Keisuke flipped ahead a few pages. "Huh." He turned back a chapter, carefully scanning for the line that had been such a shock and reread it: "As if driven by the hand of Seiryu, the knife plowed into Miaka's heart and she fell to the ground." The first time he read that line he had dropped the book. He couldn't believe it! His sister, dead! By Hotohori's hand. Just thinking about it caused his eyes to fill with tears again. He dropped his head into his hands. How could his sister be dead? His clumsy, ravenous, but funny and sweet sister, killed by the man who loved her.
Keisuke wanted to rip those pages out of the book; his grief had not changed from the first time he had read it. He wanted to burn this book. Except that, even now, Keisuke felt compelled to keep reading. He had to finish the story. Those few pages he had flipped ahead no longer mentioned the Priestess of Suzaku. But he couldn't leave Yui in Kutou, and just maybe he could bring her and his sister home. Their mother . . . Yesterday she wanted to know where Miaka was. How could he explain? It rang strangely in his ears: "I'm sorry Mom. She died because of a spell in a book." He choked on a laugh that came out as a sob. He hadn't said a word.
It was ridiculous! And yet it was as real as he was. His sister had died, for real, in a book.
"Driven by the hand of Seiryu." Keisuke turned to the line where he had stopped; rubbed his eyes with the palm of his hand and wiped his nose on the sleeve of his sweater. "Nakago prepared to depart for the border of Konan." He stopped again.
"I don't understand this part. It's so odd. This stuff about Nakago and Yui seems kind of out of place. It's as if the writer of The Universe of the Four Gods wrote this part and put it in later. Why wasn't it included before Miaka was killed?"
Without really thinking about it, Keisuke dog-eared the page and started to read again.
In the very early morning, before the first signs of dawn, Nuriko and Mitsukake rode up to Genro's door.
Nuriko jumped down and sat on the low stair to rub the back of his leg. "I don't know how the Emperor stands it!" he complained. "That has got to be the most uncomfortable thing I've ever sat on!"
Mitsukake nodded agreement as he untied his medicines from the saddle. "I'm afraid I have to agree with you. However, I don't believe it was designed for the serious riding we've been doing." Nuriko rolled his eyes. "Don't wait for me, Nuriko."
Nuriko jumped up, knocked on the door and shoved it open to reveal a brightly lit room. Koji wrung a cloth into a bowl of pink water and looked up. "Shhh. Don't slip," he whispered, then went back to cleaning the floor.
The low-armed chair was put away. The unused bandages and rags were stacked neatly on a table, and the floor gleamed wetly. The covers of the bed were rumpled, red-spotted, but empty. "Where is the Emperor?" Nuriko panicked. "Where is he?"
"Shhh! He's there," Koji hissed, pointing to an adjoining room. "I think he's gonna be all right. But next time you volunteer us for this kind of thing, why don'cha try bringing a cleaning crew?" He tossed the rag back in the bowl and followed Nuriko to the tiny, darker room. An unexpected noise assaulted Nuriko's ears as he looked into the room.
Tasuki, still wearing his bloodied shirt, sat on the floor, beside the bed. He was propped against the wall, limbs sprawled in every direction, mouth hanging open and snoring up a storm. On the bed beside him, the pale Emperor moaned, muscles tense, in uneasy sleep.
Mitsukake nudged past Nuriko and shook Tasuki slightly.
"What, Koji? Another dream?" Genro mumbled sleepily.
"No. It's Mitsukake and Nuriko."
Tasuki woke up and yawned hugely. "Hey, about time you guys got here. A little late for the party, though. You can help with the cleanup."
Mitsukake smiled slightly. "I would say we missed out on that, too." He moved a chair to the side of the bed and pulled back the blanket. He began to unwrap the sleeping emperor's red-soaked bandages. Mitsukake checked the cut on Hotohori's forehead. "Hm. This will be all right. A bruise from a blunt object. Probably the fall from the horse. And a clean cut, here. He may have gotten kicked. The bones aren't broken. You said he's been dreaming?" Tasuki nodded and moved to the other side of the bed, watching intently.
Mitsukake tipped Hotohori's head one way, then the other. "No blood in his ears or nose. That's good." His hand hovered above the Emperor's face and a gentle green glow appeared. The cut vanished and the bruise began to fade away. Mitsukake picked up Hotohori's hand and flexed his bruised wrist, but the Emperor flinched away; his eyelids flickered every time the healer touched him. "His Highness is very reactive for being unconscious," Mitsukake mumbled; he turned to Tasuki, "What kind of dreams?"
Koji answered, "Not too pleasant from the sounds of it."
Tasuki agreed. "Yeah. Some of it's been pretty violent. He reopened the wounds a couple of times with all his thrashing. But, except for a few outlandish claims, I think it's mostly memories about Miaka and Nakago, that time when he stabbed Tamahome."
Mitsukake continued to press his fingers into Hotohori's skin, feeling for broken bones, using his abilities to heal the bruises. "Well, that would be reasonable, considering the type of wound he has." Mitsukake unwrapped the large bandages and held his hand over the puncture in Hotohori's side. The gentle glow appeared again and the damaged skin pulled together. He closed his eyes and began to move his hand across the Emperor's chest along the path of the arrow. Abruptly, he stopped, then he looked up at Tasuki. "How did you get the arrow out? Whole, or was it broken?"
Tasuki put his hand behind his head and sweat-dropped. "Well, His Highness wasn't being too cooperative, and the arrow got broke. We had to take it out from both directions."
Mitsukake sounded irritated. "There are several slivers here. They could be dangerous."
The bandit leaned, stiff-armed, onto the bed and glared at Mitsukake. "Hey! I didn't break it on purpose! It just got broke! We were waiting for you! You want us to dig the slivers out ourselves? With a knife? 'Cause that's how we would have had to do it!" Mitsukake waited a moment while Tasuki fumed.
Finally, Tasuki looked away, and Mitsukake sighed. "Tasuki, you did the right thing. The slivers may cause infection, but they will have to work themselves out. Trying to cut them out would have killed the Emperor; he's already lost too much blood. And the arrow had punctured his lung. He should have died a long time ago, even before Nuriko found him. I was not criticizing your care of him. However you did it, you've done a very creditable job."
Genro's mouth dropped in surprise. He deformed, one hand on his hip, the other proudly pointing to the sky. "Of course we did! We're the Great Mountain Bandits! We can take care of any problem!" Koji tripped.
"This wound is very severe," Mitsukake cautioned. "For some reason my powers cannot fully heal it. Usually, I would be able to dissolve the slivers, but my power is being blocked." He held his hand over the Emperor's chest, trying again to heal the wound. He finally sat back, puzzled, and shook his head. "I can't get past it. But whatever is blocking my healing is also keeping the Emperor alive. How, I can't say. But I will stay here tonight. His Highness must be watched carefully. Even with as much as we've done, he could still die." Nuriko looked stricken at the proclamation, but Mitsukake didn't glance at him. Instead, he spoke to the bandits. "Tasuki, Koji. Go get some sleep. It's been a long night, and you've done enough." Koji stood by the door, Genro at Hotohori's side. They didn't budge.
Tasuki folded his arms. "We're not going anywhere. This is my house. We know where to get you what you need."
Mitsukake understood; he wouldn't have wanted to leave either. "Nuriko, when were you supposed to meet Tamahome and the others?"
"Tomorrow, at the palace."
"You had best go. Tell Tamahome what has happened and that they are to stay there. If all goes well, the Emperor may be able to travel in about two weeks, and we will meet you in Eiyo."
Nuriko felt his heart tighten as he looked at the Emperor. He really didn't want to leave. But, Tamahome would be waiting and Miaka would likely be in hysterics. Mitsukake was right; they needed to know what was happening. Nuriko turned on his heel and left without a word.
Mitsukake watched him leave, wishing he had some comforting words, but there were none. He heard the outside door open, when a thought came to him. "Tasuki, would you see if you could get fresh clothes and a different saddle for Nuriko?"
Tasuki nodded and walked out after Nuriko. That was something he could do.
A few hours later, it was full day. Koji set a small breakfast on the table, then slipped away to attend to the bandit hideout. Tasuki was sleeping, exhausted, on his own bed in the main room; his shirt and bloody bed sheets dumped in a heap on the floor. In the dark little antechamber, Mitsukake sat beside Hotohori, his chin on his fist, quietly waiting. Tasuki had told him that they had moved Hotohori in part because the rest of the bandits had become too nosey, constantly knocking and visiting. Mitsukake wondered what the other part was.
The Emperor's breathing was shallow, rapid. Mitsukake wondered if pain was reaching him, even in sleep. The splinters had shifted again; it seemed that every time they did His Highness would relive the dream. Hotohori flinched, his eyes half open. Mitsukake held his hand over Hotohori and did his best to heal the muscles the splinters had torn as they moved. He didn't want to give any medications to the Emperor until he had to. A sleeping draft could be dangerous in its own way, pushing the sleeper into a deep coma. Concerned, Mitsukake covered the Emperor's hand with his own. Hotohori's eyes fluttered and he turned his head away.
"Miaka, no. Not Miaka." The Emperor fidgeted restlessly, once again in the grip of his nightmares.
Mitsukake looked at his hand and thought, "Whatever this dream is about, it is violent and a shock to His Highness." In the past several hours it had woken Hotohori twice. The Emperor's anxiety had been obvious. Even though he could barely catch his breath, Hotohori had tried to speak. His speech was far from lucid, however. Broken bits about Nakago's desires to invade the empire, and Tamahome under a spell. Mitsukake wondered if perhaps the Emperor was delirious. Still, he had to admit to a certain curiosity, bordering on worry, about these dreams. Their source was ambiguous, indefinite, a wounded man's visions. Yet they seemed not only to be a dream, but memories, and also prophecy, a surreal truth. Mitsukake had no way to find out if Eiyo had been attacked or if Miaka was there, waiting and wondering. He had told Nuriko not to come back, but maybe he should have. The Suzaku warriors in Eiyo might really be in danger. No! Not from Tamahome. It was a dream's illusion; it had to be.
Mitsukake knew that part of the dream was true. He had been there to heal Tamahome's wounds when he had dueled with the Emperor. Except, there were differences in the Emperor's account from the events as Mitsukake remembered them, as if they continued past where Mitsukake knew they ended. The Emperor spoke of a fight in the woods, and a knife covered in Miaka's blood. The last image was the one that woke the Emperor, making him struggle against Mitsukake, as if against an unknown foe, until he recognized where he was. The first time he woke, the Emperor had called for the Priestess, then broken into sobs, unable to speak further when Mitsukake questioned him. Mitsukake had tried to soothe the Emperor, telling him it was a dream, that Miaka and Konan were safe, that it was over. But, despite the fever in his eyes, his wavering consciousness, Hotohori unquestionably believed what he was trying to say, as he whispered that he wanted to see Miaka, that there was danger to the empire, that he had to return to Konan. The second time, Hotohori had only breathed, "Miaka, forgive me," and dropped back into sleep.
A light tap on the wall brought Mitsukake out of his reverie. Tasuki leaned against the door. "Hey, need anything?"
Mitsukake shook his head.
"Okay," Tasuki hedged. Mitsukake gave him a questioning look. "Um, well, you know that nobody was supposed to talk about the Emperor being here, but there was that group in the courtyard the other night that saw him. And, well, word gets around here." Tasuki sweat-dropped and hastily looked at the floor. "The Emperor has a visitor."
Mitsukake was surprised, but even more so when a head popped around the corner. It was the blond boy that had the big crush on the Emperor when they'd first came to Mount Rekakou. He smiled and giggled self-consciously and finally shuffled into the room. He kneeled by the bed and put the flowers he was carrying on the floor. "He's so beautiful. I'll do whatever you need me to, to help him recover. I hope he's going to be all right."
Tasuki shrugged. Mitsukake sighed.
. . . The boy stayed all day and into the evening, starry-eyed the whole while, but anxious to help. Here was one visitor that was not so easy to get rid of.
Hotohori was awake. And he, who was the ruler of a country at fourteen and had faced wars and death and lost love, was frozen in fear. He was in an unfamiliar place, a small, dark room, and a fire burned through his body, centered in his chest, radiating into his arms and behind his eyes. At first he thought he knew the place, then a red haze descended over his perception, and recognition fled. There was threat in everything.
He remembered Miaka's voice calling to him in panic, felt the knife in his hand. He tried to lift his head, but he was too weak and dizzy. He couldn't move. His left hand was numb. The air stirred in the silence, as if there were a thousand shadows, breathing his name. A tear slid down his face. He didn't want to think about what came next. Nakago's voice echoed. He had killed her, Miaka, the Priestess of Suzaku, the one who could wish and save his empire, wish and restore Tamahome. His friend's love. His own love.
A beam of moonlight slanted through an opening in the curtains. A hazy, milky white shaft. The color began to shift to red and a black shadow fluttered across it. Hotohori sucked in a breath. Wings beat against the pane, then were gone. Just a bird.
He began to shake. He was vulnerable here. He tensed to get up, when a hand appeared on his shoulder. The slight pressure held him as immobile as the heaviest chains. "Welcome to Mount Rekakou, Highness."
The moonlight reflected off blond hair, creating a halo around the shadowed face of the cloaked figure. Hotohori instantly recognized sarcasm in the voice and a blazing hate rushed strength to his limbs. "Nakago, I will kill you!" He heard a gasp as he exploded out of the bed and grabbed his assailant around the neck. They staggered and slammed into the wall. Hotohori lost his grip and was shoved back onto the bed. He was dazed for a moment, then the character on his neck began to glow. The figure approached again.
Suddenly, Mitsukake's voice shouted in the darkness. "Stop! Don't hurt him!"
A flash of power roared toward Mitsukake and threw him to the floor. The door slammed open and Tasuki ran in. "What's going on?!" The flash hurtled him back into the main room and he crashed into the far wall. The room plunged back into silence.
Hotohori kneeled, doubled over, on the bed, his arms crossed over his chest. He pressed his face into the blanket and he gasped with pain. Nakago pulled the Emperor's head up by his hair and glared coldly into his eyes. "Tamahome sends his greetings."
His lips curled up at Hotohori's expression of shock. "I have a message for you Saihitei, Emperor of Konan, from the Emperor of Kutou. He is pleased with the death of the Priestess of Suzaku. We thank you. To prove to you that her loss is truly a victory, my Emperor commands that I show you the handiwork of the armies of Kutou." He grabbed Hotohori's arm and dragged him out of the house, past the empty courtyard to a clear view of the sky. The moon and all the stars were swallowed by a cloud bank.
Nakago let the Emperor sag to the ground and gestured toward the south. "Highness, Kutou has begun its invasion of Konan. Eiyo is ours, and we have captured the warriors Chichiri and Chiriko. We will kill them and all your people. Look! Your city is being burned to the ground!" Dark clouds, edged in red, hung low on the horizon. The wind shifted, bringing the stinging smell of smoke with it. "You cannot stop us! I would wish to kill you now. Seiryu, however, has commanded me otherwise. You are to live a bit longer."
A shout came out of the darkness, and Nakago vanished, leaving Hotohori laying on the ground, unable to tear his eyes from the ruddy glow on the horizon.
The blond boy scrambled down the short incline, holding a torch to light his way. He spotted the Emperor laying on the grass and shouted back up the hill. "Tasuki! Mitsukake! I found him! Over here!" He slipped an arm under Hotohori's shoulders and helped him sit up. "Highness! Highness!"
Mitsukake jumped down the hill and skidded to a stop. He held the Emperor's face between his hands and felt the fever burning under Hotohori's skin. He looked into the Emperor's bright eyes and heard his words, a small whisper, as the Emperor spoke. "The Priestess is dead. I was there. I ki . . . I wasn't there. Why wasn't I there? Nakago told me. I should have prevented the invasion, the fires and slaughter. I should have been there to protect my people, when the Priestess of Suzaku could not."
Mitsukake heard a small gasp and looked up. The boy still kneeled across from him; his eyes were wide and round.
"Leave!" Mitsukake commanded.
"But . . . "
"Now!"
The boy grabbed his torch and scuttled back. He leapt up, and hauled a surprised Tasuki around, dragging him back into the shadows of the village.
Mitsukake felt his mind go blank. This was too much. Then, "Highness, you're having a dream! Listen to me! Nuriko has gone to meet Miaka and Tamahome at the capital. Everything is fine!"
"No, Mitsukake, it is not! I know what has happened! This is why we are not in the palace!" His fingers knotted in Mitsukake's sleeve. "Look at the fire; that is Eiyo!"
Mitsukake looked up. He saw a red haze on the horizon. The moon broke through the clouds, a bright Harvest Moon that obscured everything, and washed the landscape with a golden glow. It was impossible to tell if there was a fire burning. "Highness," Mitsukake said gently, "there is no fire. Look again! There is only the moon. Please believe me. You are dreaming. Listen. If Eiyo were in trouble, Nuriko would have come back."
"No! Nakago brought me out here. He told me . . . about Chiriko and Chichiri. He came to that room . . . Ah!" Hotohori gasped and pressed his fist to his chest, leaning forward into the pain. Mitsukake swiftly picked him up and took him directly back to the house. He put the Emperor on the bed and prepared the sleeping draft. Then he held his hand over the Emperor's back and used his healing power to ease the agony as much as he could. When Hotohori was finally able, Mitsukake gave him the draft to drink. The Emperor sighed and his voice dropped. "Thank you, Mitsukake." Suddenly, tears appeared in his eyes. He put his hand to his chest and looked away.
"Highness, are you still in pain?"
Hotohori made a small sound, a half-laugh. "No. Yes. It's not just the wound."
"Majesty, you have to tell me what has happened. I don't understand."
"Don't you? Have you even believed me?" Hotohori began to weep. Mitsukake put his arms around the Emperor and let the younger man sob against his shoulder. He didn't understand what was wrong. "Why didn't Nuriko bring back Miaka's body?"
Mitsukake shook his head in confusion. "Her body? Highness, what are you talking about? Miaka's not dead. Nuriko would have had Chichiri contact us by now if Miaka was hurt."
"Chichiri can't! Nuriko wasn't there. No, not at the palace. In . . . in the forest. T- Tamahome attacked Miaka. And Nakago. I was there. I ki-I ki . . . " He broke off. "I know him! That voice and hair! Tonight. He t-told me that Tamahome sends his greetings!" Hotohori laughed a bit wildly.
"Tonight! Listen. You were dreaming. Highness, believe me! You could only have seen the blond bandit that has been staying here. He's been taking care of you." Hotohori lifted his head and looked into Mitsukake's dark brown eyes, searching for the truth, but his sight began to draw it around the edges; the healer's voice sounded strange in the Emperor's ears. Mitsukake continued to speak. "It was dark. I was here! I would have known if General Nakago was here. But he was not. The power that knocked us all out had to have been yours." Hotohori dropped his head onto Mitsukake's shoulder again. "We won't hold it against you. The boy knows you weren't trying to hurt him. It was only a dream." Suddenly, Mitsukake grinned, staring at the wall over Hotohori's head. "I believe that boy thinks he's in love with you. He's been here, watching out for you."
"Yes . . . But, gone," the Emperor murmured. "And . . . I . . . love you." His hand slowly slid down Mitsukake's back and came to rest on his buttocks.
Mitsukake super-deformed, his mouth twitching, and backpedaled off the bed, flapping his arms with surprise. "Your Majesty!"
No. He imagined that; he was still holding Hotohori. Of course Mitsukake's eyes bugged a bit, but . . . "Majesty?" Mitsukake looked down. The Emperor had fallen asleep against his shoulder, face flush with fever, and very still.
Mitsukake felt his heart warm with a fondness for the young emperor. He'd spent so much time alone after Shoka died. He had turned his back on everything, everybody, except for the animals. Then one day, this man, one who ruled a country, who could have commanded it, had come and begged help for the life of a friend. Mitsukake smiled gently and carefully laid Hotohori back on the pillow.