Rumours
The air tonight held all the stillness and stagnation of Heaven at its best, Tenpou decided. Cherry blossoms scented the air in long endless ribbons of sweet perfume, like the incense inside mortal temples.
He remembered his words to Konzen from a few nights ago, precise as a fever dream. In fact, there are precedents in history for having several toushins at once. Probably because they give the position to whoever's qualified for it.
Poor child.
It had come to him then, as a matter of denial rather than decision.
But Litouten's using Nataku's power to pull himself up in the world, and of course
if Gokuu became toushin as well as Nataku--
Not Gokuu. And therefore, someone else. And he had walked back with Kenren afterwards, and helped Kenren to his bed, and promised to join him shortly, and then gone to his own desk and found the files on Homura.
Was this personal dislike of himself something which went with an accurate view of the situation? That look in Kenren's eyes had been -- unpleasant. Not anger that Tenpou could do such a thing, but shock that he could conceive it.
I don't like myself very much either some days, Kenren. But that will not stop me and it will not stop the universe and it will not stop Litouten.
Litouten. Yes. The man was a cancer in Heaven, and even if certain methods of removing him were unquestionably impossible (how your mind does play with the subject of killing, Tenpou Gensui, how it turns it over and over like a sweetmeat before tasting it, how curious, how fascinating) he must be dealt with somehow. Being vowed to the defense of Heaven ought to mean something.
The boy -- no, Homura, he had to think of him as a grown man -- sat in the arbour amid drifts of pale blossoms, his cape spread around him in graduations of darkness. He was waiting patiently. The fact that he had turned up early showed a reassuring grasp of political realities.
Tenpou finished lighting his cigarette, and began to walk down the avenue of cherry trees towards Homura. Of course, there was always the temptation to sneak around, emerge from behind him, and start the conversation with a degree of superiority, but that would be counter-productive in the long run. Perhaps my sense of humour is a little strange? Perhaps.
Homura leaned back against his stone bench, crossing his feet casually at the ankles. I am receiving callers, the posture said. You may now present yourself.
Better and better.
He came to a halt a few yards away, and chose a cherry tree to lean against. The motion disturbed a few new petals, and he paused to watch them drift down, distracted by the slow fluidity of their motion. Are we no more than this to the Bodhisattvas? Petals in the wind, falling from the heights? He considered putting the question to Kanzeon Bosatsu, but then again he might not like the answer.
Homura was still waiting, politely or cautiously silent.
"Do you smoke?" he asked.
"No." The word came out with a flat abruptness. Nervous, are we?
"Do you mind if I smoke?" he continued smoothly.
Homura glanced at him from under his eyebrows, mismatched eyes clear and bright in the moonlight. "Would it make a difference?" he asked, voice bitter.
"Yes," Tenpou said, and let himself smile. "Yes, actually it would."
"Oh," Homura said blankly. Off balance. Yes, that's right. He made a quick recovery. "Well, thank you, but it doesn't matter."
There was something of Konzen in him, Tenpou decided, just a little. That unwillingness to permit contact, based on a deeper surety that he would lose it. Don't touch me. Don't touch me. That face ruled to calmness, body coiled to stillness, but uncertainty ruling the whole.
I could do something with this boy, Tenpou thought, and abruptly regretted the empathy that made him see Homura as a boy who needed help. It makes no difference, no difference at all. It changes nothing. "Anh." He drew on his cigarette again, letting the rush of nicotine distract him for a moment. "You're probably wondering why I asked you to meet me here."
"I am curious," Homura replied coolly. His chains shivered against each other as he twitched his hands, betraying the nervousness which didn't show in his voice.
Time to push him a little further. He had to be sure that Homura could handle himself under stress as well as in a fight. He had to know. He would not send the boy out alone to get killed. Kenren had been painfully accurate about that. "No guesses?" he asked casually. "No, seriously. I -- would find it interesting to know a little about how you think, and what you think."
Homura leaned forward in a gesture that looked like old habit, resting his elbows on his knees. "Why?" he queried, eyes wary. "What do you want?"
Tenpou felt his mouth curve in the beginnings of a smile. He could taste the beginnings of danger, the start of a challenge. "That's a dangerous question to ask someone," he replied. "When you have no idea what they might answer, they might say anything at all."
"Yes, well," Homura temporised. "It's not as if I know you."
"There are always rumours." Tenpou let himself taste the last word slightly as he intoned it. Homura had already proved that he knew about those rumours, which spoke well for his ability to pick up casual gossip. In Heaven as matters stood, that was a necessary survival skill. As to the topic of the rumours -- well, time to see how far Homura was prepared to give offense.
"Plenty of rumours," Homura agreed cheerfully. He smiled. There was nothing humorous about it; it was a danger signal, a movement of the lips that said something about hunger and possibility and threat.
Now there's potential. "I'm glad that you're aware of rumours," Tenpou said, and smiled in response.
"Why?" Homura asked casually. His hands shifted in his lap again.
Tenpou kept his smile, but there was nothing light about his voice. "Because a man who isn't aware of what's going on around him is a man in a very dangerous position. Especially at the moment. Would you agree?" Konzen, Konzen, are you aware how much your position as the Bodhisattva's nephew keeps you safe? And even that won't serve for very much longer, not now that Litouten's noticed Goku, not now that you yourself have decided to involve yourself with the world around you.
The breeze had stilled now, and the two of them were alone among the cherry trees. Homura lifted those bright sharp eyes. The moonlight lay on his face like a caress. "Am I in a dangerous position?"
"Probably." He shrugged, deliberately casual, deliberately predatory. "I'm sure you've noticed."
"Are you threatening me?"
"Do you want me to?"
Homura took a deep breath, but he didn't move his gaze from Tenpou, attention held, eyes dilated. "What do you want?"
"Seriously?" Tenpou let the cigarette fall from between his fingers, and ground it out precisely with one toe. "I'm proposing an alliance."
The words hung in the air between them. Then Homura's eyes narrowed, in a combination of shock and comprehension, and Tenpou realised that the boy was about to make an obvious mistake. "No, not like that," he said quickly, sharply, looking for the words to convince him that nothing of that sort was intended.
A pity, the physical part of his mind commented, that part of his mind which had pursued liaisons before, that knew the dynamics and urges of the body very well indeed. He's all edges and nerves. He'd have to feel that he was in control, of course -- probably too much of it being the other way around -- but it would be pleasant to watch him smile without that edge to it, to see him relax . . . "You're too young for me," he said easily, lying as blandly as ever, choosing the most logical explanation. He watched Homura's brows furrow, the how does he know what I'm thinking, and cut in a beat later. "And you're not very good at hiding your thoughts. That's why."
The younger man frowned, mouth tight with tension, and glared up at him. "Be more specific, then, Marshal," he spat. "Rumour has its limits."
Tenpou gave him a shadow of a nod for that bit of control. "I shall be blunt," he said smoothly. "Heaven needs a toushin taishi."
"Heaven has a toushin taishi," Homura commented dryly. "Unless the current one has some health problem?" But the spark was there in his eyes, the beginning of comprehension.
"Unfortunately not." Tenpou took a moment to light another cigarette, letting the pause in the conversation draw itself out. Not too fast now, not too fast, let him build up his own anticipation, start to think about it himself . . . "Heaven -- needs another toushin taishi. If you are willing to cooperate," and if you are willing to be used, be my tool, my pawn, let me put you in danger, why am I doing this, why am I sending out a soldier where I cannot go myself, why use this child, Kenren, you were right, and I am cruel, "then you could be in a position to use your heritage. Rather than have it use you."
Homura raised his brows. "You mean the fact that I'm itan? Call a spade a spade, Marshal."
"If you wish." He shrugged. "It is -- a word. At certain times it has been interpreted . . ." He hesitated. "With different degrees of precision." After all, some families could manage to hide their halfbreed children better than others, and some could even smuggle them into society, while others disposed of them and prayed -- how odd, to pray in Heaven -- that the matter would remain a secret. Some families birthed itans from a perfectly respectable heritage, and suffered from it. People who knew about it didn't talk about it. It wasn't done. It wasn't spoken of. It didn't happen. "At the moment," he continued, "it sets you outside society. However, the toushin taishi is outside society in any case. But what the toushin taishi has, that you do not have, Homura," was there just a flinch there as he used the boy's name? "is power."
Oh, he had him now. How the boy's eyes burned at the thought, how every line of his body drew sharp and fierce and tense, black ink against the pale paper of cherry petal background. Tenpou inhaled cigarette thought and tried to ignore the tightening of his own body. Later. Kenren, later.
"Nataku is toushin taishi," Homura finally said, after a pause that was more definite than any words could have been. He swallowed. "And nobody could say that Nataku has any sort of control over his life."
"Ah." Tenpou smiled, and looked out at the world around him clear-eyed, and thought about his own death, and the destruction of Heaven. "But I don't want a tool. I want an ally."
Homura frowned, then smiled, a bright unchancy smile, a foreshadowing of some adult force of vengeance that made Tenpou's brows draw together in unformed fear. "You want a second toushin to destroy Litouten's base as father and master of the current toushin," he said slowly. "You want an itan for that." He raised his hands, letting the chain swing between them in a mimicry of an oath of fealty. "You want a lot of things, Marshal, for very little return."
He nodded, resigned. "Quite so. You will be a target for Litouten, and possibly for others." Certainly for others. But at least you seem to realise that, not like the soldier who ran out there with those trusting harmless eyes and died saying But Mars- "You might well die in the line of duty." Like him. "It's been known." It's almost certain.
"And what do I get for this?"
Fill in the gaps yourself. Let me know what you want. "Why don't you tell me?"
"The chance to have a choice, for once," Homura said slowly. "Allies. You, and others. Because you wouldn't try this on your own." Quite accurate, even if Konzen has yet to be informed of his major part in this. "A position which, if nothing else, would keep me occupied."
"All of these," Tenpou said. "And something else, as proof of my sincerity." And to make sure that Homura wouldn't betray him -- oh, he'd taken the bait, that was clear enough, but now it was time to twist the barbs and make sure they'd stay in.
You're cruel, Tenpou Gensui, he thought, and then answered himself with, I do not delude myself, I have never deluded myself, and I will pay when it comes due.
Homura tilted a hand, waiting.
"I have contacts in the bureaucracy." He watched himself dangling exactly what Homura wanted in front of him. He watched the boy's face freezing as he spoke, caught between desperate hope and disbelief. "She has only just been sentenced to earth; she will not have been born yet, will only just have been conceived. But we can find your Rinrei."
Homura closed his eyes, opened them again, and something in that mismatched gaze said, Betray me in this and you are dead. "How do you know her name?"
"Some people listen to rumours. Some people try to find out the truth behind them." Why tell Homura quite how scandalous a little affair it had been? No wonder the Emperor had wanted it all brushed under the carpet as quickly as possible. "A man's private life is his own business," he said, and wished that it was. "It's a pity that -- what happened to the two of you happened."
"Some people still have what they have," Homura spat. It was quite obvious what he was thinking about.
Tenpou shrugged. Let him get it out of his system now. I need him thinking later. "Heaven isn't fair. Get used to it. Or learn to use it."
"Are those the only choices we have?"
No wonder children were so rare in Heaven; it was heartbreaking to have to explain reality to them. You wanted to believe that something better was possible. You lied to Goku about what was going on around him, or brushed over the details, anything, just to let him stay happy and innocent. You kept the truth away from Konzen, and let him stay in cold isolation, so that he wouldn't feel impelled to meddle with the world around him and soil his hands, because if he knew then he would feel that he had to try to do something, because he was a kinder person than you were. You hid half your soul from Kenren, the part that was fascinated with the darker things, so that he would look at you and smile and kiss you and hold you and walk through the fire for you, to you. And now he was going to coopt Konzen into his conspiracy, and make Kenren collude in using this boy, and he wouldn't hesitate.
Tenpou took the cigarette from his mouth, and breathed smoke into the blossom-scented air. "Sad, isn't it? And this is Heaven. You almost wonder," you almost believe, "if Under Heaven would be better."
"So . . ." Homura paused, considering. "May I ask a question?"
"Please do."
"What do you actually want out of this?"
What keen vision. How very painful. "I want . . . a lot of things, Homura. I don't expect to get all of them." Let that be enough to satisfy him. "What I need, for the moment, is you willing to be toushin taishi."
"That you can have." The words came easily, as though they didn't involve any sort of risk.
"Good." Tenpou exhaled. "Come along, then; we have a lot to do, and little time to do it in."
"Even in Heaven?" Homura asked dryly.
"Especially in Heaven."
And this is where you lead him into danger. Aren't you going to do something else, Tenpou Gensui? There's always a choice, you know. You could find another way. You could risk someone else. You could do something else.
And this was night in Heaven, among the cherry trees, with an itan who didn't understand the bargain that he'd just made. All the stillness and stagnation that one could ever ask for, all the good order of Heaven distilled down to a promise of learn the rules and lose any innocence you had left.
Tenpou Gensui lit another cigarette, and breathed in smoke. They said that it was poison, Under Heaven.
A pity that he liked living far too well to want to die.
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