Chapter Four
Yaone's head ached the way it always did after overindulgence. It was the same feeling of the eyes being over-dry, the skin pulled tight over the forehead so that every brush of air rasped against her face and found nerves where none should exist, light too bright, noise too loud, the air too thick, and oppression hanging like a wave above her and about to break.
She would have dosed herself with something, normally -- willowbark, or any of half a dozen other things -- but that substance Nii had given her would still be in her body. Imagination twitched itself to supply a dozen images of reaction and counter-reaction, then twitched away again.
Kougaiji was attending the Empress' morning court; therefore, she and Dokugakuji must attend as well.
Gyokumen Koushu enjoyed receiving petitioners. Her lips would part as she smiled in slow glorious acknowledgement as they would prostrate themselves before her high throne. Her silks trailed in luxurious waste, thick and glossy on the obsidian floor, and her skin glowed like jade where her robe fell casually open. She would delay as she tasted every word of judgement, eyes bright as jewels in the exercise of power.
Petty, Yaone thought, and was surprised at herself. She was used to thinking many things of Gyokumen Koushu, and none of them were kind, but pettiness was not a vice which she usually troubled to ascribe to the woman. A magnificent figure of sorts, couched in her own debaucheries, proud and delighted in her malice, but --
Yaone's head spun. This exercise of power was a microcosm of what Gyokumen Koushu wanted to do the world outside. Put her foot on it and make it squirm. And here the woman sat, enjoying the same thing in miniature, and if this was petty, then that was petty, and all of it so small a thing compared to real power . . .
A girl child knelt beside the throne, holding a bowl of grapes. From time to time Gyokumen would feed her one, offhand and casual, her long nails brushing against the girl's lips.
Petty . . .
"Who's that one over there?" Doku murmured, just loud enough to catch her attention. His eyes flicked towards where a strange youkai leaned against a pillar, slightly apart from the nearby group of courtiers. His torn coat hung from his shoulders, linked across his bare chest by thin chains, and his face was all casual condescension. "Looks new."
"He is new," Yaone replied, just as quiet. Their voices were lost in the background whispering of obserers, a rippling thread of noise that only fell fully silent when the Empress chose to speak. "He must be an emissary, or in someone's service."
"Think so?"
"Nobody's trying to court his attention. Either he's too dangerous or he's not important enough."
"Mnh."
Kougaiji stood in front of them, as he should do, back turned to them, eyes on Gyokumen. He could have been jade and bronze for all the animation in his face, all the light in his eyes. Before, when he had attended court, he had been just as calm, but there had been a banked fire smouldering, a presence awake and aware behind those dark eyes. He had been silent through courtesy, or through concern for his mother, or because he had nothing to say; but at least he had been there as he was not now.
"Any news about Lirin?" Doku asked casually.
The question startled Yaone, and she turned slightly to look at him. Something pulsed in her head, veins throbbing along her forehead, eyes aching.
He shrugged. "I figured it out. That's why you're watching the labs. Sensible. You might understand what's going on there. I wouldn't. But . . ." He hesitated, and Yaone could hear the words behind his silence. You could have told me. You should have told me. Why didn't you tell me?
"I wasn't sure," she said carefully. "I didn't want to risk . . ." The pain in his eyes cut her off. And I'm still risking, and I'm still not telling. "Dokugakuji, it's not that I --"
"Then what is it?" he asked bluntly.
Sheer desperation made her ball her hands into tight fists. "Don't be like that. You know perfectly well that you'd want to keep me out of danger. Where do you go at night?" The twitch in one cheek told her that she'd hit home. "What do you do that you aren't telling me about? What are you doing that you'd prefer to keep your "little sister" out of?"
"Am I like that?" Dokugakuji asked slowly.
Anger drained out of her like water. "We both are."
His mouth twitched, and his face became gentle again. Normal. Vulnerable. "Fine pair we are."
"We are."
And if you don't tell him now, you'll never tell him.
"I'm trying something," she said through dry lips. "I don't know whether or not it will work. Dokugakuji, forgive me if --"
He reached across to touch her shoulder, hand warm through the thin silk of her jacket. "There's nothing to forgive," he said, an odd desolate calmness in his eyes. "You try. I try. We both try. You hit me once, remember? To remind me of who I was and where I was and what needed doing. And if the time comes, then I'll do the same for you." He nodded towards Kougaiji. "We both know who we serve."
Yaone nodded. "Yes. We do. I depend on you."
"Everyone does." He squeezed her shoulder, then released it. "Big brother to the universe, that's me . . ."
"Except his own, mm?" Nii was standing two paces to the other side of her, holding his stupid doll like a child in his arms. He tilted its head so that it stared up at her, smiling blankly. "Don't you think?"
Dokugakuji made no answer. Yaone turned to look at him. He stood there in the sudden silence that washed over the room, unmoving, eyes on her but as empty as agate, as calm as a sleeper. On her throne, Gyokumen Koushu was poised like a statue, hand raised and mouth curved in a smile. The courtiers and bystanders -- even Kougaiji-sama -- were still, silent, quiet as death.
I stopped dreaming. I stopped dreaming. Didn't I?
"What are you?" she asked.
Nii smiled. "I'm a ghost, you know --"
"No. What are you?" Her fingers tightened. So easy to pull her spear from nothingness, ram it through him like in the dream, pull herself out of this nightmare through his flesh and blood.
"You'd do better to ask a relevant question, wouldn't you?" A knowing smile from him, that somehow shared a confidence, a private confession of foulness. "Something to do with what you wanted? Or have you changed your mind?"
"Nothing's changed."
His eyes mocked her. "Hasn't it?"
"I want my Kougaiji-sama restored. That hasn't changed."
"Oh? Not even after you felt him in the flesh . . ." Her face must have shown something, because he chuckled. "Mm -- so what do you think I did to him? Your own words?"
"You changed him," Yaone said carefully, her lips numb with anger. The previous night had been an attempt to shake her, then, to make her doubt her purposes. She wouldn't be daunted that simply. "You made him something he isn't."
"Oh no no no." Nii shook his head. "I thought you were doing better than that. I made him someone he could be. Took away all those awkward bits -- anh? You don't think so?"
"No." Gyumaoh's son. What else should he be? But Rasetsunyo's child as well. "They're not awkward bits. They're part of who Kougaiji-sama is!"
"Ahhh." He let the syllable draw itself out, watching her. When she didn't reply, he turned to the bunny doll again, twitching it between his hands. "She doesn't think that her Kougaiji-sama would kill innocents. Fancy that."
"He wouldn't," she said flatly.
"Mm -- so Sanzou-houshi-sama and his three mignons aren't innocents? No? No, perhaps not. But what about anyone else? Do you think that if his mother was at risk, he'd think twice?"
Yaone remembered the look in Kougajii's eyes, the look that was always there when he spoke of his mother, when he looked at her frozen form, caught out of time in that pillar of stone, and for a moment she had no answer.
"Is that what you want?" Nii reached out and brushed one finger against the marking on her arm. His flesh was fever hot. "Is that who you want to be?"
"Don't touch me," she answered, the words sharp and harsh.
"He's never going to . . ."
"Let me inform you that I do not care whether he does or doesn't," she broke in before he could finish, not wanting to hear those words in his mouth. "I don't care who he goes to. I don't care if he goes to Dokugakuji. I don't care who he wants or what he wants. I want him to be able to choose what he wants."
Nii withdrew his hand, and stroked along one of the bunny's ears. "My, my. How disinvolved. Don't you think?"
"That is not what I'd call it," she said bitterly.
"Oh come now, I wasn't talking to you. But who is he now, mm? Much happier. Don't you want him to be happy?"
She looked towards the unmoving Kougaiji. "He isn't happy. He isn't anything."
"Much better -- no? Not as if one can make people happy, anyhow. You absolutely bathe yourself in blood for them, and what do they do then? Take the knife out of your hands and, well, that comes later, perhaps?"
"Give me something useful." This conversation was going nowhere. Apparently she would have to direct it herself. Very well. "You told me you'd give me tools. Was that just another part of the game, for you?"
He widened his eyes as though shocked. "Oh no no no, quite the contrary. But you want to change your prince, mm? Then you need to know who he is. Such a little thing, but --"
The smell of sweat, the smell of tobacco, the smell of old blood, the smell of Lirin's hair, why could she smell that now?
"-- it's odd how nobody ever --"
So bright.
"-- wants to look. Even at themselves, mm? And if you want to change Yaone --"
Tilt. The world tilts. Fractures.
"-- then who is Yaone?"
His hand so hot against the markings on her arm.
---
Yaone's head ached the way it always did after overindulgence. It was the same feeling of the eyes being over-dry, the skin pulled tight over the forehead so that every brush of air rasped against her face and found nerves where none should exist, light too bright, noise too loud, the air too thick, and oppression hanging like a wave above her and about to break.
She would have dosed herself with something, normally -- willowbark, or any of half a dozen other things -- but that substance Nii had given her would still be in her body. Imagination twitched itself to supply a dozen images of reaction and counter-reaction, then twitched away again.
Kougaiji was attending the Empress' morning court; therefore, she and Dokugakuji must attend as well.
Gyokumen Koushu enjoyed receiving petitioners. Her lips would part as she smiled in slow glorious acknowledgement as they would prostrate themselves before her high throne. Her silks trailed in luxurious waste, thick and glossy on the obsidian floor, and her skin glowed like jade where her robe fell casually open. She would delay as she tasted every word of judgement, eyes bright as jewels in the exercise of power.
Petty, Yaone thought, and was surprised at herself. She was used to thinking many things of Gyokumen Koushu, and none of them were kind, but pettiness was not a vice which she usually troubled to ascribe to the woman. A magnificent figure of sorts, couched in her own debaucheries, proud and delighted in her malice, but --
Yaone's head spun. This exercise of power was a microcosm of what Gyokumen Koushu wanted to do the world outside. Put her foot on it and make it squirm. And here the woman sat, enjoying the same thing in miniature, and if this was petty, then that was petty, and all of it so small a thing compared to real power . . .
A girl child knelt beside the throne, holding a bowl of grapes. From time to time Gyokumen would feed her one, offhand and casual, her long nails brushing against the girl's lips.
Petty . . .
"Who's that one over there?" Doku murmured, just loud enough to catch her attention. His eyes flicked towards where a strange youkai leaned against a pillar, slightly apart from the nearby group of courtiers. His torn coat hung from his shoulders, linked across his bare chest by thin chains, and his face was all casual condescension. "Looks new."
"He is new," Yaone replied, just as quiet. Their voices were lost in the background whispering of obserers, a rippling thread of noise that only fell fully silent when the Empress chose to speak. "He must be an emissary, or in someone's service."
"Think so?"
"Nobody's trying to court his attention. Either he's too dangerous or he's not important enough."
"Mnh."
Kougaiji stood in front of them, as he should do, back turned to them, eyes on Gyokumen. He could have been jade and bronze for all the animation in his face, all the light in his eyes. Before, when he had attended court, he had been just as calm, but there had been a banked fire smouldering, a presence awake and aware behind those dark eyes. He had been silent through courtesy, or through concern for his mother, or because he had nothing to say; but at least he had been there as he was not now.
"Any news about Lirin?" Doku asked casually.
The question startled Yaone, and she turned slightly to look at him. Something pulsed in her head, veins throbbing along her forehead, eyes aching.
He shrugged. "I figured it out. That's why you're watching the labs. Sensible. You might understand what's going on there. I wouldn't. But . . ." He hesitated, and Yaone could hear the words behind his silence. You could have told me. You should have told me. Why didn't you tell me?
"I wasn't sure," she said carefully. "I didn't want to risk . . ." The pain in his eyes cut her off. And I'm still risking, and I'm still not telling. "Dokugakuji, it's not that I --"
"Then what is it?" he asked bluntly.
Sheer desperation made her ball her hands into tight fists. "Don't be like that. You know perfectly well that you'd want to keep me out of danger. Where do you go at night?" The twitch in one cheek told her that she'd hit home. "What do you do that you aren't telling me about? What are you doing that you'd prefer to keep your "little sister" out of?"
"Am I like that?" Dokugakuji asked slowly.
Anger drained out of her like water. "We both are."
His mouth twitched, and his face became gentle again. Normal. Vulnerable. "Fine pair we are."
"We are."
And if you don't tell him now, you'll never tell him.
"I'm trying something," she said through dry lips. "I don't know whether or not it will work. Dokugakuji, forgive me if --"
He reached across to touch her shoulder, hand warm through the thin silk of her jacket. "There's nothing to forgive," he said, an odd desolate calmness in his eyes. "You try. I try. We both try. You hit me once, remember? To remind me of who I was and where I was and what needed doing. And if the time comes, then I'll do the same for you." He nodded towards Kougaiji. "We both know who we serve."
Yaone nodded. "Yes. We do. I depend on you."
"Everyone does." He squeezed her shoulder, then released it. "Big brother to the universe, that's me . . ."
"Except his own, mm?" Nii was standing two paces to the other side of her, holding his stupid doll like a child in his arms. He tilted its head so that it stared up at her, smiling blankly. "Don't you think?"
Dokugakuji made no answer. Yaone turned to look at him. He stood there in the sudden silence that washed over the room, unmoving, eyes on her but as empty as agate, as calm as a sleeper. On her throne, Gyokumen Koushu was poised like a statue, hand raised and mouth curved in a smile. The courtiers and bystanders -- even Kougaiji-sama -- were still, silent, quiet as death.
I stopped dreaming. I stopped dreaming. Didn't I?
"What are you?" she asked.
Nii smiled. "I'm a ghost, you know --"
"No. What are you?" Her fingers tightened. So easy to pull her spear from nothingness, ram it through him like in the dream, pull herself out of this nightmare through his flesh and blood.
"You'd do better to ask a relevant question, wouldn't you?" A knowing smile from him, that somehow shared a confidence, a private confession of foulness. "Something to do with what you wanted? Or have you changed your mind?"
"Nothing's changed."
His eyes mocked her. "Hasn't it?"
"I want my Kougaiji-sama restored. That hasn't changed."
"Oh? Not even after you felt him in the flesh . . ." Her face must have shown something, because he chuckled. "Mm -- so what do you think I did to him? Your own words?"
"You changed him," Yaone said carefully, her lips numb with anger. The previous night had been an attempt to shake her, then, to make her doubt her purposes. She wouldn't be daunted that simply. "You made him something he isn't."
"Oh no no no." Nii shook his head. "I thought you were doing better than that. I made him someone he could be. Took away all those awkward bits -- anh? You don't think so?"
"No." Gyumaoh's son. What else should he be? But Rasetsunyo's child as well. "They're not awkward bits. They're part of who Kougaiji-sama is!"
"Ahhh." He let the syllable draw itself out, watching her. When she didn't reply, he turned to the bunny doll again, twitching it between his hands. "She doesn't think that her Kougaiji-sama would kill innocents. Fancy that."
"He wouldn't," she said flatly.
"Mm -- so Sanzou-houshi-sama and his three mignons aren't innocents? No? No, perhaps not. But what about anyone else? Do you think that if his mother was at risk, he'd think twice?"
Yaone remembered the look in Kougajii's eyes, the look that was always there when he spoke of his mother, when he looked at her frozen form, caught out of time in that pillar of stone, and for a moment she had no answer.
"Is that what you want?" Nii reached out and brushed one finger against the marking on her arm. His flesh was fever hot. "Is that who you want to be?"
"Don't touch me," she answered, the words sharp and harsh.
"He's never going to . . ."
"Let me inform you that I do not care whether he does or doesn't," she broke in before he could finish, not wanting to hear those words in his mouth. "I don't care who he goes to. I don't care if he goes to Dokugakuji. I don't care who he wants or what he wants. I want him to be able to choose what he wants."
Nii withdrew his hand, and stroked along one of the bunny's ears. "My, my. How disinvolved. Don't you think?"
"That is not what I'd call it," she said bitterly.
"Oh come now, I wasn't talking to you. But who is he now, mm? Much happier. Don't you want him to be happy?"
She looked towards the unmoving Kougaiji. "He isn't happy. He isn't anything."
"Much better -- no? Not as if one can make people happy, anyhow. You absolutely bathe yourself in blood for them, and what do they do then? Take the knife out of your hands and, well, that comes later, perhaps?"
"Give me something useful." This conversation was going nowhere. Apparently she would have to direct it herself. Very well. "You told me you'd give me tools. Was that just another part of the game, for you?"
He widened his eyes as though shocked. "Oh no no no, quite the contrary. But you want to change your prince, mm? Then you need to know who he is. Such a little thing, but --"
The smell of sweat, the smell of tobacco, the smell of old blood, the smell of Lirin's hair, why could she smell that now?
"-- it's odd how nobody ever --"
So bright.
"-- wants to look. Even at themselves, mm? And if you want to change Yaone --"
Tilt. The world tilts. Fractures.
"-- then who is Yaone?"
His hand so hot against the markings on her arm.
---
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