Title: Bodhidharmazan 3

Author: TheRedPony

Rating: PG

Disclaimer:

Matrix universe and associated characters: Wachowski brothers.

Agents universe: co-owned by Stormhawk and Overlord Mordax.

Every thing else is mine Baby.

All Chapters of this story are covered under this Disclaimer.

Word Count: 9595

Summary: The last of the trilogy. In total 36143 words. Wow Any ways we reach the end of Zane's battle for internal peace with his role in the Matrix.

Notes: This is a slash based story, but the rating if for violence only. Sequel is now in the works. There is a lot of religious ideas in this story, as there always is in my work.

Please read and Review.

And he sings
'They break the most beautiful things
But I hear violins, when I close my eyes
I am at the center of the sun
And I cannot be hurt
By anything this wicked world has done
I look into your eyes
And I am at the center of the sun
And I cannot be hurt
By anything this wicked world has done'

-Conjure One

A year had passed in all, with Zane's time in the garden. It was a stunning place. No longer did the snow touch the ground, for all the garden was locked in a perpetual prime, because Zane, it's master willed it to be.

The cherry trees were snowy with pale pink petals. Jasmine climbed and bloomed and filled the place with a thick and heady perfume. The iris beds were cascading over the stone planter sides that he had built. Even the old juniper bonsai seemed to glow with love and life. The garden had changed.

Zane had changed as well. He now found his black suit claustrophobic and oppressive, so instead he wore a loose white silk shirt. It was Asian in style and a fitting match to the plants of the garden. He also had white pants that matched. Normally white would not be wise for working in the earth, but he had learned how to keep them dazzling white with only a flick of his wrist.

Along with the coming of life of the garden, the fog had lifted so that the sun now shown pleasantly down in the day. At night the moon was clear and the stars more numerous and more dazzling then one could ever see in the matrix. Though the thick mists persisted outside the parameters, in the garden it was always pleasant.

The many hours each day in the sun had bleached Zane's pale read hair to near white. His short hair had grown out in the many months so that he now tied it behind him with a white ribbon, and often a white flower tucked into it. It was almost a divine effect. Soft reds, fading to white. He looked every bit the master of the white garden.

More then once the bright sun had burned him, but using plants from the garden he now kept his skin protected. His complexion was as pale as it had ever been because of this. But other things had changed about the man too.

Long hours of hard work and more hours of meditation, and practice had crafted his small body into a formidable weapon. He could no longer walk through walls like he once had, but his new programming let him dodge with explosive movements, and jump sailing through the air. If his body had become more deadly then his mind had become gentle as a cloud.

Zane's heart and love grew to fill the garden, but still the nights were long and lonely. For many hours he would sit in the moonlight and play a flute he had crafted out of bamboo. The air would reverberate with sadness and the flowers would hang their heads in grief. With his flute he would play his heart and told them the story of complete love.

He longed wholly to be back in the agency. To be back with Agent Brown. At first the feeling of being overwhelmed by the dark auras of the agents had been enough to drive him away. And the garden in its massive state of disrepair had filled his hours with numbing work. Now his hours in the garden were less taxing, and his mind always wondered back to one person.

He shed no tears for his lost love, but his heart grieved non-the less. He had been gone from the agency for over a year, surely the agent had forgotten him by now. All he needed to become an exile now, was death.

Summer fell upon the garden, and the cherry trees leafed out and were laden with sweet fruits. Zane no longer needed to eat so he fed his crop to the birds. The weightless creatures warbled and sang thanks to him. They because his dear friends and Zane would hold them gently on his fingers while they ate from his hands. The seed heads of the springs spent flowers became his searching grounds for things to feed them.

He grew to envy the birds that flew in and out of the garden. They were not its prisoners like he was. He did not know exactly when his thoughts had changed to thinking this a prison. Was it not the place that had given him his sanity back? Of course it was. In the agency he had felt like a cornered rat. The swirls of code were disorientating they drove him into the rain, and into the care of the Oracle.

It was a late afternoon, when the birds fell silent. His companions fluttered away and vanished out in the mist. His heart skipped and Zane drew a long handled sickle out of the air. Its shaft materializing in his hand. He could feel a new presence in his garden.

He did not like it at all.

It originated from down the far path, the one that turned near the oldest juniper. It was a slight swirling of the code as faint as a wisp of smoke but it felt like the coming of a firestorm. The garden master raised his blade so it glittered in the sun, his will filled the path head with blinding light. He stood stone still, never showing the fear in his heart.

Out of the light strode a being that looked his opposite. He was tall were Zane was short, the man had trimmed black hair, were his was long and pale. The black heavy cloaks that were priest like a stark contrast to the light and snowy silk of Zane's outfit. He was human; he was the savior of men, where Zane was a program and one in total limbo.

Zane raised his blade in a ready but non-aggressive position. "Why are you here Neo?"

"The Oracle sent me Zane."

"To finish me? So that I may finally be able to chose exilehood or death?" His voice seemed almost hopeful.

Confusion showed on the man's face. "No, Not at all. She said you might like some company. You have been in the garden for three weeks now."

"Not three weeks, over a year and a half. The moon has changed near nineteen times now, and I have seen all the seasons but fall twice."

"This is the White Garden, its whole manner is what you make it. She said that you have made it your prison."

Zane sat on a stone bench and motioned for Neo to join him sitting. "This place is no prison of my making, I can not leave. The paths just loop and lead back to the garden. I have tried to walk into the mist but I have always gotten turned and ended up back here. I can not leave."

"Gardens can only be crafted so far with your hands, you must use your heart to finish them. You closed your heart to the outside. So you closed your garden too."

Zane stood quickly and faced Neo. "And how should you know about gardens. You fight to bring people into a dead world. How is that more prison then the matrix? Why must we suffer to think we are free?" He slumped down into the bench again. "This place is perfect, but it's not enough. Nothing is even enough is it?"

"No, there is always something bigger that we must have."

He smoothed his faded hair back with an absent hand. "This place is perfect but I entertain thoughts of death, because I feel trapped. Like the door out is just beyond my touch. Like all the answers are on the other side of that mist."

"Now you know why we rebels fight for what we do."

"Our side fights because this is our home," Zane hissed out.

"This is your home. It's stunning, but you don't want do you. You would rather be fighting the fight for the imperfect then staying safe in this little cyber cocoon."

Zane smiled, "Ya know, I have never seen an agent kill an innocent person. Rebels do it all the time."

Neo smiled back, "Yes but tell me, have you ever met a truly innocent person. Who does not have at least some stains on their conscience?"

"There not so bad you know."

"Who?"

"The agents, Smith is actually a rather nice guy; he takes good care of his recruits. Agent Mimosa is once of the nicest people I have ever known. Then there is agent Jones. If you ever have any problems you can just ask him, it seems like he can fix any thing."

"They are just programs."

"Programs are people too. I am a program I am a person. You're the cause, you're the reason why I am in this hell. Your the reason why I am stuck here god knows how many miles from him" Zane has risen to his feat and was speaking angrily down at the other man.

Neo nodded, "Its alright Zane. You just needed a little reminder."

"Of what?"

"That just because you no longer have a body, does not mean you can't still fight for the good guys."

"They are my friends, they are good!" He jabbed Neo with his index finger to drive in his point.

Neo put his hands up in mock defense. "Just relax Zane. I understand. I'm not here to convert you. The oracle asked me to see you as a favor."

Zane sighed, and pulled two teacups from the air. He handed one to Neo, then sat down slowly. "Forgive me Mr. Anderson, I was not raised to be such a rude host, but I have lost every thing in my life."

"The him you spoke of?"

"Yes... No. I said them. I meant them."

Neo smiled and elbowed Zane playfully. "You never said anything about the forth agent. I hear that Brown is a real jerk. Unless you care to inform me otherwise." He was grinning. "And its Neo."

Zane snorted. "Fare enough, Neo then. But I refuse to tell you any thing. You're still a rebel, with a war to win."

"You have my word that I will hold it secret."

"Word of a rebel?"

"Is it any better then the word of a traitor?"

Zane shrugged "I guess not. But I'm still not going to tell you."

"You don't have to. I can see it in your eyes. You wear your heart on your sleeve Zane. Can he love you back? He is just a program... sorry. No offence."

"No it's alright. I wondered the same thing. They are programs meant to learn though. Their emotions are crafted by what they see and know. Rebels taught them fear and hate. They are learning other things though."

"Like love?"

"Ya, like love." Zane smiled distantly.

"So then Zane, open up your heart, tear down the walls of the garden. Let your self go and return to him."

"Its not that easy. They don't just take people back. If I go I have only one shot. If they won't take me, I will die."

"But you're a program you could just become an exile if you died."

"Agents hunt exiles. It's their job. If trinity was uploaded, and became an agent, if she were to hunt you, to try and kill you, would it not destroy you inside? What if you had one chance to have her back, but if you missed it you would be hunted by her until she killed you."

"I would take my chances. With out love, life is not worth a thing. That's why we have to fight so hard to hang on to what we have."

"Thank you Neo."

"For what?"

"Reminding me."

Neo stood up with a smile and bowed his head to Zane, standing he returned the gesture. They shook hands, and Neo turned in a flourish receding back down the path. After a few minuets Zane slumped to the ground, with his back against the hard edge of the bench. I killdeer was singing near the cherry trees, and the wind blew from the west. A stray lock fell and his white hair caressed his face.

Then it was morning, and the sun had not even cleared the stand of birch trees yet. Zane had spent the night in fast and meditation. He had taken his sickle, and wrapped the five-foot handle in white silk, intricately braided, so that the rich cherry wood showed through under the bends of silk. The end of the ribbons hung from the base of the blade they, all eight in varying lengths so they fluttered like feathers in the wind.

He left his home with new light, tucking a twine of jasmine onto the silk folds, he set off towards the mountains to the south that just peaked out of the fog, he called goodbye to the little rosewood house, the birds and the koi in the pond. Then opening his heart, he let the music of the code wash over him, like rays of the sun, they felt warm and calming. Closing his eyes, we could feel in the distance others. He was no longer alone, his code was calling to the mainframe, the same way an agent's calls for home.

Sun light flashed off the silver key tied with cobalt blue cord that hung from Zane's neck, mirrored blue sun glasses were a bright contrast to the deadly weapon wrapped in innocently looking white silk. His body, or his blade take your pick. Behind the dark shades his eyes were bright, we was in a new place now. Crossing the mountains had been easy, they seemed to yield like steps to him, and though he had left the garden days ago, time had passed like merely an hour for him, even the jasmine had not began to fade.

He stood now, in front of a dazing ocean, the sea crashed in white pillows of coded foam. All around him the sounds of the sea churned and danced. In the blue abyss he felt like he could see the water programs, like nymphs who were calling for him to swim with them. Join the water forever. This was the end of the world, the place were the fringes of the matrix, melted into the hard wiring of the real.

He listened to the water programs and they sang to him, telling him how the train ran in the tunnel, making the waters moan. They promised him knowledge, and peace, contentment beyond any he could imagine. The drug like song of the sea muddled his thoughts, and he stepped into the foam.

The icy cold jogged him back to life, gasping he pulled back, the water nymphs raised there hideous heads and screamed, clawing at his legs, trying to drag him into the water. Kicking he flung him self out of the sea, and clawed onto the safety of the shore. He huffed and rolled in the white sand so that he faced the sky, and then fainted.

Zane woke to a hot blast of air on his face, his eyes fluttered open to meet a pair of dazzling blue ones. He reached a hand out to touch the broad cream colored forehead. He knew at once that this was no ordinary horse, knowledge flowed between them, and Zane knew the horse, who was Zephyrus, like a brother.

Standing and brushing off the sand, he stroked the neck of the great white beast. He was not the false white of many people's assumption. He did not have the ugly black nose that gray horses had. Instead his was a soft creamy pink, and his eyes were not dark but bright azure blue all the way into the depths of his iris. Zane removed his glasses, and melted them back into code with a flick of his wrist. He had found his purpose, for when he touched the pale stallion, who was the mix of all colors of horses, his eyes also melted into that blue depth, that same that had taken him when he glitched.

Sinking back to the sand Zane drew from the code strands of pure white leather. For many hours he sat braiding and turning buttons with the leather. Silver hardware that glittered in the setting sun was also formed in his hard. When he was finished, Zane stood, and strokes Zephyrus again, who had never left his side. The white and silver bridle easily slipped onto the stallion's head, and its silver furling shone like diamonds. As a final touch, Zane drew forth a slip of cobalt ribbon, which matched the one that held the key around his neck. He tied it to the bridle, near the right ear, and it fluttered in a gentle breeze that always seemed to surround the horse. Zephyrus gave a snort and tossed his head but did not object.

Zane could feel that the animal wanted badly to leave this haunting beach. Night had fallen and while it was beautiful, the songs of the water programs were alluring and disturbing. Silently, Zane gathered up his reins and sickle in his right hand, and swung himself onto the back of the tall stallion. Silently he gave thanks that he had continued riding horses even during his time as a recruit, sitting upon the horse he felt comfortable and secure, like they belonged together.

'It is not by chance you rode then Zane, my brothers and sisters of the wind called to you. Every thing has a reason.' Zane absently, touched the stallions neck and knew they could hear one another's thoughts.

'You are a more amazing program then I realized before. Your thoughts Zephyrus, they touch my mind like a passing breeze, and I know them.'

'And I yours. Brother Zane, our kind has waited for along time for the one who would ride us again.'

'You are not shamed to have a human on your back?'

'It is our purpose to carry the wind and yours now too. You are now the master of the horses of the wind, my self and my brothers Boreas, Eurus and Notus. Our subjects are the horses of the Matrix.'

Zane looked at the stallion with new admiration. 'You truly are the west wind?'

'I am'

'Then you can go any were that the wind can touch?'

'This I can, and you my master have the right to ride me there. Just think it and I will know, I know all places in the Matrix, that is how I found you.'

'The wind in the White Garden, always came from the west.'

'Because I was watching you, my brother.'

Zane thought hard about the lobby of the agents building, his legs tightened and Zephyrus read skyward. They dissolved on the breeze like smoke and were gone.

Agent Smith was standing in the lobby of the Agency. In the crypt like room of glittering stone there was many men and women in crisp black suits. They all buzzed and hummed like bees, fluttering about the area, running papers to be delivered. Highly polished shoes clicked rhythmically in a tap tap pattern that urged for even grater productivity.

Smith glared at the recruit who shuffled up next to him. He was about to could him, he was late as usual. Before he could speak however; he was interrupted. A huge crash was heard form the far end of the lobby, all the doors flew open and interns and secretaries dove to the floor.

Standing at the far end, amidst a torrent of flying leaves and paper was a huge white horse, and upon him, a man dressed in white. He had dark sunglasses that glinted blue against the back lighting. In his left hand were remarkable white and silver braided reins. In his right was a long handled sickle wrapped in white and dressed in jasmine sprigs.

"Exile," Smith hissed between his teeth and drew his gun. The other agents were at his side in moments, having found suitable hosts. "Who ever you are, freeze."

The figure turned its head to face the agents, his hair was completely white, and blew around him like a halo, light from the street streamed in so that the figure and the horse seemed to glow. The stallion gave a half rear, and a deep neigh that sounded like rolling thunder. The man ran his left hand up the neck of the horse to steady it, and then spoke.

"Have I been gone so long Agent Smith? I was not in a place were I knew time well."

Agent Brown started and lowered his gun, the other agents glanced at him and hesitated but held there aim.

Smith spoke again, "State your name or I will shoot." Brown placed on the other agents arm and gently lowered the gun.

"It is Zane" he whispered.