Chapter Eight
On the other side of the mirror, Yaone woke up. It was an abrupt change between states; one moment she had been dreaming, and now she was awake, and fear and pain and the consciousness of danger crowded around her.
Beside her stood Nii Jieni, but here he was dressed as a priest -- no, as a Sanzou, with robe and crown and veil and sutra. His glasses were the same, though, and his face had not changed, still unshaven, still smirking.
She was as she had been, one hand still ungloved.
The passageway was the same. Well, of course. It's a reflection. How should it be anything different? She turned to see the mirror behind them, their own reflections ghostly in the dark glass.
"Can't go back now," Nii Jieni said. His voice was amused, as always, privately amused but not bothering to hide the fact. "Coming?"
"Of course," Yaone answered.
"Mm, good, good. This way." He began to lead the way down the corridor. She followed half a step behind, her booted feet quiet on the stone floor, softer than the scuff of his sandals.
"Will this take us directly to Kougaiji-sama's mind?" she asked, as they came to the first juncture. The place was more silent than usual, without even the small noises that haunted the castle -- the waking castle? the real castle? -- every night. And what if we wander into someone else's dreams?
"Mnh. Well, Yaone -- there is one thing I didn't quite get round to mentioning, but you know how it is." He turned to smile at her, eyes malicious. "Didn't want to scare you off. Tch, tch. But perhaps I should have told you, mm? Given you time to -- think about it?"
She tried to call the serenity of the previous hours to herself, but it was gone in rags and tatters, shredded away by this awakening. In lieu of calmness, she forced herself to shrug. "It's too late now for me to complain, Nii-hakase. What is it?"
"Only this." He raised one hand to gesture the smallness of it. His long white sleeve trailed out and billowed. "Your -- prince will be trying to force you out, mm? Nobody likes having their dreams, their mind invaded. Nobody likes the prying fingers in there, even such pretty fingers as yours -- mm, Yaone-kun? To touch and explore and unfold and go inside . . ."
Yaone's breath caught as she bit her lip. She would not give him the anger which he was trying to provoke.
"Oh yes. Oh yes. Exactly like that. Fury. Disgust. That -- shudder of the body, of the mind. Like that. Mm." He was still smiling, still smirking, the dim light gleaming on his crown and glasses and breastplate. "That's what he'll try to do to you. Just like that."
"Can't I try not to --" She broke off. Of course she wouldn't be able to avoid some sort of interference if she was trying to help him. Even a surgeon had to anaesthetise and restrain a patient.
"No. No no no, not at all, even your footsteps will be felt. Like that. And that." He gestured with the tips of his fingers.
"Well, you would know," Yaone answered in blazing despair. "You've already done it to him."
"Oh yes." Nii leaned towards her, close enough that she could feel his breath on her skin. "And. How. He. Squirmed."
"You are telling me nothing that I don't already know," Yaone whispered.
"Ah. But before you could imagine it didn't happen, mm?" He drew back a pace. "Well, go on, Yaone. Go on in. He knows you're coming. Somewhere, he knows it's you. He'll be -- waiting for you. Go on."
Her hand itched to call her spear. "And you, Nii-hakase?"
He shrugged. His robes fluttered. "Oh, I'll be -- right behind you."
She turned away from him and walked down the corridor. Behind her, she could hear his footsteps, the soft swishing of his robe, and she tried to ignore it, nor even to take any sort of comfort from it.
What good does it do me to know he's there? I can't trust him.
The air smelt of torch smoke and candles now, and she could hear the soft noises of a living place around her. This wasn't Gyumaoh's castle any more; it was another place, one that she didn't recognise.
Oh but you do, something whispered inside her.
Yaone pulled her focus inwards, concentrated.
Kougaiji-sama knows you're here, knows it's you, but he will not tolerate your presence any more than a man in raging fever can bear a friend's touch or the doctor's hand on his brow. He will try to drive you away.
The sounds were all around her now -- scurrying feet, half-heard mocking whispers, laughter, and a note in the laughter that set the teeth on edge and made her afraid.
You're in Kougaiji-sama's dreams now, Yaone . . .
. . . and she still sometimes had nightmares of a place where she had never walked, and which was ruins and ashes now, but which had touched her life and altered its path, the worst place in the world . . .
. . . and he knows what your worst nightmare is.
Whispers became sound, light became image, movement became people moving and shoving around her. The guards on either side twisted her arms behind her back.
"Fresh meat for Hyakugan Maoh!" a voice howled in the crowd.
. . . he knows, and he will use it against you without even thinking, driven by instinct and pain . . .
Yaone tensed and tried to struggle, bracing her feet against the floor. They dragged her on.
She could make it go away. She knew that, somewhere in that part of her which was conscious of this as real, which felt her feet scrape against the floor, felt the large hands on her arms, smelt torch smoke and cooked meat as coarseness in the air. She could make it go away, and then she would be out of here -- and out of Kougaiji-sama's mind as well, out and gone and not to return. Nii wouldn't bring her back afterwards. He wasn't the sort who gave second chances in this sort of game that he so enjoyed.
Think. Think logically. Nii had explained this as something which made sense, she'd give him that much. There had to be a way through it other than simply refusing it, or -- or whatever Nii had done. He probably tore it to bits and couldn't care less about whatever damage he did to Kougaiji-sama's mind. There had to be something which she could do which would, in context, make sense. There had to be.
Or perhaps you've already lost, and either you fail and give up or you die here, and either way it's a kind of death . . .
The great arch leading to the main hall loomed in front of her.
Not just Kougaiji-sama's dream, but my dream as well, and Nii-hakase's dream too. We're all in the same dream. I don't have to reject it, she thought, and prayed that she was right. I just have to change it.
Because I know this isn't true.
She'd been to the empty place that was left, the scarred earth, the green valley. She'd gone alone because it was something that she had to do for herself, unprotected, undefended, something which she had to face alone, and at the time it had done no good at all. It hadn't stopped the nightmares. It hadn't stopped the dreams, either. All it had done was let her see the dimpled ground where the castle had once stood, and where now greenery covered the earth as though nothing had ever happened there since the beginning of time, nothing at all. No malice, no rape, no hunger, no butchery, only the grass and the spring air and the tumbled brown earth.
This is what earth smells like. Not sweaty flesh, not guttering candles, not overly strong perfume trying to hide the rot beneath. This is what grass smells like when it is bruised underfoot, when it grows in a place where nobody ever comes, when the dew has dried but it is not yet noon.
Not darkness.
This is the morning light when it shines down in silence, and nobody would ever believe what lay beneath the earth.
The hands slackened on her arms -- no, not slackened, but were no longer there in the same way that they had been before. She was walking both in the crowded castle corridor and on the fresh grass, both in noise and in silence, both in terror and in quiet.
She was almost at the great arch now, a huge mouth ready to open on her and devour her.
Her control slipped; her image slipped; the sunlit grass wavered, the crowd of youkai returned more strongly. Long-nailed fingers tugged at her hair and pinched and probed at her. Almost she screamed, No, I will not, let me go, LET ME GO, and almost she was gone from there entirely, thrown out of the dream and falling away.
Kougaiji-sama saved me.
Step. A pale-haired youkai with the air of an aristocrat looked at her, and licked his nails, and laughed.
This is a dream.
Step. Almost at the arch now. Darkness beyond.
Deep now. The deepest roots. I am in Kougaiji-sama's service. He saved me from this. Therefore it cannot be true.
Through the arch.
It was a different place now, a stone-walled room that was familiar to her from the many times that she had found Kougaiji-sama here. The stone-bound form of his mother stood at the centre of the room (though it was never like this before, with the walls receding to infinity except where they are close enough to brush coldly against your back) wound around with cords and ofuda, and on it hung Kougaiji-sama, (Kougaiji-sama), naked and silent, bound by the same cords, his arms upstretched and still, bronze against stone, as quiet and unmoving as death.
But, look. His chest moved. He breathed.
Something hissed and whispered and shifted in the shadows, long and pale. It wasn't Nii Jieni. It was something else.
---
On the other side of the mirror, Yaone woke up. It was an abrupt change between states; one moment she had been dreaming, and now she was awake, and fear and pain and the consciousness of danger crowded around her.
Beside her stood Nii Jieni, but here he was dressed as a priest -- no, as a Sanzou, with robe and crown and veil and sutra. His glasses were the same, though, and his face had not changed, still unshaven, still smirking.
She was as she had been, one hand still ungloved.
The passageway was the same. Well, of course. It's a reflection. How should it be anything different? She turned to see the mirror behind them, their own reflections ghostly in the dark glass.
"Can't go back now," Nii Jieni said. His voice was amused, as always, privately amused but not bothering to hide the fact. "Coming?"
"Of course," Yaone answered.
"Mm, good, good. This way." He began to lead the way down the corridor. She followed half a step behind, her booted feet quiet on the stone floor, softer than the scuff of his sandals.
"Will this take us directly to Kougaiji-sama's mind?" she asked, as they came to the first juncture. The place was more silent than usual, without even the small noises that haunted the castle -- the waking castle? the real castle? -- every night. And what if we wander into someone else's dreams?
"Mnh. Well, Yaone -- there is one thing I didn't quite get round to mentioning, but you know how it is." He turned to smile at her, eyes malicious. "Didn't want to scare you off. Tch, tch. But perhaps I should have told you, mm? Given you time to -- think about it?"
She tried to call the serenity of the previous hours to herself, but it was gone in rags and tatters, shredded away by this awakening. In lieu of calmness, she forced herself to shrug. "It's too late now for me to complain, Nii-hakase. What is it?"
"Only this." He raised one hand to gesture the smallness of it. His long white sleeve trailed out and billowed. "Your -- prince will be trying to force you out, mm? Nobody likes having their dreams, their mind invaded. Nobody likes the prying fingers in there, even such pretty fingers as yours -- mm, Yaone-kun? To touch and explore and unfold and go inside . . ."
Yaone's breath caught as she bit her lip. She would not give him the anger which he was trying to provoke.
"Oh yes. Oh yes. Exactly like that. Fury. Disgust. That -- shudder of the body, of the mind. Like that. Mm." He was still smiling, still smirking, the dim light gleaming on his crown and glasses and breastplate. "That's what he'll try to do to you. Just like that."
"Can't I try not to --" She broke off. Of course she wouldn't be able to avoid some sort of interference if she was trying to help him. Even a surgeon had to anaesthetise and restrain a patient.
"No. No no no, not at all, even your footsteps will be felt. Like that. And that." He gestured with the tips of his fingers.
"Well, you would know," Yaone answered in blazing despair. "You've already done it to him."
"Oh yes." Nii leaned towards her, close enough that she could feel his breath on her skin. "And. How. He. Squirmed."
"You are telling me nothing that I don't already know," Yaone whispered.
"Ah. But before you could imagine it didn't happen, mm?" He drew back a pace. "Well, go on, Yaone. Go on in. He knows you're coming. Somewhere, he knows it's you. He'll be -- waiting for you. Go on."
Her hand itched to call her spear. "And you, Nii-hakase?"
He shrugged. His robes fluttered. "Oh, I'll be -- right behind you."
She turned away from him and walked down the corridor. Behind her, she could hear his footsteps, the soft swishing of his robe, and she tried to ignore it, nor even to take any sort of comfort from it.
What good does it do me to know he's there? I can't trust him.
The air smelt of torch smoke and candles now, and she could hear the soft noises of a living place around her. This wasn't Gyumaoh's castle any more; it was another place, one that she didn't recognise.
Oh but you do, something whispered inside her.
Yaone pulled her focus inwards, concentrated.
Kougaiji-sama knows you're here, knows it's you, but he will not tolerate your presence any more than a man in raging fever can bear a friend's touch or the doctor's hand on his brow. He will try to drive you away.
The sounds were all around her now -- scurrying feet, half-heard mocking whispers, laughter, and a note in the laughter that set the teeth on edge and made her afraid.
You're in Kougaiji-sama's dreams now, Yaone . . .
. . . and she still sometimes had nightmares of a place where she had never walked, and which was ruins and ashes now, but which had touched her life and altered its path, the worst place in the world . . .
. . . and he knows what your worst nightmare is.
Whispers became sound, light became image, movement became people moving and shoving around her. The guards on either side twisted her arms behind her back.
"Fresh meat for Hyakugan Maoh!" a voice howled in the crowd.
. . . he knows, and he will use it against you without even thinking, driven by instinct and pain . . .
Yaone tensed and tried to struggle, bracing her feet against the floor. They dragged her on.
She could make it go away. She knew that, somewhere in that part of her which was conscious of this as real, which felt her feet scrape against the floor, felt the large hands on her arms, smelt torch smoke and cooked meat as coarseness in the air. She could make it go away, and then she would be out of here -- and out of Kougaiji-sama's mind as well, out and gone and not to return. Nii wouldn't bring her back afterwards. He wasn't the sort who gave second chances in this sort of game that he so enjoyed.
Think. Think logically. Nii had explained this as something which made sense, she'd give him that much. There had to be a way through it other than simply refusing it, or -- or whatever Nii had done. He probably tore it to bits and couldn't care less about whatever damage he did to Kougaiji-sama's mind. There had to be something which she could do which would, in context, make sense. There had to be.
Or perhaps you've already lost, and either you fail and give up or you die here, and either way it's a kind of death . . .
The great arch leading to the main hall loomed in front of her.
Not just Kougaiji-sama's dream, but my dream as well, and Nii-hakase's dream too. We're all in the same dream. I don't have to reject it, she thought, and prayed that she was right. I just have to change it.
Because I know this isn't true.
She'd been to the empty place that was left, the scarred earth, the green valley. She'd gone alone because it was something that she had to do for herself, unprotected, undefended, something which she had to face alone, and at the time it had done no good at all. It hadn't stopped the nightmares. It hadn't stopped the dreams, either. All it had done was let her see the dimpled ground where the castle had once stood, and where now greenery covered the earth as though nothing had ever happened there since the beginning of time, nothing at all. No malice, no rape, no hunger, no butchery, only the grass and the spring air and the tumbled brown earth.
This is what earth smells like. Not sweaty flesh, not guttering candles, not overly strong perfume trying to hide the rot beneath. This is what grass smells like when it is bruised underfoot, when it grows in a place where nobody ever comes, when the dew has dried but it is not yet noon.
Not darkness.
This is the morning light when it shines down in silence, and nobody would ever believe what lay beneath the earth.
The hands slackened on her arms -- no, not slackened, but were no longer there in the same way that they had been before. She was walking both in the crowded castle corridor and on the fresh grass, both in noise and in silence, both in terror and in quiet.
She was almost at the great arch now, a huge mouth ready to open on her and devour her.
Her control slipped; her image slipped; the sunlit grass wavered, the crowd of youkai returned more strongly. Long-nailed fingers tugged at her hair and pinched and probed at her. Almost she screamed, No, I will not, let me go, LET ME GO, and almost she was gone from there entirely, thrown out of the dream and falling away.
Kougaiji-sama saved me.
Step. A pale-haired youkai with the air of an aristocrat looked at her, and licked his nails, and laughed.
This is a dream.
Step. Almost at the arch now. Darkness beyond.
Deep now. The deepest roots. I am in Kougaiji-sama's service. He saved me from this. Therefore it cannot be true.
Through the arch.
It was a different place now, a stone-walled room that was familiar to her from the many times that she had found Kougaiji-sama here. The stone-bound form of his mother stood at the centre of the room (though it was never like this before, with the walls receding to infinity except where they are close enough to brush coldly against your back) wound around with cords and ofuda, and on it hung Kougaiji-sama, (Kougaiji-sama), naked and silent, bound by the same cords, his arms upstretched and still, bronze against stone, as quiet and unmoving as death.
But, look. His chest moved. He breathed.
Something hissed and whispered and shifted in the shadows, long and pale. It wasn't Nii Jieni. It was something else.
---
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