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Chapter Two[November 9th, 2003]
"The mass of men lead lives of quiet desperation."
--henry david thoreau, "Walden"
--
He didn't know when it had happened, when it had become almost as natural as breathing or fighting or living, when HoroHoro had cease to become a nuisance and instead taken on the role of someone he would've died fighting for.
Something he would deny in his more lucid moments, no doubt. But this was not a lucid moment, even by Tao Ren standards. And it was all because of Hao, and—
That girl. That—that—girl.
She had been swallowed up—or at least her spirit had been, according to what Lyserg had told him, made helpless as a mewling kitten with only a few zealots to protect her (though powerful zealots they were). The last he had seen her she had been pretty and innocent and pure-looking, dressed all up in frilly whites. Her power as a shaman was supposed to be well and truly dead.
"Ren—"
"Shut up!" he snarled.
"Stop it—"
"Like hell I will!" The furyoku materialized in his hand. His fingers clenched around red metal; he swung with a roared curse. Metal sparked against magic-enforced metal. The resounding aftershocks sent him stumbling back before he forced himself upright again.
"You idiot, what the hell do you think you're doing?!" HoroHoro again; he could just barely see him out of the corner of his eyes.
"Getting us out of here, baka," he said, and attacked again. This time he was forced back against into the other side of the cage, taking HoroHoro with him as he went. They tumbled down into a pile of growled words and tangled limbs.
"Pull your head out of your ass, Ren—"
"What did you just tell me to do, you bas—"
"It's not helping any!"
"At least I'm trying!"
The other boy grabbed him by the front of his shirt, seemingly unaware of the coming consequences of doing so. "It doesn't matter!" he grated out. "She—is—too—strong—for—you!"
"Speak for yourself, ass—and let me the hell go!" His hands had stayed tangled in Ren's shirt, and no matter how hard he pried, the grip would not come off, the fingers curled into the cloth like iron. Distantly he saw Ryu and Chocolove sitting around gaping at them, heard Manta yelling for both of them to get it together, to stop acting like children. Only, Yoh's little tag-a-long friend seemed to have forgotten that they were children; physically, at least.
And then the cage shifted, throwing them all off-balance—tilting just a little to the right side so that Ren and HoroHoro were sliding down that way, both of them still tangled up like a knot that refused to come undone. When they hit it was Ren who took most of the impact, the bars smacking directly into his ribs. "Bastard," he choked out, and wasn't so sure who he was talking about anymore.
"Ren?" HoroHoro, hands gripping him by his shoulders. Ren could've laughed, he sounded so concerned. "Ren?!"
The first thing he saw when he opened his eyes was Hao; Hao, smiling with the wind blowing his hair into dark-brown trails and mouth forming words he could barely make out.
"Which...traitor...you like me...execute...first?"
HoroHoro paled besides him, hand tightening even more around his arm. Manta gave a little squeak, his fingers frozen on top of computer keys. Ryu muttered a muffled curse. Faust was silent.
Lyserg laughed.
It was a funny little laugh that jerked Ren's head sideways to see the green-haired boy doubled over in gut-busting laughter, clawing at the floor of their prison until he left bloody trails where he touched. He was laughing, long and hard and ragged—great, shuddering laughs that sounded suspiciously like sobs. Finally he shuddered, and was still.
"Lyserg!" Ryu scrambled forward.
Hao stepped closer to them, hands folded behind him, smile considering, patient. His eyes landed on Ren—or, more specifically, on Ren and HoroHoro.
"Well," he said, "What's this?"
"I'm going to kill you." Ren pulled himself to his feet, breath frayed. With a burst of energy he staggered to where Hao stood in front of their cage. "I'm going to get out of here," he growled, drawing himself up so that they were eye to eye. "And I'm going to kill you."
"For what?" Hao's eyes slid sideways, to where HoroHoro sat. Ren tensed. "I've done nothing to you."
"You killed Yoh," he said.
"You should thank me—didn't I do you a favor?"
He nearly flinched back. "He is—was—my friend."
"Oh, really?" Hao looked back at him with curious eyes. "What if I killed another one of your friends? Say..." And he tilted his head to one side. "The one in blue?"
"Like hell you—"
"Shut up, HoroHoro." Ren made a gesture behind his back. "For once, just—shut—up."
He did. Ren felt faintly surprised. Hao only laughed, as if he found them terribly amusing. "Now, where were we?"
--
She had been staring at Manta for some time now.
Not at Manta, specifically, but at the laptop that perched atop his lap, though his fingers had ceased their movement since Hao had announced his intention to execute one of them. She could barely make out the slumped form of Lyserg, curled up into a fetal position; could see Ren and Hao in their staring contest, one smiling and the other holding the bars in a white-knuckled grip, both leaning towards each other just barely, neither willing to back down.
Yoh—we can still bring him back—Amidamaru is with us, he says—he says there might be a way—Anna, Anna—don't you see what that means? Anna!—
Amidamaru, he said. Yoh's samurai spirit, silver-haired and fierce and loyal to a fault. Had he left Yoh at the last moment possibly, broken from him? If so, who had done so? She had heard of it before, spirits separated from their masters—not often, but once or twice, and that was enough. He was in the laptop, she was sure of it. Him and what he knew—maybe, just maybe, something that could bring Yoh back—which meant, ultimately, she couldn't let them die.
No. Yoh wouldn't have liked that anyway.
She glanced around, coolly. Then she moved forward, walking slow, measured steps to where Hao was watching the cage, contemplative as if pondering upon an interesting puzzle. "Hao."
"Anna," he said. "Have you decided yet?"
"Yes."
He turned to her with a gentle smile. "Who will it be?"
"No one," she said, after letting silence linger for just a little too long. "Let them go."
"Why? They're traitors. They conspired against me. They tried to kill me, Anna." The smile never once left his face. "If you don't want to choose, then I will." He started to turn away from her.
"Hao!" She caught his arm. "Listen to me."
"Yes?" Politely, with just a curl of laughter.
"There was a fight last month," she said, clearly. "Between two shamans."
He paused. "I don't see how it relates."
"It was between a Swedish girl, and a man from the streets of L.A. He beat her up." She tried to will him to look at her. Look at me. Look at me. "The girl was badly injured. Broken ribs, massive contusions, bones in her left arm snapped—basically, he almost killed her."
"The man will be punished, then," he said, and it might have been curt.
"The girl was pregnant."
He stiffened underneath her touch, but when he looked around at her his face was empty. "I still fail to see how this has to do with the execution today."
"Two days after that a group of shamans cornered a child, nearly killed him too. They said they were trying to get him to 'stand up for himself'—something about being a worthy shaman. Worthy to be a subject of Asakura Hao, see?" She didn't even pause when his eyes narrowed. "Last week there was the rebel shaman from Egypt—he picked a fight with the others at a meeting, didn't he, one that Jeanne was overseeing. Because it was 'boring', and the people speaking were 'pompous, up-tight jackasses'. It escalated into a riot, Hao." She paused. "Would you like me to go on?"
He was frowning, just a little bit. She didn't know if that was a good thing or a bad thing.
"The shamans are getting restless."
"What are you getting at?" And it seemed like Ren and HoroHoro and Lyserg and the rest of them had been completely forgotten—just Hao's eyes focused on hers, intense like she was the only one in the world.
"They want something to do, Hao." She leaned in to him, close enough to whisper. "Give them something to do."
Behind his back, Manta pushed himself to his feet, sidled to the edge of the cage, and let his arm drop to his side. His hand opened. Something white floated out, onto the platform ground.
He considered her with slanted eyes. "That's going to worse for them, don't you think?" A pause. "If I'm thinking the same thing you are."
"You are," she said. Because you and I are more alike then I'd like to admit. That she left unsaid, because she knew he had read the words in her eyes.
"Hao."
"Hmm?"
She said it softly, but still loud enough that they could hear her. "Think—if you were in their position—would you rather die caged up, or die fighting?"
A small sigh of breath. "Ever the persuasive one, Anna." A pause. "You wouldn't planning anything, would you?"
"You know that if I said I wasn't, I would be lying," she said, calmly.
"And if I were to catch you sneaking around behind my back?"
"You can do with me," she said, "As you please."
He laughed a curious little laugh. "Funny," he said, "But that's exactly what Yoh said, before he died."
"..."
And now it was his turn to lean in to her, hands coming down to settle gentle around her shoulders, as if she might break if he handled her too roughly. He's trying to throw me off guard, she thought, switching in and out of personalities. Trying to confuse me.
Only, it was working.
"Tell them, then," his words coming a bare whisper against the outer shell of her ear. "Tell the shamans. Tell Yoh's friends that you want to have them loosed and hunted like animals."
She stepped away from him, the image of his smile something she couldn't quite shake. "It is your duty as Shaman King to announce festivities to your people," she said, formally.
"We'll make an exception. Today is our wedding, after all."
Her eyes narrowed. "I insist."
"No, no," he laughed. "I couldn't. The honor must go to my wife." And he took her hands, guided her so that they were in full view of the sea of shamans; gave her a little nudge. "Come on, now. Don't be so shy."
She looked up at him, eyes cool as she could make them. "Give them a days head-start."
"Whatever you say."
"No time limit."
"Agreed."
"Hunting parties of maximum four."
"What do you take me for, Anna?" He shook his head, giving her an indulgent little smile. "Fine, but no more."
She opened her mouth, then closed it again.
"It'd be good for the shamans to have a little fun now and then," he continued. "But if they become too much of a nuisance I will take care of them." Gently, he caught her elbow. "You know I'm only playing this little game because you want to. Don't disappoint me, Anna." His breath was soft against her cheek, and barely stirred her hair.
"I told you not to underestimate me." She tilted her head; looked up at him for the longest time, before finally turning out to the crowd.
And it seemed that they—Yoh's friends, her—her—who were they, to her? she just didn't know—understood enough that they did not yell at her, curse at her, hate her for being an unfeeling itako girl, so cold that she could walk past them and announce to the Shaman population what may as well have been their death sentence, and not turn an eyelash at doing so. She felt Manta staring at her, as they all were. She didn't look at them, though. When HoroHoro yelled something at her she automatically tuned it out, because she was good at it ignoring what didn't really matter.
She was afraid if she were to look at them, they would see her carefully blank eyes, and hate her for being what she could only be.
"Your attention, please." Cold. Professional. As if she were not about to loose rapid shamans upon the only people who could possibly get her out of this, shamans trained and bred for only the Shaman Fight, shamans cooped up on Hao's grounds for too long. "As the wife of your King I have an important announcement to make." She chose her words carefully, as she did for everything, distancing herself from what she was saying. "There is to be a hunt held within the borders of these lands, 50 miles south-north, 50 east-west, starting tomorrow," she said. "The quarry will be the...traitors, held here."
They rustled to attention. Pigs, she thought contemptuously. A mention of bloodshed and they were on you like white on rice. "The prisoners are to be given a full days head start. There will be no surrounding them with overwhelming numbers; hunting parties may only consist of four, no more." Hao was watching her, smiling. Carefully. "There is no time limit, and any one caught cheating will face the King's," and now she executed a little bow to him, made her voice scornful as she dared, "displeasure."
She jerked back just a little when he stepped up next to her. "This will be a fair hunt. I trust you will all remember that." He was looking at her when he said it.
But it didn't matter what he said, how he said it, what he meant by it—even now, his wife by less than an hour, and she was tired of his word games. He could play them until he was blue in the face, but it wouldn't matter. This was the only way.
And she kept on telling herself that, even as Hao gestured for Jeanne to release them, even as the gate fell open in a empty metal clang, even as they were escorted out to the forest's perimeters, Ryu looking back at her and gesturing wildly, and her looking away, avoiding their eyes, even as Hao drew her to him, stroked her hair so gently that she almost leaned into his touch—that it was the only way.
Yoh wouldn't have had it any other way.
God help them all. If there is one.
The crowds dispersed. Hao gave her a strange little hug before leaving as well.
She picked up a tiny scrap of paper as she left as well, pretending to drop down to dust off her skirt. It crumpled in her palm, but when she opened it later, she could still read the blotchy letters, neat little rows with hooked y's that could only belong to Manta.
--
The festivities saw the people dancing in the pale light of the slivered moon, eerie gray-silver casting husky violet shadows; saw shamans drinking champagne (something Hao especially liked, despite it being a human delicacy and all), laughing among each other and tucking away at the tables of food laid out in neat, colorful rows. The festivities saw endless rows of shining white teeth, eyes scrunched to tiny crescents in laughter, loose hands and looser lips.
Anna watched from where she sat next to Hao, once in a while taking tiny sips from her wine. Disgusting. She felt light-headed, from all the alcohol, but she couldn't find it in herself to have cut loose inhibitions, laugh as Hao laughed besides her.
She dreaded what was to come next, but she didn't bother to show it.
They left, soon enough, in drunken groups roaring laughter or in staggering pairs hanging on just a little too closely to each other, or, for the unlucky ones, in singles with only a bottle of wine clutched in their hands. She was all alone with him all too soon, time having fled by even as she wished for it to stay.
Hao took her hand, and it was surprisingly light—fingers brushing over hers, palms dry and warm over hers. He led her through the overturned chairs, the messy tables, the lawn still relatively clean, bright emerald green. They started through the grand doors, so tall and towering above her it seemed like they were tiptoeing the halls of a church (a distinction Jeanne would've appreciated, no doubt). Her hand was still in his. It seemed that for the last few weeks she had done nothing but let herself be led around, Hao the master and her the dog beaten into submission.
The thought curled her toes, made something deep in her belly twinge. She could find it within herself to be furious, but she kept it buried.
She would find time to be furious when she brought Yoh back.
The stairs snaked up—one foot at a time, trying not to trip at every step; her own feet tangled at the oddest intervals, and once she nearly bowled into Hao on she half-staggered through the doorway. He offered her an arm and to her utter surprise she took it.
His arm was as thin, not unlike Yoh—thin, lean, warm. Underneath her fingertips he tensed. She looked up to see if her cold hands were bothering him, but there was only his shadowed profile, mouth down-turned and brows creased together. It told her nothing. But then he saw her looking at him, and the gentle little smile snapped back onto his face, quick as that.
And she had only the barest of questions on her lips before the bed hit the back of her knees—how had it gotten there?—and she fell.
She passed out almost as soon as her head hit the pillow.
--
It was a dream as surely as the sky was blue, or ice cold, or dreams themselves fleeting emotions, memories, wants—buried all too quickly by the conscious mind. In it, as it was with most, she was standing in a clearing with sands shifting beneath her feet, and wind knifing through her hair. Distant sunshine filtered in just-barely through clouds weighed down by rain.
And she turned sideways, and there they were, silhouettes against a darkening sky: one holding the other up by the hair—the excruciating sounds the other was making, struggling, and twisting, and then he gave a gentle little shudder—he—just—stopped. When Hao let him go, the corpse fell down into the ground, face turned towards her.
Remember this? His blank eyes seemed to say, blank and empty like looking into a long-abandoned house from a rotting window. Remember? You came too late. And here I am, dead. He sucked out my soul, Anna. The bastard ate my soul, and you were only a minute late.
And he sounded nothing like Yoh, the imaginary bitter anger like acid spat out in quiet accusations. It didn't make any difference, though, because he looked like Yoh; didn't matter that he wasn't, that he was just a bitter shell dreamed up by her subconscious. He looked like him, and though she had never been the superficial type, there it was like a slap to the face.
Funny, though, how it hurt more in dreams than it did in reality.
"Yoh," she said, taking a step his way, even though she knew it was foolish. "Yoh."
The sneer transformed his face into something ugly, and she nearly shuddered, this was wrong, he was dead, he could not look at her with his dead accusing eyes that so unlike Yoh. The edges of her vision blurred; he was still sneering, face twisted and earphones bright sickly orange against pasty skin and—wait, how had the earphones gotten there?—"Yoh," she said, this time desperate. Only, she didn't sound desperate; she didn't sound like she even cared. Her own voice was cold uncaring indifference, and when she touched her throat her fingers found bruise marks that hurt distant as a dead star. She looked down on her own skin bruised purple and unnatural yellow-red. Her chest started to ache, and she stared down at herself with something not quite panic—not quite there—reaching out sapling-slender tendrils to wind around her heart.
Bang.
And—
Then above her the sky exploded into red and pulsating black, and the clouds and the sun and the bare impression of the crescent moon melted away—and now she stood in a netherworld that left her brief impressions of canyons, of upside-down mountains, of stairs extending upwards forever, of desolation and a numb warmth that could have been pleasant if it did not leave the taste of vomit thick in her mouth.
And sitting there on the ground, quite casually, was Yoh.
He turned around, lifted his head to look at her. She watched as surprise made his eyebrows fly up, his mouth gape open, though too slightly to be noticed by someone who did not know how to look for it.
"Hello," she said.
"Anna!" The surprise receded into a smile. "Never thought I'd see you here."
I never thought I'd see you again, she thought, but kept it to herself. She did that often. "What is this place?" She looked down at her hand, as if expecting it to be transparent, or sprouting claws, or something strange—this was a dream, after all, only a dream that felt more real than usual.
"Sit down, yeah?"
She went to sit quietly by his side as he gestured for her to. She didn't know this place, but maybe he did. "Where am I?"
He smiled. It was a sweet smile, a little awkward and a little sheepish. "I don't know."
"You don't know?"
"Not a clue." A pause. "Promise not to get mad at me if I ask you something?"
She glanced at him, sideways, but nodded.
"You're in this place," he said. He turned towards her, eyes earnest. "So are you dead, too?"
That was when she woke up.
--
At first she thought that it was Yoh who was holding her, warm like an oversized shirt left out in the sun and then slid on nestle bare skin. It smelled like him, the blankets, the pillow as it pressed into the side of her face, her hair. There was something oddly comforting to being held like a child, though if she was a child then the spirits take her.
She was use to waking up, the first second when everything had turned to a tired blur, sometime during the night. But she was use to the time immediately after too, sleep falling off her eyelids, shed easily through years of routine.
Never the arms woven comfortably around her waist, though. Yoh had known better than that.
"Morning," Hao said, even though it was dark outside.
She lay there and stared at his hand curled near her stomach, felt him warm as a fire at her back. There were strands spilling over her shoulder—long and smooth, longer than her own, some part of her noted—and the fingers of his free hand toyed absently with hers, bending and curving over and tapping, just this side of intimate.
"Morning," she said, and in the same tone of voice: "Get off of me."
"Say please."
Was he teasing? She withdrew her hand, frowning. Hao did not tease—it was just wrong. "Are you asking me to beg?"
"If you call that begging, then yes."
"Bastard," she said.
"I know." He laid a soft little kiss against the back of her neck that made her shiver, for some unknown reason. "But this bastard is your husband."
"Don't try anything now."
"Me? Never!"
"Stop laughing."
"I would never—"
"Laugh at me?" she asked. "You're laughing right now, Hao."
She felt him shrug, a movement of shoulders and chin bouncing just a little. "Count yourself as one of the few, then."
"The few," she said, half a question.
"Who can really amuse me," he said in ways of explanation, and she felt his smile against her skin. "That's why you can trust me." His hands were still against her middle, as if trying to be as unobtrusive as possible, though he did not take them away.
"What are you trying to do, Hao?" she said, finally.
"Why am I being so polite, you mean?" His voice held the warmth of amusement, or of anger. "I'm always polite, to ladies especially."
"You should've thought of that when you forced me into marrying you," she said. "That's a pretty twisted version of polite."
A soft laugh, gentle vibrations against her shoulder. "You're the one to talk."
She frowned in the darkness. "Don't avoid it."
"I'm not avoiding anything," he said. "I have nothing to avoid."
She sat up, then, sliding out of his arms—not gracefully, not elegantly, but it would have to do for now—sat up and ran fingers through her hair and over her shoulder—then stilled, the dream a flicker just caught through the veil of sleep. Yoh, she thought, and bent over her hand, holding it up even though she could barely make out anything, it was so dark.
He didn't try to pull her back. "Alcohol makes for interesting dreams, doesn't it?"
"I supposed you would know." She tucked her cold hand into the blankets, eyes flickering over the confines of the room.
"You wouldn't run out on me," he said, and she found it disturbing that he could read her even with her face turned away. "You're much too dignified for that."
"Stay out of my head, Hao."
"Was I even there in the first place? I didn't think so." He sounded amused. "If I was in your head," and he pulled her back, gentle tugging turned to a sudden pressure, "You would know it." It unbalanced her, landed her flat on her back. She twisted away from him at the last possible second.
"I shouldn't have listened to what you said before," she said.
"No. You shouldn't have." A pause, his form a darkened blur against a background just a little lighter. It might have been just her, but he seemed hunched over. "But even Anna Kyouyama is afraid of death, isn't she?"
"Not death," she said.
He turned his face towards her, just a little. "No. See that, Anna—I've never been inside your head. If I had I would've known."
"If I refuse to marry you, I die," she intoned softly, as if reciting from scripture. "If I agree, I live." If I live...
"You would've died," he said, a statement of fact.
"Yes."
"You never cared. You still don't."
"Yes."
"It was all for Yoh."
"Yes," she said, a third time.
He gave a tired little laugh, strange as it lacked any joy. "I won't bring him back for you."
"You won't. But you said you're going to play this game, for me," she said. "Didn't you?"
His voice quicksilvered from a weariness—was it weariness?—to sharp-edged anger. "I tire of games." A sigh, and then he lay back down next to her, with not even a single attempt to reach her again. "Go to sleep, Anna."
Go to sleep.
She did, but it was with the ghost of his arms still warm around her waist, and the ghost of Yoh's smile following her into her dreams.
---
AN: And it's reviewer response time! (Taking a page out of xahra99's book, here. Don't wanna take up too much space with this.) Woo. Beware Large-Blocky-Ugly-Paragraph-Thingie.
Aniiston: Write for Mankin! Write for Mankin! This fandom needs good writers like you! What if I were to do some shameless begging?? Anonymous: Encouragement is a necessary part of my everyday diet. ^_^ Annu-kun: Hao is one of those special, non-moronic villains, you know? There are facets to him, and he's not really evil. So yeah, angst coming up. Apple-chan: Madeleine L'Engle is (one of) my idol(s). And Bastard Hao will be less Bastard-ized, I promise. Ccs_lover: I'm a YohxAnna shipper at heart, but since there's a bit of a problem what with Yoh being dead... Anna/Hao is sort of unavoidable in these circumstances. Da*mouse: Oh darn, I was late to it? 'Ppreciate your comments, as always. Very constructive, and helpful, and I think I like cliffhangers too much for my own good. Draconicalitie: RenxHoroHoro...! *giggles along* (God. If there ever was a shameless fangirl...) flitter bug: "bastard..well..he's a damn hot bastard..but still!" My views exactly. ^_~ Kaori: He's not, he's not! (I am never going to see the end of this, am I...) Kyrie Sanctus: I will refrain from comment about the HoroHoroxTamao thing, as I'll probably get flamed to death if I were to say anything. LysergXJeanne: It might take time, but that is my goal, yes. I am also a BIG fan of YohxAnna! n_n Mahojin: Ah...*blushes* Some people say I overdo the flowery/simile/metaphor thing, and I'm inclined to agree with them. But thank you all the same. Meiyue: *is happy* Midnight Raven: I'm very impressed by your loyalty. And no, I'm not being sarcastic. Mouse-kun: *speechless back* passerby: Your review was very enlightening. Thank you. Rain2004: Yeah. Poor Anna. I can't believe I'm putting her through this either, believe me. Oh, what we will do in the name of an interesting story. Shirayuri: You don't know how much that means to me, coming from you. Thank you, thank you, thank you! (It about made my day ^^;;) T. One: No evil cliffie this chapter, right? ^^ UsagiAnna: The finish is a ways off—but don't worry, Aniiston (see: 1st, up there) has sworn to kick my ass if I don't.
(Wow. That was really long.) Last note: I guess you guys can expect a chapter out every week. If not, Aniiston gets to force me to rewatch and watch and rewatch the horrible first 20 episodes of YuYuHakusho until I go crazy and start clawing my eyes out. So yeah, that's a pretty safe bet. ^_^;;