The Trickster: Part Two
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He was revered as a god once, worshipped by those he had ruled over and toyed with in complicated games none but he could be victor over, and in spite of the centuries kept tied in exile, with their grounding emptiness to humiliate his ego, he felt the basic desire for mortal worship. He was a demon and he was a god, a creature meant to hunt lesser beings for his convenience and pleasure, and now he had naught to give him the terror and honor so flattering and loved in the glorious past. It drove him to base deceptions, foolish games used on his feeble-minded siblings to gloat over his mental supremacy before the eldest would punish him, striking him away for a moment of shame. Those were the most mortifying of times, when he had been reduced to the level of Brother Shendu, the failed sibling who was in eternal punishment, and he would retreat to sulk and lick his wounds.
The endless sky was all that saved him from the infinite boredom that routinely threatened to drive his dignity from him, a state of idiocy that would lead him to torment his siblings just a bit too often and would result in his flighty retreat. Hsi Wu knew he was a fool, but he was never an imbecile nor was he ever close to a mindlessness root to supreme folly, and she had not yet driven him insane enough to attempt such a thing for escape from the regular gnashing of simple existence. He would fly for hours, days of the time that was irrelevant to him, had always been irrelevant to him, soaring with arched wings through still air that needed not the pumping of wings for the drafts were a constant underlying vein system though the air did not move. This was how he shoved past the childish things he seemed prone to doing.
She was a human, he was a god-demon, and by all accounts, by all the ancient rituals that were once code for every living being under the power of his family, she ought to worship him, revere and fear him as all other humans had done so; he was not accustomed to companionship or mockery with himself at the receiving end. How could she ever be so bold? Had he not only known her for the span of a few pitiful days? Yet somehow she had determined it was her duty to tease and ridicule him as though he of all creatures was her friend. As if, in some realm of her incomprehensible mortal mind, she assumed he cared little about her brash transgressions, as though she did not notice she was a female.
As if they were, preposterous though the mere thought was, equals in spite of species, gender, and sheer power. Friends, allies, whatever moronic word he could think of when he hunched over in the rocks and chipped at the stone with claws to create small pieces of flat circular rock to be used in games of go with Brother Xiao Fung, even as the Wind Demon was the least patient of them all. So it seemed often enough, though he was sure many of their siblings could fight for the position, and he only played because he needed to trick and lie in something.
He had to admit amongst feelings of loathing and reluctant dislike, Jade was not of the element sky; she was not his domain, no matter how his hatred and affection declared it so. She smelled of earth, had always smelled of the loam that grew soft and husky in rain, and she was not weak or feminine as women had once been forced into being. She was strong and crafty, but not crafty in the way that Viper thief was: Jade's craftiness resided in her ability to love those she manipulated.
When he was unable to see past the resentment clouding his mind with a thick, confusing disgust after many trickles of time watching her, he found it amusing to watch the Viper in her dealings with that damned archeologist. She was a trickster, too, but her skill in the craft was prone to floundering, especially when she was faced with the boyish innocence of Jackie Chan, and he laughed loudly watching their interactions. Neither was able to see past the facades they had erected, stuck in a sticky trap they had created themselves years before when an uneasy friendship was all they could share.
Sometimes he could not watch them either, for it struck some unnamed chord of unsettled recognition in his mind or body, and inevitably he would soar back into the streaking sky to find his family, engaging random demons in games of go and ridiculing one into a blind rage. He was not like them in any way.
Always she grew older, from eight years to twelve, then to fifteen, as he recognized slowly she was praying for his salvation.
He had no need for salvation.
The creeping seconds of dripping sand that was the time she dwelt in amidst the shadowed hollows of her own reality were oft spent glaring at her, watching and waiting carefully for the undoubtedly sinister motive she had in mind to be revealed in slumber or speech. Never once did he manage to catch her tongue traipsing about what it was she meant or wanted, and a growing fury began to bubble in his chest, threatening to make him into a mindless fool like Sister Po Kong or a temperamental headstrong creature such as Brother Tchang Zu; he caught himself once and narrowed his blood-tainted eyes thoughtfully, wondering that perhaps if he gave in to the murderous instinct tapping his mind, he would only be weakening his abilities to her own pathetic mortal level. It was a farfetched thought, an absurdly laughable one at that, to even consider it was her intent all along to drive him insane, for there was no way she could know he was watching. He had stumbled many times as of late, but he was still far from the absolute irresponsibility that would lead to the exposure of his presence. Matters such as that he would leave to Brother Xiao Fung.
Even so, what exactly did she pray for? It was difficult at night to hear, even with his honed sense of sound perception, through the protective mist she would raise with an annoyed sigh and a muttered apology to her beloved elder, the never truly named Uncle, raising into existence a barrier that made it, if not impossible, harder to tell what she said. He was swift in mind as well as in wing and speech, cocking his head to one side and listening carefully for the broken, muffled syllables as he tried to read lips, a talent he had not been able to pick up yet in the English, and Hsi Wu knew demons were tricky things by personal knowledge. Condemning a demon was an easy enough matter, with breezy effort and simple tools if one could manage to get the demon into precarious a situation it could not flee from, but salvation for a demon?
That was always a bit trickier, and there was always an accompanying price. No one prayed for a demon, unless they had no mind or sanity or anything left but their life, and those who did wanted something: power, prestige, copious amounts of money, and the like. Even, if he remembered correctly and he always did, Shadow Khan had been asked for once. He had particularly liked the bloody end Brother Shendu had given the man, all coursing blood and agonized screams, and he still held a sort of admiration for his draconic brother's skills in the crimson arts in spite of his present follies.
Jade was not the type to wish for foolish things, though he would not put it past her to try something remarkably thoughtless; but why would she pray for him of all creatures? Why not Brother Tchang Zu, who rode the lightning with skill unsurpassed? What of Sister Bai Tsa, his elder by naught but a few centuries, or Brother Tso Lan, who was cold and merciless? Oh, he had forgotten for a moment: summoning and saving were two quite different things.
A loathing was ever present with the fury, that she would dare equal herself to him all those outer years ago, a loathing intermingled with the knowledge that she was praying to save a soul he did not have, daring to think he wanted her help. He did not need her help!
Once he was a god of the skies, an embodiment of Ch'ien, unstopped and unchained, and how he had sunk if his only route to freedom lay in the blind words of a mortal child!
"I am a god!" he snarled in the rocks that bound him in the cavernous trails deep within the stony darkness, clawing at the rocks and crying a noisy shriek of animalistic rage. "I am a god!" Damn Jade to hell, were he still in the mortal realm, he would not let this trespass free.
He had no need for salvation!
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Notes: I am so very sorry this is as short and late in coming - I haven't been able to write on my computer (where it's stored) for a while now, what with northern Mississippi being under near constant tornado/severe thunderstorm watch. The weather is supposed to be clearing soon, so I'll be able to write more without fear of electrocution or other nastiness, and I can promise the next part will be a good seven pages (which is a great deal coming from me). *doffs hat* Ah, and I've finally got a blog! Ee! Now I can post insane ramblings about my perceptions on the characters from 'Jackie Chan Adventures.'
Feedback: Ah! Please? *cute look*
Disclaimer: Is this where I beg for Jackie Chan's forgiveness?
Status: Coming soon - a plot!
Thanks: Tajeri Lynn, Extremo Luchadore, ew! Well...at least I learned a new word. Many thanks! I've never really written anything remotely creepy before, so that really does mean a lot. VampireNaomi, see? I mentioned Xiao Fung! *points up* The whole tricksters thing is obviously of some importance to the fic (as if the title didn't give it away...-.-; Urf--). nike shizu, I'm very glad you liked it. I love sap and melodrama, but for some reason I find myself writing it less and less. Ah! You picked up on the psychology! I love psychology oodles and oodles... Spleef, whose character bios saved my butt when it came to spelling. Oh, and for accepting my submission...*sheepish look* I love your site!