Chapter 2 - The Unknown Story
In autumn, the leaves flake from the phoenix tree
And the travelers come home like birds migrating...
The workmen thank Heaven who is their protection -
And a vessel full of treasure is borne home on the wind.
Then something stirred, a sensation she would rather ignore. It was too much like what she had been trying to forget. It came again. Stronger this time, sizzling her mind for a brief moment before subsiding and letting her drift back into darkness. A second or an eternity later a shower of sparks burst behind her eyelids as another jolt of pain rushed through her, bringing with it keen awareness and a sudden jar to reality that tore a strangled scream from her throat.
Her eyes flew open as she gasped, black pupils wide and unable to focus, the sensations so overwhelming in their unexpected rush that it made comprehension impossible. Something cool was put against her forehead and she squeezed her eyes shut again, blocking the light and bringing back the welcomed darkness. There were sounds, a voice speaking, but the words were unfamiliar and moved in a pattern she couldn't discern. She felt the sensation of her leg being moved before suddenly the pain became unbearable, sending a jolt of adrenaline through her body that urged her muscles to curl up and escape from the hurt.
Fractured and hysterical thoughts flooded her mind, the inner voice of a little girl frightened beyond belief. Just let me die, let me die, no no no! Her plea came out instead as a strangled moan while something heavy held her down, restraining her efforts to wrench free.
The voice came again - stronger, more authoritative - but she still couldn't comprehend the words. The pain in her lower body was overwhelming and felt like cold fire spreading through her nerves, constricting her lungs and squeezing her heart until she gasped aloud through the tears squeezing from the corners of her eyes. Pain had never felt this intense - it had to be death, she had to be dying - and another moan escaped her at the frightening thought of her impending demise. Something dry and slightly calloused replaced the coldness against her forehead and she felt more than heard the voice speak somewhere near her right cheek. A flood of warmth trickled its way through her body from her forehead down, like a gentle rolling wave that banished the pain in every corner it reached. With a soft sob of relief Marissa felt her muscles relax from their strained positions and the heavy pressure on her chest lift away. Before slipping back into unconsciousness, two simple sounds from the spoken words clung to her last fuzzy thoughts and held on firmly. No da…?
= = = = = = =
Chichiri opened his eyes and glanced slowly about the room. His gaze finally rested on the small, single window against the far wall and he squinted at the early morning sunlight which filtered through in soft golden bars. Sitting up from the slouched position he had slept in he arched his back, fingers clenching atop his knees as he stretched his stiff body. He had slept in a chair next to the bed all night, keeping a vigil on the young woman that now slumbered peacefully within it. Standing up slowly, Chichiri paused at the bedside and focused on the sleeping girl, a look of careful contemplation taking over his masked face.
It had been a rough day yesterday, to say the least. Once he had gotten them back to the house in the fading twilight he'd immediately put her in bed and worked on repairing the wound which had torn open her leg. He'd offered a silent thanks to Mitsukake for the small amount of medicine he'd learned from the gifted healer before making sure this woman didn't die on him. The house's stores had provided him with the ingredients needed to numb the area and clean it thoroughly, but it was his contribution of heavily applied ki that managed put the woman into a deep sleep after she'd woken up and nearly managed to take his arm off in her delirious struggles.
The wound had been frighteningly deep, but the bone hadn't been damaged and no major arteries were cut; which had only left the problem of sewing the muscle and skin back into place. Something easier visualized than done, Chichiri had soon realized. Thread and needle were easy to locate among the cottage's supplies, but aligning pieces of ripped muscle was completely new territory for him. For all his years and the short time spent with Mitsukake, the need for surgery had never arisen. It was common that in a situation as precarious as this, one either depended completely on magic, or let fate take over and guide the injured with her spidery hand.
Never having felt too charitable to fate Chichiri had set to work with blood covered fingers, going entirely on intuition and common sense to repair the monster's damage. When the pile of blood soaked fabric had reached as tall as his calf the wound was finally closed, muscle and skin crisscrossed inside and out by bits of black thread. But despite what appeared on the outside to be a job well done, his biggest worry was that the girl might not be able to walk on her leg ever again. Because of the deeply torn muscle even the most skilled of doctors would have been hard pressed to return a leg damaged that badly to its original condition. The most he could hope for was for her to have a slight limp, but the use of a cane or staff was inevitable. In the worst case she would have an extremely awkward gait, with scarring and a disfigured appearance above the knee. Absently, Chichiri's hand rose to run a finger along the edge of his mask. People would most definitely notice, and make her uncomfortable, and maybe even call her names in their ignorance. He could sympathize completely.
Placing a hand on her pale forehead Chichiri showed the faintest smile when he felt no sign of a fever. That seemed to be one side affect he'd escaped having to deal with, at least for now. He'd seen infections spring up in the healthiest looking of wounds in the past that led to pain, swelling, and in worst cases gangrene. It was a depressing thought that this person would be made to suffer and require his constant vigilance for the next few weeks. He didn't resent her for being injured, the desperation to save a life was almost euphoric when one managed to succeed, but he did feel remorse over not being able to spare her the pain the next weeks would bring. If only Mitsukake were here, he found himself thinking again. He would try his hardest to keep this girl alive, not only for his sworn duty to protect life in all its forms, but also for the curiosity she invoked in him. She was most definitely not of this world.
The evidence hadn't been apparent at first, not with him rushing about the house trying to find a way to stop the bleeding and gathering all the tools he had available to him. He'd finally taken notice later, after the blood soaked pants had been ripped away and the woman's strange underclothes managed to catch his attention. It had only taken a few moments before he recalled just where he'd seen them once before, though a bit smaller and of a different color at the time. While touring the palace grounds by himself back in Konan one of his fated run-ins had been with a clothing line on which hung some unusual pieces fluttering in the wind. It was only after he'd been chased away by the maid and told not to stare at the Miko's underwear that he realized what they were. And this woman lying before him had been wearing the exact same items.
Briefly he'd pondered the possibility of her being another Miko. But that explanation seemed highly unlikely. As far as anyone knew all the Mikos had all been called with the Suzaku and Seriyuu no Miko returning to their world. The cycle of the Mikos was not to begin again for a very long time, if ever. Legend only told of the Genbu and Byakko no Miko having arrived in their world before Miaka and Yui. Perhaps the cycle had ended now, or would begin again in a time when his present would become a nearly forgotten past. No one knew for sure; except perhaps Taiitsukun, but that deity made it as difficult as pulling teeth when information was sought. Chichiri realized the answers to this mystery would be slow coming.
Yet they were questions that would have to remain unanswered for the time being. A catatonic person could hardly offer up their secrets. Bending at the knees Chichiri retrieved a shallow bowl half filled with darkened water from beside the bed and left the room, returning a moment later with the bowl now full of clean water and carefully held between his hands. Kneeling on the wooden floor he picked up a small cloth that had been sitting beside the bowl, faint splotches of red crusted over it, and soaked it thoroughly until all the red stains had washed out. After wringing it out he gently dabbed the material on the girl's face, cleaning away the blood that had dried on her forehead and over the cut on her split lip. She'd taken a hard blow to her head sometime during the attack, that evidence made prominent by the two inch scratch extending from her hairline towards one eyebrow. The gash on her forehead appeared to be healing easily, while her lower lip was still swollen and a nasty color of dark red. Chichiri had to bite back a smile at the slightly comical look it created, she was bound to be unable to talk properly for a few days while it healed.
Soaking the cloth again he pulled down the blanket that had been lying across her collar bone, letting it settle over the curve of her stomach. In his hasty treatment of her leg the evening before it had slipped his mind to bother checking for any other minor injuries. Scratches and light bruising seemed to be all she had endured despite the torn leg, but he knew the price for thinking so optimistically might lead to a serious internal injury being overlooked. At the moment she only wore one of his spare shirts, its total length reaching to just above her knees, having been the only thing he could find on short notice while her other clothing endured a good soak to remove the blood and grass stains. Despite his chaste lifestyle and having dealt with injured in the past, the process of unclothing her had left its impression by the red that tainted his ears the entire time.
Gently rolling up the right sleeve he examined her arm, wiping the cloth over her hand and under her dirt imbedded fingernails. He repeated the same to her left arm, finding that both of her hands were slightly lacerated across the palm, grass and dirt pressed into angry red burns that were centered on the pads above her wrist. It looked like she'd taken a few hard tumbles onto the ground. Chichiri sighed inwardly. Every scratch was silent proof of the horrors this girl had endured. She continued to sleep peacefully through these examinations, lending to his relief that nothing more serious was being found. Lastly he pulled up the hem of the garment until her pale stomach and ribs were visible in the morning light. A frown fell over his face at the sight of a palm sized bruise spreading over the right side of her ribcage. Gingerly he probed around the area, feeling nothing shift or out of place, but with a firmer push he felt the girl take in a quick breath. It seemed safe to assume that her ribs weren't broken, just badly bruised, as she continued to slumber once he removed his hand. A final inspection revealed nothing more threatening than a blossoming bruise on her hip and another just above her left knee, the compounding number of bruises sure to leave her in pain for awhile.
Pulling down the shirt to cover her modesty he carefully began to remove the bands around her right leg, wincing in sympathy as the girl began to stir and her breathing quickened. Mindful to be quick he finished removing the fabric and wiped away the fresh blood accumulated between the stitches, taking care not to disturb them. Rewrapping the injury with clean bandages was a lesson in moving her leg as little as possible, accentuated by the tiny whimpers working their way from her throat. Worried she might wake he finished and stretched out his hand to place over her forehead, dousing her aura with a warm burst of ki that calmed her breathing and set her back into a deep, healing sleep. Understandably tired Chichiri picked up the bowl and blood soaked wrappings and walked through the bedroom's only door, intent on finding himself a warm meal and a few moments of uninterrupted thought.
= = = = = = =
Several days later Marissa slowly opened her eyes, the great effort it took surprising her, and looked around herself with her first conscious thought since the incident.
Where am I?
Her eyes focused themselves blearily on the wood ceiling, taking stock of her mental faculties and the muted sensations present across her body. Her right leg was throbbing, not painfully, but like the blood was being gently blocked off. She attempted to move the limb and hissed in sudden pain, pressing her lips together until the sharp ache subsided. Wiggling the fingers of her right hand she reached down and skimmed across the wrappings around her thigh. Reluctantly she pulled back after a moment and made an effort to find out if there were any other painful surprises waiting for her. Toes and fingers wiggled without repercussion, her arms seemed ok if a bit itchy, and a dull ache on her left hip warned her against turning over in that direction.
Satisfied for the moment, Marissa settled herself with surveying the room once she found she could turn her head without pain. It was small and rustic, looking barely lived in if not for the measure of cleanliness it portrayed. One window with shutters open to the afternoon air stood on the wall opposite the bed, a wooden chair resting just underneath it. On the wall between the bed and window a door stood closed and appeared to be latched from the inside, a loop of string passing through a small hole and through to the other side. She could just barely hear low sounds coming from beyond the door.
Wetting her lips with her tongue she realized how thirsty she was. Spotting nothing to drink immediately she made an effort to rise up on her elbows, wincing as the movement brought a few other sore areas to light. She managed to push herself into a sitting position and leaned back wearily on the pillow under her back, amazed at how exhausted she felt just from the small movements. Looking about the room again she was disappointed to see nothing like a glass of water to ease her thirst, but she did notice her new garments now that the blanket she'd been sleeping under had fallen to rest on her stomach. It was a creamy colored tunic made of wool that extended almost to her knees, the front pieces held together by a small loop and button on her right shoulder. Something about the design seemed familiar but she shook away the nagging thought; it hurt too much to do any thinking right now.
She was debating on calling out, as the noises behind the door had yet to cease, when the latch rattled in its cradle and swung up. The door opened and Marissa stifled a yelp, feeling both foolish and scared for being so jumpy. It was at the sight of who walked through the door however that wrenched a startled squeak from her throat that sounded much weaker than she'd intended it to.
The man wore a shirt similar in style and color to the one she was wearing and forest green pants that extended to his bare feet. A red sash sat snugly around his waist and a peculiar set of large prayer beads rested on his shoulders and across his chest, the polished spheres almost luminescent in the sunlight. But it was his hair… his blue hair, that made Marissa's breathing speed up. The hair was shaved close to his head save for a set of messy bangs that curved up then fell almost playfully over the right side of his face. His smiling, masked face.
Her mouth went dry and only one thought seemed able to make itself clear in her head. Oh, my, god… some freak is dressed up like Chichiri!
"Konnichiwa na no da! Omae wa hiru gohan ga hoshi no da?"
At his unexpected words she swallowed another squeak felt her eyes go wide, looking his attire up and down with trepidation. Great job on the clothes, but what's with the impersonation?
Under her scrutiny he seemed to grow a little uncomfortable and made to move further into the room. Startled, Marissa shrunk further onto the bed and raised her right hand palm forward, both a greeting and a warning to stop.
"Hi," she whispered uncomfortably, feeling her throat scratch.
He seemed to realize her discomfort and stepped out of the room, appearing a moment later with a wooden cup in one hand. More aware of her fear than she gave him credit for, he approached the bed slowly and handed her the cup of water, which she gratefully drained in a few healthy sips. Passing back the cup she moved to sit up straighter, drawing the worn blanket closer and feeling immensely self conscious in front of this man who was doing a freakishly good job at impersonating her favorite seishi.
It would have been amusing if she hadn't been so scared, the way he stood there with his arms dangling and looking a bit lost at what to do next. He seemed to make up his mind after a moment though and left the room, returning again with a full cup of the cool water. This time he gave her the cup then pulled the single chair closer to the bed, letting it rest at what felt like a polite distance away that still allowed conversation.
"Thank you," she murmured, taking another sip of the water to emphasize her point. When he didn't respond, just watched her, she felt her face flush. "And I guess, thanks for all this." She gestured to include the bed, her clothes, and her bandaged leg. Still he didn't respond and her hand that wasn't holding the cup gripped the blanket tighter. What is this guy's deal?
"I really appreciate everything and I'm sorry if I'm being a bother but, why are you dressed like that? And where am I for that matter? I'd really like some answers, please."
"Ano…" the man finally said, though it was more a confused sound than a word. "Omae wa nihongo wo hanashimasu no da?"
"Look, I don't understand much Japanese," Marissa replied, pushing down her rising irritation. "Why don't you stop and tell me where I am. My name's Marissa, by the way."
Another completely blank look met her searching gaze. "Marissa," she repeated, pointing to herself and feeling like an utter fool for doing so. This guy was going to start laughing any moment now.
"Ah wakatta no da. Oira Chichiri toiu no da."
Furrowing her brow in annoyance, she was cheered by seeing the man lean back and look uncertain, his hand rising to scratch at the back of his neck where the long blue pony tail began. His behavior was so uncannily like Chichiri's she was torn between being impressed and angry, though anger was quickly winning as the awkward moment stretched on.
"Would you stop it, Chichiri," she sneered, and was rewarded with the man looking taken aback by her tone. "I don't find this funny at all, and I want you to tell me right now what the hell is going on!"
Startled into moving he got up and approached her bedside, capturing the wrist of her hand that was starting to gesture wildly with her words. "Heki, heki no da," he pleaded softly, the penciled brows and mouth on his mask turned down into concerned frowns.
Something was flickering in her mind, a forgotten memory struggling to break free, and the longer she stared at the masked face she felt the fragile pieces of something begin to crumble. The mask... his face... it was smiling before, wasn't it?
"Oh... my, god," she breathed, feeling her exhaled breath hitch in her throat. The rising panic at her realization was quickly giving way to frustration and denial. Memories were coming back in a rush now - the glowing light, being pulled in, falling and nearly drowning, of pulling herself from the water, of searching, of pain and screams and bright lights…
With a tremble and an eerie detachment she watched him reach up and pull away the mask, the movement seeming to stretch out for breathless seconds before the face underneath was revealed. One eye open, bright, an impossible color of amethyst stared back in deep concern, and where the other eye should have been...
"No no, no!" she wailed, wrenching her hand free of his and twisting to retreat from the impossible sight. The sudden movement drew a startled yelp from her as her leg, hip, and ribcage protested in sudden and excruciating pain. With a sob she fell back onto the mattress, tears streaking down her cheeks from the intense pain and the emotional turmoil rolling through her head. It's not true, no it's not true, not true!
Still perched on the edge of the bed Chichiri quickly stilled one of her flailing arms and placed his other hand over her forehead, subduing her aura with a controlled burst of ki that sent her almost immediately into a deep sleep. Thoroughly confused and a little disconcerted he gently took her by the shoulders and rearranged her on the bed so that her head was resting on the pillow. The tear tracks on her face continued to make their way towards her chin as they slowly dried in the afternoon air, and Chichiri found himself emotionally sympathetic to her discomfort and the pain she was enduring.
Her reaction to him however was another mysterious matter entirely. He'd had people react unpleasantly to his unmasked face before, but this felt like something else. She had been shaking her head, saying one word over and over, which by its tone sounded very close to the meaning of no. There was the question, 'no' what? And not just that, but what language had she been speaking? He hadn't recognized a single word through it and she'd seemed not much better off when it came to comprehending what he'd said in return. How was he going to find out who she was and where she came from if they couldn't even understand each other?
A thoughtful frown crossed his unmasked face and he turned to sit gently on the edge of the bed, turning the paper visage over in his hands while he debated on what to do. Several minutes passed before Chichiri rose and busied himself with straightening the bedding, placing her arms on top of the blankets and making sure her bandages were still intact around her thigh. When he finished he stared down at her pale slumbering face before sighing softly, hating himself for having to make this decision but knowing that it was inevitably the only way to solve their dilemma.
Sitting down on the edge of the bed once more he leaned forward and cupped the sides of her head in his two hands, thumbs unintentionally brushing away the last of her salty tears as he cradled her face. Skin to skin his finger tips made contact with her temple, cheek, and back of her neck, resembling a lover's caress if not for the look of intense concentration that had settled over his features. With a deep, focusing breath he forged a connection between their auras and dived into her slumbering mind, offering up a feeble apology for the breach he was about to commit.
Her resistance was minimal, a full mine so easy to pluck information and images from; it was like entering a labyrinth he already knew all the answers to. There were dark and light areas, spots littered with vibrant rainbows, patchy clouds of diffused gray, and literally thousands of memories stretching before his consciousness. All too aware of the invasion of privacy he was committing he was hasty to seek out the memories he was looking for - images and moments from birth through early childhood of learning a language he was determined to understand. He immersed himself in the memories, letting his own consciousness adopt their shadows for himself, relieving the days and years in her past as she grew to better know her own language. Many of the images made little sense, jumbled with impressions of places, faces, and objects he couldn't begin to comprehend. But he plowed ahead and fought through his confusion to focus on the task at hand – learning a language in a matter of minutes that had taken her years to master.
Finally, after what could have been hours or a matter of minutes, he felt himself ready to deal with the new situation at hand. Withdrawing through her mind he paid extra care to avoid her most recent memories, some burning such an intense color of emotion that it took a measure of willpower to keep his curiosity in check. When he was completely back in his own mind he opened his eye and felt his face flush when he saw how close their faces had come together while he'd investigated her memories. Sitting up slowly his hands withdrew from her head and fisted on his lap, his one eye staring down with a look of deep remorse.
"Please forgive me," he apologized softly in English, before rising and leaving the slumbering woman to her dreams.
= = = = = = =
She was a rabbit. I was a rabbit. I am a rabbit. I run across the open field toward my burrow, not aware of any danger, only the freedom of mobility and the wind rishing past my ears and over my short fur. A dark hole looms open before me but I do no hesistate, for it is my home. The walls are snug around my body as I crawl inside, reaching an open chamber with wilting greens in one corner and my litter of children in another. They are still small but getting bigger every day, and I feel my maternal love for them swelling inside my tiny bosom. My ears twitch as I listen to their high pitched cries of recognition, their short paws still moving awkwardly as they tumble over each other to reach my side. I can feel their warm bodies pressed against mine, the smooth touch of their newly grown fur, their healthy heart beats, and I am filled with pride for the children I have raised so carefully. They no longer need to suckle but some of them still nuzzle at my abdomen, finding comfort in the actions from their first weeks of living.
My nose is always working and I sense a strong odor on the air, one that makes my body tense and my heart beat faster. I know there is danger though I do not know from what or where. I make high noises in my throat that herd my children towards the back of the burrow and into a small alcove where I know they will be safe. It is none too soon for the loud indrawn breath of a wolf sniffing near the front of my burrow echoes through the chamber. Dirt begins to fly as his paws scrape at the ground and his snout attempts to thrust its way through the hole. He has followed my trail back, but unlike many others he is persistent and digging deeper and more desperately for the blood he craves. A long forearm covered with dirt and gray hair is pushed through the hole, the claws deadly and sharp as the limb thrashes about, seeking to catch a meal off guard.
My children whimper in fright and I realize that if I do not do something soon he will break into our home and eat us all. I will not let him have my children. Knowing what I must do I move along the back of the burrow, narrowly avoiding another set of razor sharp claws, and slither out the back hole which leads above ground some distance away. I emerge into bright sunlight and turn to see our attacker, boney haunches in the air and muzzle buried in the dirt, snapping furiously for the meat he can smell underground. Making as much noise as possible I scamper through the dry grass, moving away from my burrow. As I had expected the wolf's ears hear my paws hitting the dirt and in a flash he is after me, teeth snapping at my hind legs as we dart across the ground. I must lead him away from my burrow as far as possible so that he will not remember to return and eat my children. We are soon far enough away but I do not give up, no matter how quick my heart beats or how painfully it smacks my ribcage.
We round a low bush and I find my paws no longer obeying me as my back legs hit a high exposed root. I am thrown off balance and go tumbling over the ground with the wolf fast behind me ready to pounce. In one powerful swoop he clamps down on his prize, shaking me to and fro between his teeth as I struggle and gasp for air. I feel the skin break as my life blood begins to flow and with a sickening crack I know my neck has broken, then all is black.
= = = = = = =
The next time Marissa awoke the sun was just beginning to peek over the eastern hills, painting the sky with splashes of pink and orange that made the air and trees glow golden in the dawn. Enough light crept through her north facing window to lend a shadowy air to the small bedroom, the temperature still low and with a hint of a chill. Beside her bed a short table had been brought in, an empty cup and a pitcher of water waiting for her when she awakened. Thinking only of her incredible thirst she tried not to shiver as she poured the water and brought the cup to her lips, a distant part of her mind remarking on how clean and fresh the water tasted.
Settling back onto the bed once she had her fill, Marissa felt her mind beginning to wake up and recall the previous day. The how and the why seemed pointless to speculate on, the only truth apparent to her was that she was here, in Fushigi Yuugi, and Chichiri had been the one to find and take care of her. The irony of it made her sigh inwardly. A sense of lingering embarrassment settled in her stomach at the memory of her behavior, a reaction that at the time seemed to make perfect sense. It was completely unrealistic, to actually be within the pages of a book and face to face with a living, breathing, person who she'd only seen on paper and on a screen until yesterday. Somehow she couldn't imagine anyone reacting much differently, being confused and in denial over the whole preposterous notion. But after what had happened in her room, the bright light and the vague memories of what had happened after, it seemed not so fantastical in retrospect.
What am I going to do? she found herself wondering.
Sleep more, she decided after a quiet pause in her thoughts when no solutions were forthcoming. Pulling the blanket up tighter around her shoulders, her last reflection before drifting off was that she hoped the baby rabbits had made it out okay.A/N: Special thanks to Neko for keeping my Japanese passable.