GENSOUMADEN SAIYUKI
Gensoumaden Saiyuki belongs to Minekura Kazuya.
A/U. Four individuals will play key roles in the change that is coming to the Holy Land.
CIRCLES
PART TWO: TWO'S COMPANY
He does what he is told, is not prone to inane chatter, does not wander and lose himself in the thick of a crowd. He is unobtrusive and solemn, the way children usually aren't.
I am reminded often of my first glimpse of the boy who stood calmly amidst the insanity of the killing grounds. He will pause sometimes, when we walk the streets of a town, observing the life teeming around him with a pensive, detached air. And I wonder what it is that he cannot understand about living, seeing as it is Prophecy who shapes our destinies.
Right now, Prophecy is eating his way through my funds.
Well they're not mine, technically. I've never had to draw substantially on my card before, but I can be grateful now for the infinite cash at my disposal. The perks of being a Sanzo.
There's a catch, of course. This robe, the sutras, the rituals – none belong to me. Shallow minds and petty rumours envy the status – partake of the flesh of a Sanzo, and gain immortality. Stupidity. We cannot break the chains that tie us to a fate dictated by the Aspects, let alone bequeath eternal life. And for some of us, there is more to being a Sanzo.
My teacher died for me to become one. For that I will play this role as long as I need to.
"Aa, excuse me..." Damn. I've waited too long again. We have to be going if the restaurant owner has approached us. And the other patrons have abandoned their surreptitious glimpses for open, dumb fascination.
"Oy, let's go." He pokes his head out from the empty plates and bowls that have amassed on his end of the table, a meat bun still in one hand, and blinks those big, golden eyes at me.
Oh dammit. "No, we're going now." Blink, blink. It is the closest that I have seen to a sulk on his face.
"Fine, finish whatever you have left and that's it." The restaurant owner ambles off with my card, and though I am slightly irritated, some part of me cackles in satisfaction. It's not as if I don't pay the Aspects back in other ways – one day I'll pay with my life, and before then it would be a shame to not make use of what I've been given. Perks of being a Sanzo indeed.
He is still sulking when we leave. "Dumb ape," I mutter, and he doesn't bother to acknowledge me. I've taken to calling him that now – either that or 'oy' and 'idiot'. I can't keep calling him Prophecy without feeling like a fool.
I could always just give him a name, I suppose – would make it a hell lot easier. But always I remember his distress when I asked if he had one. Names shape identities and meaning, and for that reason should be cherished. I cannot name others, when I've never had a true one of my own.
But Prophecy has Named me Sacrifice, and I am journeying West to meet my Destiny.
He's looking up at me, is so small he has to tilt his head all the way back, and I want to slap my forehead in frustration. Those damn eyes – next time, I really will put my foot down at each eatery we stop at. We don't need to attract more attention than we have to. And we've already had more than our share of that.
They give him away easily, the gold of his eyes. And I am getting fed up having to deal with the diminutive minds that come looking for a fight, the self-righteous bravados that want to rid society of the youkai menace.
Communities as small-minded as that aren't worth fighting for.
I understand the question in his face – several men have followed us out of the restaurant. I touch his head and he moves ahead of me as I turn around. I am not overly concerned about leaving him to fend for himself for a bit – never take things for granted. Prophecy, my grave, unimposing shadow, is a mean little demon in a fight. He lashes out with fierce bites and kick and punches, small and quick enough to dart through the commotion and avoid being caught.
Guess who bears the brunt of each confrontation?
But this conflict is over before it's even begun – scant moments later I am looking past my raised revolver at the retreating backs of cowards who never thought a priest would carry a weapon on him. Their mistake.
I ignore the furtive looks and mutterings of passer-bys – time we left the town. Seeking out the boy, I roll my eyes. He has wandered farther than usual, and I can see why – Prophecy is staring at a stall that sells an assortment of sweets. I sternly tell myself to be firm this time – it is my money after all. But his expression is thoughtful instead when he raises his eyes to meet mine for a brief second before they flick to the side.
Shit. More small fry. I push my way through the throng, feeling the beginnings of a headache. Why don't some people learn?
And why is he just standing there? They trap him in a circle, the rest of humanity parting around them with blind eyes and deaf ears. Stupid town – I shove harder, glaring at the imbeciles not quick enough to move out of my way. Stupid bastards. Stupid ape. Stupid, stupid ape. The men have ugly sneers of anticipation on their faces. One of them picks him up by the collar of his vest and shakes him violently. And still he remains passive, and I am too far to do anything but snarl and push and grow increasingly alarmed.
But something is happening. Another man has joined the dregs. One hand in his pocket, the other tapping the ash from his cigar, his casual pose belies the words he exchange with them, as their faces darken with outrage.
I don't see it coming. The man holding Prophecy drops him and staggers back yelping, blood already seeping through the fingers clasped over his mouth. Predictably the rest of the lowlifes jump the stranger, but he is good, landing unerring punches and well-aimed kicks. He is so swift I glimpse only the fierce relish in his expression, the rest obscured by the red hair that swings loose around his face.
The brawl takes no time at all – the boy has finally come to his senses, and chips in with ferocious abandon. When I finally reach them, the hoodlums are sniveling and wallowing in various degrees of pain in the dirt. Prophecy is standing by patiently, and I ignore my relief in favour of smacking him over the head. "Idiot!" I snap. "What were you waiting for?"
"Maa maa." I stiffen when an arm is slung over my shoulders, and I swing my head around to glower into amused red eyes. "He's not hurt – no harm done. And he fights pretty good for a kid."
But I only vaguely hear what he is saying. It is the colour of his eyes that clue me in, and I narrow my own. "Half-breed."
The smirk fades and he jerks away. "Yeah, and what's it to you?" My own lip curls derisively at his flat tone. I recognise it, the grim instinct to protect. Identities shatter easily under the weight of prejudice and hate, and some covet their identities more than others, because it is all they have. I should know.
Prophecy is tugging at my robe, and I grimace. "No, I'm not trying to pick a fight." I know now why the half-breed pitched in – if he had simply stood by, knowing what the boy was, he would have been no better than what ignorance had earmarked his kind to be. I force the word out through gritted teeth. "Thanks."
I also know now why the boy had been slow in reacting to the danger. The half-breed's stance relaxes only slightly, but Prophecy steps up to him then, and I see the dawning realisation and awe in the man's face when he bends to let the boy touch his face.
"You are Peace – "
– understanding recognition unraveled bonds one two four come together destiny Destiny –
"– Peace to guard change." And I blink. What the hell? But I don't reveal how unnerved I am when the man with red eyes straightens, and I see the disbelieving wonder in them.
I know what happens now, and I scowl. One is bad enough – two freeloaders will bleed me dry.
Great, just fucking great.
-TBC-