The Disease that Killed Love

Chapter 18-Eriol

I guess the fact that Syaoran was helping Sakura out of all people shows that there was still a kind of bond between them, if not strong. Because Sakura, frankly, did not sit right next to Syaoran.

We played the games until late in the evening. We all needed it. Syaoran did not show any signs of mourning for his family, perhaps because he met them once, but since he hardly goes to the world anymore I'm guessing he should miss her. He didn't give any sign, though. Sakura and Touya were severely stressed out because of worrying over Syaoran. I still remember the day when Touya nearly fell off the tree. Touya and Syaoran, as he told you, had parted with hard feelings. Those were forgotten. Now, Touya was as caring as Yue was, perhaps because of Yukito, perhaps because of Sakura, perhaps because of Syaoran. I never asked him. Yue suffered greatly as well, worrying over Syaoran's health. I had to look for magicians and sorcerors, Nakuru had to help me, Kero as well, and Tomoyo sometimes came over to offer her help and support. The only lazy one of the group, perhaps, was Spinel, but one can't blame him. He's a cat, after all.

We played until late in the evening. After Chinese Poker, came Blackjack, then Split, which served to be quite boring. So we played Slam instead.

There was an air of quiet around Yukito, although he still chatted merrily. I remember the night very clearly. It was one of the few nights that we had finally relaxed, but not enough not to worry.

The cards went down as if they were flashing. King from Sakura. My turn. Four, five, jack. Ace from Nakuru. Seven, Nine, two, queen, from Yukito. Two, three. The cards go to Yukito. And then, there came murmurings. Syaoran complained of a headache, because he couldn't sleep at night.

I wasn't really concerned about this. I didn't know why. We went on playing Slam. Ace from Yukito. Queen from Kero. Seven, two from Syaoran. Five, six, six from me, and wham! We all slammed onto the cards. Yukito got the pack. And all the while we heard Syaoran moan, and we didn't see him drop out of the game, surrendering his cards. We did not want this night to end. To have fun. And then we had too much. Slam provided no room for talk. And then when finally, Sakura got all the decks, we turned around to laugh at Syaoran, and realized he was gone.



Wang badan! As Chinese say, if they had been as frightened as we. Syaoran was no fool, though. He had realized he could not stay, and so did not. He fell asleep on the couch, despite Sakura's screams and Tomoyo's squeals. We found him stretched out, a pitiful figure.

Yukito gently lifted him, and Syaoran was in such a deep sleep he did not wake up. Silently, we watched him carry his child up the stairs. He disappeared as it turned.

There was an eerie quiet. The cards were forgotten.
" He's still ill." Nakuru said softly. " No matter how we turn away. The truth lays bare."


Poor poor Yue. Clow Reed had never introduced him to many sorcerors, and now, he's dependent on us, much to his resentment. But there was nothing he could do. Sakura was too young to know many, so she wasn't much help either. Nakuru and I were alone on this one, since the cat does nothing but read.

I didn't know how to start, really. Clow was a famous sorceror, and although not all events were connected to him, he did know a lot of people. The problem is, if their reincarnations are still here, whether they still have magic, and do they know me or not.

Kaho could handle those in Europe, was my first thought. What about the Americas? Some may have gone to America. The US, no doubt, would be quite a satisfying choice. For those who know how to speak English, that is. And perhaps people might want to visit Russia. No, not these days. China? Of course! But where? China and Russia are the two giants of Asia. How can one find someone in so many square miles of land? But what must be done must be done. I wrote a letter to Kaho-san, and tried to remember anyone who might have been alive and lived somewhere outside of Europe.

Then I remembered Yelan. What if she knew someone?



" You want to read her diary?" Syaoran looked at me in disbelief. " How did you know that she kept one, and that I have it?"
" I just knew." I said lamely. " Onegai, Syaoran-kun. I don't mean to look into any of her private life, I just want to know if there were any sorcerors out there that might help us."
" Might?" Syaoran said blankly, than blinked. " I'm not sure what you're planning to do, Eriol." He went and looked through the drawers.
" Hai hai, I know. You could probably try that idea of yours, but I'm warning you. Each choice has consequences."
" I have to plan to be immortal."
" Than what do you plan? To die right this minute? Listen," I bent down next to him. " Don't go around thinking that Sakura's the one that we care about most, and everyone else is just here for her. You're here for some reason which none of us know. To love her, maybe?"

Syaoran shot me a glare. " And what is that suppose to mean?"
" Nothing." I answered. " But what I am saying is, you mean a lot to all of us, believe it or not."
He surprised me by laughing.
" What irony!" He cried. He stopped his search. " And what is there about me that you all care so much?" He gave me this queer look. " You know Eriol," He began. " I'm not like anyone else. I'm an outsider. None of you understand who I am."
" Nonetheless," I replied carefully, " We wish to save you."
" What is there to save?" Syaoran asked me quietly, softly, still that queer light in his eyes. " Do you really think I'm so afraid of death, Eriol?"

He looked down and was silent for a moment. I started to speak, but he broke in.
" For someone who has been dead, and remembers it," He began, " Life is so heavy. The whole world weighs upon your shoulders, your head, your legs, your very being, pinning you to the ground. Death is like...like flying." He lifted his head to look at me. " In my dreams, I use to fly." Syaoran tilted his head, his eyes lowering in memory. " I glided wherever the wind took me. Of course, it was too absurd to try it outside in the real world. I flew and flew, and there was no strain of beating wings, muscles aching, tiredness. I was simply flying. No need of magic. That's what death is like. Like sleeping, yet awake to see all that's about you, feel the wind under your arms and yet never tire, because you fly with no effort on your part; the wind does it all. And then you come to this world and realize, my god, it isn't like it at all. Yet this is the best world." He nodded. " The best of all worlds. It can't get any better. And then you see everything. You become afraid to love." He added quietly.
" Why are you afraid?" I asked, thinking this is a strong link to his relationship with Sakura.
" They say that men are like children. Fickle and restless. They love what they cannot have, and once they get it, they leave it behind." Syaoran's eyes looked tired. " It's actually true for all people. More so for men, though." He gave this weird chuckle. " What do you think would happen if I loved Sakura and she loved me back?"

I remained silent.

" She'll realize that she can't stay with me. I'm too different. I'm not part of the group, you know. I stand taller, more distant. My powers, my magic. They're battling each other. My powers are weak. I am useless. The disease makes me tired. She'll weary. We'll both die restless. She'll see what a pitiful figure I am, and realize, I'm not the one for her. She'll go off," By now he was almost foretelling. " Find a stronger one, to lean on, to love and be loved. She'll be heartbroken, seeing I'm too tired to love. She'll look around and see how many friends she had, and look at me, a solitary soul. She'll laugh and leave. I'll sigh and die, she'll come and I'm already gone.
But we're getting off the topic here." Syaoran said abruptly. " If you want to read the diary, have it. Don't go reading it too intently, mind you. If you do, I'll have your head. You may have a piano, but I have a cello. And being hit by a cello is not painless."



That night, I opened the book, flipping to whatever page she had, and on it, with poor grammar of Japanese and wonderful grammar of Chinese, she had written with good script,

I didn't know if I really deserved it, but Syaoran forgave me. He didn't come to my room and say so, but there are connections between the mother and child that perhaps no scientist can understand...

Remembering Syaoran's words, I did not read all of it. There was much, much more to it. Not that I was afraid of being wacked on by a cello, I was just respectin Yelan and Syaoran's privacy.

Junxiu, Guofeng, Zishi, I thought. They sound awfully familiar. Perhaps I can write to the Li clan.

Of course, I could always use a telephone, or in British, wireless. But that costs money, especially long distance. So there!



Nakuru remained silent all the time we had been home. The only time she had spoken was at the night of poker, as we called it, or at Yukito's house. She seemed to lose most of her energy and hype. I worry about her sometimes.

That night, when I went to bed, I had a strange dream. It was no longer my power to dream prophetic dreams, yet it seemed so real that night. I dreamed that I had sat in a couch somehow, and then there was a ringing of a doorbell. I opened the door. Outside there came a large flash, and several moments later a huge crack in the sky that left the house shaking. I opened the door. And outside was Syaoran, Jingxi, Syaoran, clothed in that wretched robe of his that had hid the color of his blood for so long. He stumbled in, his hair and clothes wet, grabbing onto me. He was crying, sobbing like a poor child that he was. There came a dimming of lights, a low fire broke through the empty void, and I saw Syaoran again, his skin white as snow, his eyes like glowing lamps, filled with amber coated gold. He wore robes of white silk, everything was white and silver. A cloth of pure white was tied around his head, making him look surprisingly girlish because he was so thin. He stared at me, raising his hand, and the hand, white as it was, was coated with pink blood, the pink of a delicate rose. But the blood did not come from his hand. For at his heart, there was a darkening spot amongst the whiteness.
" Syaoli." I called. He spoke nothing, simply stared at me.
" Syaoran. It is me. Tell me what is happening," I tried to ask as gently as I could.
" Blood from the heart," Syaoran's voice sounded eerie and unearthly. " Giveth life to all. But from it draineth death. And the hand that bringeth forth the blood, is the one that murdered, no other."
" Hai," I had said slowly.
" Then why do you hateth, Eriol-san?" Syaoran's expression turned from blankness to sorrow. " What have I doneth to have you hate?"

In stepped Sakura, also dressed in pure white. Her skin was the color of snow, her hair a shade of gray. Her eyes were filled with darkness, empty voids. There was also a white cloth tied around her head.
" Li Jingxi..." She whispered. " Eriol-kun. Avenge...revenge, vengeance..." She faded away.
" What is going on?" I had asked, a little bit nervous.
Syaoran then dropped to his knees and started sobbing, sobbing all his tears, and the blank darkness began to shimmer with every tear that poured out of his eyes. I rushed to him, I ran, wanting to comfort, wanting to hold, but for some reason I could not reach him. He drifted further and further away, in his deathly whiteness.

I woke up remembering what the colors meant. Sakura, dressed in white. Syaoran, dressed in white. The black void. The cloth around their heads.

In China, the color of white means many things. One of which is death.