HEARTBEAT OF THE WAR GOD
Chapter One: The Woman in the Dream
Yasha and Ashura had built a monument for the dead in a clearing in the forest not far from the old Zenmijou. It wasn't impressive; merely stones piled one atop the other to form a sort of cairn. When it was complete, with flags torn from their clothing flying in the stiff breeze, Ashura had collapsed in an anguish that knew no bounds.
For three days Ashura wept almost ceaselessly, and Yasha had begun to wonder if his loved one was going to die. But on the fourth day Ashura climbed to shaky feet, with a grim and thoughtful face. "Let us leave this place, Yasha. I never want to see it again!"
* * *
They took to the deep woods. Yasha hunted. Ashura would not kill and refused to eat meat, tall body growing even thinner, long hair dirty and disheveled, clothes worn down to rags. Yasha, too, grew leaner and hungrier, until the pair looked like two wolves, wandering through some exotic tropical landscape where they did not belong.
For the first few months, Ashura was prone to violent nightmares. Screams rang through the forest on starless nights. No words and no comfort of Yasha's could stop it. At last in desperation he made a murti of clay by the banks of a mighty river and prayed to the higher gods, in particular to Shiva, of whom Ashura was a manifestation. That night a crow came fluttering from nowhere to perch for a time on Ashura's shoulder.
The nightmares began to diminish after that and Time began to heal them, but very slowly. They found a clearing a yohana from a village where Yasha was able to trade furs and other forest goods for basic necessities. They built a shelter out of sticks and thatch. During the rainy season they huddled together under the dripping roof, wrapped in a rough but warm wool blanket. During the hot season they lay panting in the shade of the riverbank, on the lookout for crocodiles. And, during all this time, the Black Ashura made not one appearance.
Sometimes Yasha would let Ashura's hair loose, and made his companion cover those long ears and shadow those golden eyes with a hood, and they would steal together into the village on festival days to watch the dancing. Ashura had always had a great fondness for this peaceable art. Back in the forest, delicate feet began to trace patterns around the fire at night. Ashura was coming slowly alive again.
* * *
Yasha had gone to the village with a beautiful tiger-skin, and now he was bringing back jewelry and a long golden needle. When he strode tirelessly into camp, he noticed there was a small fire burning at the center of the clearing, though the evening was warm. Nearby, Ashura sat unselfconsciously naked on a mossy stone, long black hair loose and cascading gracefully down. Necklaces and glistening chains of gold sparked in the firelight like sun on water. An eerily smooth sculpture, Ashura seemed something out of another reality.
"Yasha!" Ashura sprang lightly down from the stone. In the next instant Yasha went sprawling, Ashura's arms around his neck.
Yasha grunted and sat up, distentangling himself from Ashura's arms and hair. "You are no child any longer, Ashura-- you are heavy!" His good eye glinted with mischief. "Perhaps you are getting fat?"
"Me-- Ashura-- fat?!" Ashura was horrified. Yasha chuckled. "I found these-- and this-- and a piercing needle just for Ashura. Look." He produced the jewelry from his leather belt pouch.
"Better than bamboo! Thank you, Yasha!" Ashura sat down in the leaves. "Will you put in my earring now?"
Yasha touched the delicate shell of Ashura's ear and hesitated.
"What's wrong?"
The question shamed him out of it. Ashura loved body ornaments and Yasha had been doing the occaisional piercing here and there for years now, but still.... Yasha sighed and pushed the needle through the ear. There was no blood and Ashura did not wince. Quickly Yasha threaded in the gold and amber earring. Ashura turned; the new ornament glinted in the firelight. "Does it look good?"
"You are the ornament of your ornaments," Yasha said, quite truthfully. "But-- yes, it becomes you."
Without another word Ashura smiled and rose and moved with flowing grace to dance around the fire to a music Yasha could not hear. It was a new thing, Ashura dancing this happily, and Yasha sat with his back to a tree and watched contentedly. If Ashura was happy, he was happy.
Ashura had become part of the fire, dancing with the flames in the Great Dance that only the gods knew, leaping and spinning, now taking the three exaggerated steps of Vishnu who had spanned the universe, now pirouetting once on a long leg, the other drawn up, one arm gracefully down, one outflung in the classic Dance of Shiva, surrounded by golden flames. Yasha wondered what the ancient clan-dances of Ashura's tribe had been like, before they had all been destroyed, and slowly he drifted into a waking dream where a hundred Ashuras danced, all in their own universes-- a hundred Ashuras, full males and females as his Ashura was not, all trailing gold and amber ornaments.
At last, when the fire was dying, Yasha shook himself from his reverie to find Ashura resting against his side under the tree. He pulled their shared blanket around the bare skin and Ashura smiled sleepily. "Did Yasha like the dance?"
"Yasha liked it very much," the warrior god said tenderly, appreciating that Ashura still used the endearing childlike love-language they had made their own in days gone by.
"If Yasha wants... I will dance every day." The golden eyes were drifting slowly closed. Yasha bent to kiss them in gentle blessing, then leaned back against the tree, shutting his good eye peacefully and settling down to sleep. If the rest of their existence could be so peaceful, he would think of them both as lucky.
* * *
The fire had long since died. The moon was full and setting. Yasha woke. Ashura still slept soundly beside him, but the contented look had disappeared. A low moan escaped the perfect mouth. It was another nightmare-- and after such a beautiful evening, Yasha thought regretfully. He leaned over Ashura, whispering into the other's ear until the whimpering stopped and his loved one sank into deeper sleep. Satisfied, Yasha dozed off. But soon after, Yasha was woken a second time by Ashura crying out sharply. Gently he shook Ashura awake. Tears spilled from the golden eyes. "I saw a woman. She was coming toward us, but she only looked at you. She only talked to you. And she said-- 'Why are you still dragging around that wretched Ashura?'
"She said she was a maid from Tentei Tenou's court. Tenou-- my own brother had sent for you but not for me! Then she said again, why didn't you discard the cursed one, that you would get no children on such a one--"
"Dismiss it, Ashura."
"But it was so real! I... I can still see her...
"Why...? Why must I be so useless? Why am I not like her? I would... I would... There was a temple in the forest, a long time ago... Do you remember that?"
Yasha touched the delicate chin, raising Ashura's head so the golden eyes met his fully, clearing slightly under his steady gaze. "Ashura. We have spoken of this before. You do not need to be thinking things like these. You owe me nothing like that, and even if you did, I would not touch you, for I would hurt you."
Ashura was talking about a forest hideout they had used on their long journey to defeat Taishaku-ten two thousand years before. The ancient building had been intricately carved with hundreds of figures engaged in activities as imaginative as they were erotic. Ashura had been spellbound. Ryuu-ou had noticed Ashura's fascination and thought it humorous, even though Ashura had seen him surreptitiously casting his own glances at the same artwork, ancient but timeless. Ryuu hadn't meant to be cruel. Ashura had wandered around the whole temple, even climbing one side and disturbing a nest of snakes, but had never found a single figure like Ashura. Ryuu had finally just said, kindly, that Ashura was a very rare kind of person.
Ryuu-ou... Ryuu had died on Shurato's blade. The playful temple images receded, washed out by a sheet of blood and a tremor of pure horror. "Ryuu... RYUU! No..."
Yasha knew from experience that the rest of the night was going to be difficult. The nightmares had never fully ceased. He lay Yamato on the blanket and stretched out along its length. He knew better than to try and stop or stifle Ashura's traumatized reaction in any way. Ryuu-ou had been a good and faithful friend, playmate, and protector, second only to Yasha, and Black Ashura had run him through without mercy or thought. Yasha doubted if Ashura would ever recover from it. All he could do was to be there. He lay still, listening to Ashura's gut-wrenching sobs, resisting the instinct to "hush, hush..." Wondering who the woman in the dream really might be, and if it was just another of Ashura's nightmares, or a true sending.
After awhile he spoke very softly. "Ashura."
"Y- Yasha?"
"If you were ever to kill me, I would understand and forgive you. Remember that. Just the same, Ryuu-ou loved you very much. He knows that you were not yourself. He knows it was not the Ashura he loves who killed him... You said he smiled at you."
"Ryuu--!" Ashura raised a tear-streaked face to the pale sky.
"Ashura. Tell Ryuu with all your heart how sorry you are and he will hear you. There are many heavens and he has gone on to the next, but he will hear you if you speak from the heart."
"Do-- do you think-- we will meet again?"
"I don't know. But I do know Ryuu can hear you, always." Yasha sighed a deep sigh, reaching for Ashura's hand. "We will leave this place soon. It is the jungle. It harbors ruins. It reminds you of that temple, and of Ryuu."
"I don't want to leave."
"There is somewhere far away I would like to go."
"If we go North, Yasha, I will be cold."
Yasha moved to hold his companion close, pulling the fallen blanket back over Ashura's pale skin. "I will keep you warm."
Chapter One: The Woman in the Dream
Yasha and Ashura had built a monument for the dead in a clearing in the forest not far from the old Zenmijou. It wasn't impressive; merely stones piled one atop the other to form a sort of cairn. When it was complete, with flags torn from their clothing flying in the stiff breeze, Ashura had collapsed in an anguish that knew no bounds.
For three days Ashura wept almost ceaselessly, and Yasha had begun to wonder if his loved one was going to die. But on the fourth day Ashura climbed to shaky feet, with a grim and thoughtful face. "Let us leave this place, Yasha. I never want to see it again!"
* * *
They took to the deep woods. Yasha hunted. Ashura would not kill and refused to eat meat, tall body growing even thinner, long hair dirty and disheveled, clothes worn down to rags. Yasha, too, grew leaner and hungrier, until the pair looked like two wolves, wandering through some exotic tropical landscape where they did not belong.
For the first few months, Ashura was prone to violent nightmares. Screams rang through the forest on starless nights. No words and no comfort of Yasha's could stop it. At last in desperation he made a murti of clay by the banks of a mighty river and prayed to the higher gods, in particular to Shiva, of whom Ashura was a manifestation. That night a crow came fluttering from nowhere to perch for a time on Ashura's shoulder.
The nightmares began to diminish after that and Time began to heal them, but very slowly. They found a clearing a yohana from a village where Yasha was able to trade furs and other forest goods for basic necessities. They built a shelter out of sticks and thatch. During the rainy season they huddled together under the dripping roof, wrapped in a rough but warm wool blanket. During the hot season they lay panting in the shade of the riverbank, on the lookout for crocodiles. And, during all this time, the Black Ashura made not one appearance.
Sometimes Yasha would let Ashura's hair loose, and made his companion cover those long ears and shadow those golden eyes with a hood, and they would steal together into the village on festival days to watch the dancing. Ashura had always had a great fondness for this peaceable art. Back in the forest, delicate feet began to trace patterns around the fire at night. Ashura was coming slowly alive again.
* * *
Yasha had gone to the village with a beautiful tiger-skin, and now he was bringing back jewelry and a long golden needle. When he strode tirelessly into camp, he noticed there was a small fire burning at the center of the clearing, though the evening was warm. Nearby, Ashura sat unselfconsciously naked on a mossy stone, long black hair loose and cascading gracefully down. Necklaces and glistening chains of gold sparked in the firelight like sun on water. An eerily smooth sculpture, Ashura seemed something out of another reality.
"Yasha!" Ashura sprang lightly down from the stone. In the next instant Yasha went sprawling, Ashura's arms around his neck.
Yasha grunted and sat up, distentangling himself from Ashura's arms and hair. "You are no child any longer, Ashura-- you are heavy!" His good eye glinted with mischief. "Perhaps you are getting fat?"
"Me-- Ashura-- fat?!" Ashura was horrified. Yasha chuckled. "I found these-- and this-- and a piercing needle just for Ashura. Look." He produced the jewelry from his leather belt pouch.
"Better than bamboo! Thank you, Yasha!" Ashura sat down in the leaves. "Will you put in my earring now?"
Yasha touched the delicate shell of Ashura's ear and hesitated.
"What's wrong?"
The question shamed him out of it. Ashura loved body ornaments and Yasha had been doing the occaisional piercing here and there for years now, but still.... Yasha sighed and pushed the needle through the ear. There was no blood and Ashura did not wince. Quickly Yasha threaded in the gold and amber earring. Ashura turned; the new ornament glinted in the firelight. "Does it look good?"
"You are the ornament of your ornaments," Yasha said, quite truthfully. "But-- yes, it becomes you."
Without another word Ashura smiled and rose and moved with flowing grace to dance around the fire to a music Yasha could not hear. It was a new thing, Ashura dancing this happily, and Yasha sat with his back to a tree and watched contentedly. If Ashura was happy, he was happy.
Ashura had become part of the fire, dancing with the flames in the Great Dance that only the gods knew, leaping and spinning, now taking the three exaggerated steps of Vishnu who had spanned the universe, now pirouetting once on a long leg, the other drawn up, one arm gracefully down, one outflung in the classic Dance of Shiva, surrounded by golden flames. Yasha wondered what the ancient clan-dances of Ashura's tribe had been like, before they had all been destroyed, and slowly he drifted into a waking dream where a hundred Ashuras danced, all in their own universes-- a hundred Ashuras, full males and females as his Ashura was not, all trailing gold and amber ornaments.
At last, when the fire was dying, Yasha shook himself from his reverie to find Ashura resting against his side under the tree. He pulled their shared blanket around the bare skin and Ashura smiled sleepily. "Did Yasha like the dance?"
"Yasha liked it very much," the warrior god said tenderly, appreciating that Ashura still used the endearing childlike love-language they had made their own in days gone by.
"If Yasha wants... I will dance every day." The golden eyes were drifting slowly closed. Yasha bent to kiss them in gentle blessing, then leaned back against the tree, shutting his good eye peacefully and settling down to sleep. If the rest of their existence could be so peaceful, he would think of them both as lucky.
* * *
The fire had long since died. The moon was full and setting. Yasha woke. Ashura still slept soundly beside him, but the contented look had disappeared. A low moan escaped the perfect mouth. It was another nightmare-- and after such a beautiful evening, Yasha thought regretfully. He leaned over Ashura, whispering into the other's ear until the whimpering stopped and his loved one sank into deeper sleep. Satisfied, Yasha dozed off. But soon after, Yasha was woken a second time by Ashura crying out sharply. Gently he shook Ashura awake. Tears spilled from the golden eyes. "I saw a woman. She was coming toward us, but she only looked at you. She only talked to you. And she said-- 'Why are you still dragging around that wretched Ashura?'
"She said she was a maid from Tentei Tenou's court. Tenou-- my own brother had sent for you but not for me! Then she said again, why didn't you discard the cursed one, that you would get no children on such a one--"
"Dismiss it, Ashura."
"But it was so real! I... I can still see her...
"Why...? Why must I be so useless? Why am I not like her? I would... I would... There was a temple in the forest, a long time ago... Do you remember that?"
Yasha touched the delicate chin, raising Ashura's head so the golden eyes met his fully, clearing slightly under his steady gaze. "Ashura. We have spoken of this before. You do not need to be thinking things like these. You owe me nothing like that, and even if you did, I would not touch you, for I would hurt you."
Ashura was talking about a forest hideout they had used on their long journey to defeat Taishaku-ten two thousand years before. The ancient building had been intricately carved with hundreds of figures engaged in activities as imaginative as they were erotic. Ashura had been spellbound. Ryuu-ou had noticed Ashura's fascination and thought it humorous, even though Ashura had seen him surreptitiously casting his own glances at the same artwork, ancient but timeless. Ryuu hadn't meant to be cruel. Ashura had wandered around the whole temple, even climbing one side and disturbing a nest of snakes, but had never found a single figure like Ashura. Ryuu had finally just said, kindly, that Ashura was a very rare kind of person.
Ryuu-ou... Ryuu had died on Shurato's blade. The playful temple images receded, washed out by a sheet of blood and a tremor of pure horror. "Ryuu... RYUU! No..."
Yasha knew from experience that the rest of the night was going to be difficult. The nightmares had never fully ceased. He lay Yamato on the blanket and stretched out along its length. He knew better than to try and stop or stifle Ashura's traumatized reaction in any way. Ryuu-ou had been a good and faithful friend, playmate, and protector, second only to Yasha, and Black Ashura had run him through without mercy or thought. Yasha doubted if Ashura would ever recover from it. All he could do was to be there. He lay still, listening to Ashura's gut-wrenching sobs, resisting the instinct to "hush, hush..." Wondering who the woman in the dream really might be, and if it was just another of Ashura's nightmares, or a true sending.
After awhile he spoke very softly. "Ashura."
"Y- Yasha?"
"If you were ever to kill me, I would understand and forgive you. Remember that. Just the same, Ryuu-ou loved you very much. He knows that you were not yourself. He knows it was not the Ashura he loves who killed him... You said he smiled at you."
"Ryuu--!" Ashura raised a tear-streaked face to the pale sky.
"Ashura. Tell Ryuu with all your heart how sorry you are and he will hear you. There are many heavens and he has gone on to the next, but he will hear you if you speak from the heart."
"Do-- do you think-- we will meet again?"
"I don't know. But I do know Ryuu can hear you, always." Yasha sighed a deep sigh, reaching for Ashura's hand. "We will leave this place soon. It is the jungle. It harbors ruins. It reminds you of that temple, and of Ryuu."
"I don't want to leave."
"There is somewhere far away I would like to go."
"If we go North, Yasha, I will be cold."
Yasha moved to hold his companion close, pulling the fallen blanket back over Ashura's pale skin. "I will keep you warm."