked away. "Well…he forgave Davis and I," she said cryptically. Ken chose not to inquire further. Instead, he shrugged. "It's still something to be ashamed of when you find you've called the Crown Prince of Ishida a 'common peasant'."
An awkward pause fell over the conversation, and Ken turned back to stare at the spiral of smoke on the horizon. For a few moments, he fumbled for the right words to say.
"So…uh…," he began. "How is Takeru?"
Yolei sighed. "He's…alive. Awake at least. Good thing that Khaydarin Praetor only managed to furrow his side with…with whatever he was using. A few more inches to the left, and the thrust would have gone straight through his stomach. And even a stand-master can't survive being impaled with a sword. He'll be all right. You'll see."
Ken rubbed his brow. "I'm glad," he said simply. "He's really very lucky. I guess it's the best we can expect after a battle of that magnitude with a stand-master."
But Yolei wasn't finished. "Actually, I didn't come to tell you about Takeru," she said. "Micah wanted to see you. In fact, he wanted to see all of us immediately, Davis, Cody, Kari, me and you. He says it's important."
The Ichijoujan prince took one last look at the smoke column in the distance, then turned away abruptly and began striding back to camp. "Sure," he said, all traces of regret wiped from his voice. His manner was suddenly businesslike. "Did he say why?"
Yolei shrugged. "He seemed…very agitated about something," she said with a shrug. "But he didn't seem alarmed or anything. Your guess is as good as mine. He's in Takeru's tent, simply 'cause Kari absolutely refused to leave his side, and the healers absolutely refused to move him."
Ken frowned. It was unlike Micah to become excited easily. The minister was as solid as a rock. "Hmm…," was all he said as he lengthened his stride a little. Beside him, Yolei hurried to keep up.
At length, they finally arrived at the correct tent. Yolei held open the cover, and Ken nodded his thanks as he stepped through. The air smelled slightly of disinfectants and medicines, and Ken took a deep breath. A single flickering candle shed light on the entire interior, and in its dim glow, he could discern others seated around the dwelling. Davis was sitting on the ground with his legs crossed, looking impatient. Cody was kneeling next to Takeru, helping Kari pull a blanket over Takeru's still form. And Micah…
Micah was positively shaking with agitation, his eyes glowing with a barely restrained excitement. In the glow of the candle, he suddenly seemed to look much younger than his sixty something years. His hands clutched a large leather book. History of Gaea: An Anthology to Ancient Texts, Ken read off the title. That thing again? What is all this about?
"Is everyone here?" he asked the moment Ken stepped into the room. Confused, Ken stepped away from the door, and allowed Yolei to come in as well. As soon as the old man saw the Taelidani girl enter, he stood up, went to the door, and dismissed the guards around the entrance. "I don't want anyone to hear this other than you," he explained.
Then, once the guards were gone, he sat down again. His eyes were gleaming. "Takeru," he said, in a slightly shaking voice. "Can you hear me?"
Takeru sat up slightly, grimacing. Kari propped a pillow up behind him, and he rested gratefully on it, squeezing the girl's hand in thanks. "I hear you, old man," he said in a soft voice. "I'm paying attention."
Ken frowned and gave Takeru a second glance. Takeru seemed perfectly composed, but the boy's eyes were slightly red-rimmed, and his cheeks slightly smudged, as if he had been crying. Curiously, he looked at Kari, but the girl merely shook her head. Ken understood. What had transpired, was only for the two of them and nobody else.
Davis however, noticed nothing. Instead, he grew slightly impatient. "Micah, get on with it, will you? What's eating you up?"
Micah put down the book, took off his spectacles, and cleaned them nervously. "In the past couple days, I've taken the liberty to start poring over some old, Gaean history texts. Ancient works, dating all the way back to Adun's Seihad. And what I've found is…fascinating…"
Kari suddenly drilled the old man with a sharp glance. "This has something to do with Takeru, doesn't it?"
Micah nodded, giving Takeru a furtive glance as he did so. But the blond boy's face remained impassive. He simply tilted his head. "Go on," he said.
Micah took a deep breath. "Let me start at the beginning."
"The book Prophecies," he said as he put his hand on the leather-bound volume at his side, "which this book has references to, is a very old work. Five hundred years old. Written in ancient Gaean, there are no less than five modern translations, each of which differs from one another in several subtle but distinct ways. The original work was written only several years after Adun's Seihad. And the author…," Micah coughed. "Was Adun himself."
It was as if the atmosphere was suddenly charged with energy. Davis stopped fidgeting, and stared up at Micah. Yolei straightened up with an almost audible snap. Ken blew out a deep breath as Micah continued.
"After the Seihad," Micah said hesitantly, "Adun hung up his sword, and got down to the business of rebuilding Gaea. He was the one who set up the Council, with each of its six pillars. The six now-legendary bloodlines." The old man began reciting the fabled names like a role call. "Ishida. Yagami. Sheid. Chironsala. Fan-Tzu. And Jakt." Micah smiled ironically. "Although Adun is mostly renowned for being a great warrior, he actually spent many more years of his life as a peacekeeper."
"How is this relevant?" Davis asked impatiently.
Micah looked offended. "I'm getting to that. Youngsters these days… Anyway.
"During the last ten years of his life, Adun stepped down from his position as the leader of the Council, and allowed his son to assume the position instead. He went into seclusion and refused the mantle of leadership ever again. And one day, it was recorded that he was visited by an angel with a scroll. What was made known to him in that vision, he wrote down in his book: Prophecies."
A dead silence fell within the tent. The single candle flickered briefly from a draft, then remained still again. When nobody spoke, Micah plunged onwards.
"That book, Prophecies," he said reverently, "is extremely rare. It was Adun's wish that only several hundred copies were ever made, and most of them did not survive five hundred years. It is widely believed that not a single copy ever survived the centuries intact, although other history books do afford us a glimpse into its contents. And those contents are what is relevant to today."
Takeru watched calmly as the old man opened the leather-bound volume, and extracted several hand-written notes the minister had apparently inserted himself. Micah put on his spectacles, and began to read in a clear voice.
"From what I can glean of Prophecies, the first section is a detailed account of the Aeon of Strife, and the Seihad itself. History, you might call it, from the perspective of the one who influenced it the most. Fascinating no doubt, but not crucial. The second section, on the other hand…," Micah gave Takeru a meaningful glance, "is all about one person. A prophecy if you will, of one person who will arise in the future."
Ken gave a start and looked at Takeru as well. Takeru himself did nothing, only motioned for Micah to go on. The old minister obliged.
"What that person is to do exactly, is unknown," Micah continued, as if he had not heard. "The clearest passage about exactly what this person is to do is not recorded in any of the texts I've looked through. The closest I've come is still the one about the fifteen year pilgrimage. The long journey of self-discovery, at the end of which, that person would receive 'God's inheritance'.
"There are allusions that he will not go alone. Some of the passages say that he will be accompanied by several others. One, two or three, we do not know. Some of the more fanciful translations claim that together, the pilgrims will form 'the six fallen pillars of Gaea'."
Cody's eyes widened. Davis stood up, his face a picture of stunned disbelief. "Old man, you're not suggesting that-"
"I am suggesting nothing," Micah returned calmly. "I am merely presenting what I have found. Draw your own conclusions."
Ken shushed Davis with a hand motion. His steel blue eyes drilled into the old minister. "Go on."
So Micah did. "Perhaps some of the missing passages will discuss this in more depth. Most of the other passages I've managed to find are descriptions of the one himself.
"You have already heard most of them," the old man said, looking around. "The fifteen year pilgrimage. The mark on that person's left shoulder. But there is something else." Micah looked down at his notes. "The key lies in the stone of Ishida. It shall be of the deepest jade, yet small. In the hands of the unbeliever, it is naught but a pretty stone. In the hands of the chosen," the minister looked up as he finished, "it will move mountains."
All eyes turned to Takeru. The blond boy closed his eyes, feeling slightly overwhelmed. Slowly, he reached underneath his shirt, and withdrew the pendant Richard had given him only moments before he died. The jade necklace gleamed faintly in the candle light. He didn't say a word.
Micah put the book down with a thud, as if his hands were suddenly shaking too badly to support the weight. "Never in my lifetime…" he murmured.
Davis looked around. "What does this mean?"
Ken's expression was awed as he gazed upon the book. "It means that Takeru is the living fulfillment of Adun's five hundred year old prophecy."
"Not only that," Micah said hoarsely. "It means more than that. Oh yes, much more. The appearance of this person signifies something new. The breaking of a new era, and the destruction of the old. A new age is about to dawn!"
Micah closed his eyes, "Literally translated, the text fragments read 'he shall herald the coming of the End of days. The Kannanshinku will engulf the land, and nations shall be torn apart and made anew at his touch. And it is he, who shall end the true Seihad.'" He opened his eyes again to stare at everyone. "Do you understand? The true Seihad! There is to be another Holy War!"
Then everyone fell silent as they looked at Takeru. The blond boy's eyes were still closed, and his face was impassive. "I…don't know what to say," he said honestly. "I certainly don't feel holy or anything."
Cody's eyes were as large as saucers. "But…what are you going to do? Now that you know? Now that…we all know…"
Takeru's voice was hesitant. "I guess…if there is nothing about what that person is to do exactly, then I must continue to live my life in the manner I see best. Continue my quest to Ishida in my own way."
"But the next Seihad…"
"There's nothing we can do about it, Cody," Kari said quietly. "We…all of us. We were born with these stands for a purpose. And we can't avoid that. It will come when it will, and nothing you or I do can delay it in the slightest. The Prophecies must be fulfilled…"
All eyes again turned to Takeru. Seeming not to notice their stares, Takeru was rubbing his brow. "I feel like a small man," he said in an uncertain voice, "suddenly asked to move an impossibly huge mountain. All by himself."
Then the silence grew even thicker. The candle flickered lightly on its stand as night fell completely, plunging everything outside the glow of light into utter darkness. Then Ken motioned at Micah, and the old man closed the book softly.
"It's a major revelation," the Ichijoujan Prince said. "You don't have to say anything just yet. We'll leave you alone to think about it." Nodding in agreement, Davis, Yolei, Cody and Micah stood up as well. Avoiding Takeru's gaze, they started for the tent flap.
Kari however, did not avoid Takeru's gaze. They looked at each other for a brief moment, then nodded to each other. They did not have to speak. The briefest touch of the other's mind was all the confirmation they needed. Without hesitation, Kari turned and took a deep breath.
"Wait."
Ken turned around. Kari was looking at each of them in turn, and the Ichijoujan Prince was suddenly struck by how clear they were. Clear and utterly understanding, full of timeless wisdom.
"Come with us," she pleaded simply.
Takeru closed his eyes, a small smile lingering on his face. Davis and Yolei exchanged glances. Cody gave Ken a puzzled glance. Ken himself stared at Kari incredulously. "Excuse me?"
Kari turned to look at Davis. "Davis," he said. "Your belief is that somewhere out there, there is a world where life is more valuable. And your dream is to change the world around you, and leave it a little better than you found it. In little ways perhaps, but little things make a large difference. Am I right?"
Davis looked at Yolei, then turned back and nodded firmly.
Kari turned and gazed at Ken. "Prince Ken," she said formally. "Your dream is to unite the people of your kingdom under one common banner. To rebuild your country to its former glory, a united front able to withstand any storm. Am I correct?"
Ken tilted his head, and nodded, a questioning look in his eyes.
The girl smiled. A small smile, but it was tinged with a warmth that touched everyone's hearts.
"Then come with us. Come with us to Ishida, and share in God's inheritance with Takeru and I. Help us move that mountain. The six fallen pillars of Gaea right? Come join our pilgrimage.
"Come with us, and change the world…"
Davis and Ken looked at one another, surprise flickering in their eyes. It was one thing to help a stranger through your own land. To uproot oneself, and go on a long, probably dangerous journey, was another altogether. And yet...
Davis and Yolei exchanged glances, and without saying a word, they nodded. Cody's face positively lit up with excitement as the brown-haired boy gave the girl a nod. "Who are we," he said as he stretched out his hands as he smiled, "to argue with fate?"
But Ken's answer was much more formal. A broad, boyish grin graced his face. "One month," he said, as he held up one finger. "Give me one month to tie up loose ends in my kingdom, and I would be honoured to accompany you two on your journey. All the way to Ishida, and to the ends of Earth if need be."
** Author's notes:
If you want more Christian fiction, Kari (aka Karissa) recently posted the prologue and first chapter to her fic "Spirit Sojourn". Unlike mine, it's set in modern times. A LONG time ago, I agreed to be her editor for that fic, so both the prologue and the first chapter have been edited by me. Go knock yourself out! It's good! And it's gonna be EPIC!
Between Kale, me, and Karissa, I'd say Christian fiction is making a significant appearance on ff.net!!!